How far she believed in her own skill, cannot be exactly ascertained; but from the fact relative to her brother's death, she seems decidedly to have had some faith in the revelations she drew from cards. Another instance is recorded in which she acted from some principle analogous to those from which her conclusions were sometimes drawn. At the time of the first invasion by the allies, Mademoiselle Lenormand had beside her a considerable sum of money, and many articles of value, which she was anxious to intrust to some one in whom she could place confidence. The only person who presented himself at the time was not much known to her, but at the moment there was no one else to whom she chose to address herself. “To what animal,” she asked in her usual routine, "have you the most repugnance?" "To rats," was the reply. "It is the sign of a good conscience," she observed. "And to which do you give the preference?" "Oh, I prefer dogs far beyond all others." Mademoiselle, without hesitation, committed the important charge to his care, as one in whom she could place entire confidence. the pool, but the keeper shot one of them, which was immediately taken, while fluttering on the water, by a large pike. This circumstance did not much surprise him, as he well knew the voracious propensities of the fish. But on the morrow, as he was again passing this large sheet of water, the same dog made what is termed a dead set at the edge of it, and kept looking steadily at a few rushes that grew in the water, about two yards from land. Not seeing anything in the water, the keeper was surprised at his dog standing, and tried to send him in, but without effect, when presently he saw a large pike, about four inches beneath the surface, which he shot, when the dog dashed in and brought it to land. In returning home the keeper perceived an unusual fulness in the belly of the fish, and, taking it into the kitchen, requested the cook to cut it open, when, to his great surprise, he found the bird of his yesterday's killing, which sufficiently accounted for his dog standing when he got to leeward of the fish, as no doubt he was setting the bird, which he must have scented from the respiration of the fish.-The above is one of the many wonderful circumstances which frequently occur to the observation of sportsmen.-Worcester Chronicle. CONTINENTAL RAILROADS. The prophetess was in person excessively fat and ugly; but her eyes even in age preserved their brightness and vivacity, and the good citizens of Alençon were wont to say, "Que ses yeux flamboyants leur faisaient peur." It was never understood that Mademoiselle Lenormand showed the ROYAL NORTH OF SPAIN.-BAY OF BISCAY TO smallest inclination to marriage, nor was there ever MADRID.-This line is to commence at the port of a question on the subject; but she was well known Aviles, and to extend inland as far as Leon. For to have a great aversion to young children. Be- this purpose one million of capital will be suffisides a large funded property, and her houses and cient. Aviles possesses a fine natural harbor, and lands at Alençon, she possessed a very handsome it is intended to effect a regular steam communihouse in the Rue de la Santé at Paris; a chateau cation between Aviles and Falmouth, a distance at Poissy, eight leagues from the metropolis; and which will be accomplished in two days. The a large collection of very good pictures, principally effect to be produced on the civilization of Spain, representing the acts and deeds of members of the by bringing London within three days' journey of house of Bourbon; also a vast collection of very Madrid, it is not easy to over-estimate. Within curious notes respecting the events of which she eight miles of Aviles are the Ferrones collierie; a was either a spectatress or an actress, all written little further on are those of Santo Firme, and for in her own hand, which, by the by, is a most nearly forty miles the line crosses the great Astucabalistic-looking scrawl. She had also auto-rian coal-field, the largest in Europe. The antigraphic and confidential letters from most of the sovereigns of Europe, and was in fact a remarkable proof of the credulity of the nineteenth century, and of an imposture which, for its long and continued success, has had few rivals in any age of the world. Of the two children of her sister, which she adopted after their mother's death, the daughter died young, of consumption, and the son is now an officer of rank. On the decease of his aunt during the last year, he inherited all her prop erty. EXTRAORDINARY SPORTING STATEMENT.-The following anecdote is given on the authority of "An old sportsman," on whose veracity we can rely-A gamekeeper to a nobleman in an adjoining county, being shooting upon his employer's estate, on the second of September last, flushed a covey of partridges, a brace of which separated from the others and fled in a direct line for a large fish-pond, by the side of which was a foot-road leading to the mansion. The keeper having killed a sufficient supply for the larder, was returning, when one of his dogs made a stand by the side of the pool, and on the keeper's approaching, the brace of strayed birds rose, and attempted to cross cipated dividend is 14 per cent., the lease is for 99 and completed in ten years. We learn that Mr. Stephenson, the celebrated GREAT PARIS AND LYONS-Proposes to connect the north and the south of France, and, by a branch from Dijon to Mulhausen, to connect Marseilles with Strasbourg and the Mediterranean with the Rhine, so as to secure to France the continuance of the commercial transit of which Austria and Italy seek to deprive her. The formation of companies for foreign railroads proceeds at a rapid pace, and it is said that the Dutch are coming into our market for funds to construct a new line. From Jerrold's Magazine. THE HISTORY OF ST. GILES AND ST. JAMES. CHAPTER VII a dancing-step upon the pavement. The door was opened by a girl, who, with no very cordial looks, muttered-" Mrs. Simmer-well, she's a droll cretur, she is!-Mrs. Simmer says you 're to come up. You can leave your basket here, can't you?" "In course, my beauty," said St. Giles, " 'cause, you see, there's only these two bunches left; and them I can carry in my hand without breaking my back." With this, St. Giles, rapidly placing his basket against the wall, gave a saucy wink to the servant, and bounded like a kid up stairs. In a moment he was with his patroness, Mrs. Simmer. My poor child, I thought you was lost," said the dame in the kindest voice. "What makes you so late?" "Why, do you know mum, I can't tell what's come to the chickweed: it does n't grow no how, now. If I wasn't at five in the morning in Hampstead fields, a hunting in every edge, and hav'n't got above three penn'orth. Chickweed, mum, as Tom Blast says, seems a perishin' from the face of the earth, and only to spite poor people as lives by it. I don't know how much I could n't ha' sold this mornin'; but I says to myself-no, there's Mrs. Simmer's blessed little linnet, and her darlin' goldfinch as draws his own water-they sha'n't go without, whoever does." As it is our hope, in the course of this small history, to chronicle many great achievements of our hero of the gutter, St. Giles, we shall not follow him year by year through his humble yet industrious course, in which, to his own satisfaction and strengthening conceit, he became profoundly knowing; subtly learned in every way of petty peculation; whether he plundered the orangebaskets of Covent Garden market, or whether, with finest skill, he twitched the tempting handkerchief from the pocket of the lounger. Nor was this, his lowly career, undignified by suffering. No; for ere he was twelve years old, he had tasted the hospitality of Bridewell; where, in truth, he had been inducted into the knowledge of far deeper mysteries than he had ever hoped to learn. In Bridewell, his young and ardent soul had expanded with the thoughts of future fame, won by highway pistol-or burglar's jemmy. And there, too, would he listen to fairy tales of coining; would dream of easy, lasting wealth, acquired by copper guineas. As for the lash bestowed upon him, the pain of that did but burn into his mind his high resolves. He would the more fiercely revenge the suffering upon everybody called honest. He would steal with all his heart and all his soul; he was born and bred to steal; he came into the world to do it, and he would notably fulfil his mission. Such was the strengthened belief of young St. Giles, when, at fourteen and for the second time, he came back to the world across the threshold of Bridewell. Such was his creed the only creed his world had taught him. Nevertheless, our hero did not vaunt this belief, save among those of his own Newgate.persuasion; on the contrary, he assumed the character of a tradesman, that under his commercial aspect he might But dear Mrs. Simmer seemed to be one of the more securely plunder the innocents who those good, old people, who strangely enough dealt with him. True it is, he had not the secur- carry their hearts in their heads. She had not ity of a shop; he could not, like his patron the been above a fortnight in London at the time of dealer in marine stores, despoil across a counter; this interview with St. Giles, whom she had met but he carried a basket: and whilst to the unsus- in the street, and whose pathetic tale of destitution pecting eye, he seemed only the Arcadian vender-delivered with the cunning of an actor-had of chickweed, groundsel, and turf for singing-birds -for the caged minstrels of the poor-he was, in every thought, a robber. "Poor dear child! good little boy," said Mrs. Simmer, looking with softened looks upon the wily little trader. "And to hear how all the birds did seem to call to me from their cages-I'm blessed if they did n't, mum, as I came along-but no, says I to 'em, it's no use, my little cockies, no use to be gammonin' me-this here chickweed 's for Mrs. Simmer's Bob and Tit, and for nobody else whatsomever." And after this fashion was the simplicity of twoscore and ten talked to and duped by precocious fourteen. carried away her sympathies. St. Giles, however, had another claim upon her. He was, she said, such a pretty boy. Dear soul! she could no more read a human face than she could read Sanscrit. She only saw the bright, glittering eyes of St. Giles, and not the fox that looked from them; she praised his eyes and face, as she might have praised a handsome hieroglyph, wholly unconscious of its subtle meaning. A great master has said, "there is something in true beauty that vulgar souls cannot admire." And sure we are, there is something in the truest rascality, that simple benevolent souls cannot detect. They have not an eye for the worst counterfeit countenance; have no ear for a false voice, let it ring ever so brassily. Now, dear Mrs. Simmer was one of these: hence, was she, at fifty, but a babe, am innocent, in the hands of young St. Giles. It was a fine morning early in spring, and Plumtree-street resounded with the sharp tradesman cry of young St. Giles. Pausing at a door-step, and looking up to the second-floor windows, he pitched his commercial note with a peculiar significance, as though giving notice of his whereabout to an expected customer. "Chickweed for singing birds," cried St. Giles, in a shrill, prolonged voice, as though he would send the glad tidings up to the garret casement, where hopped and fluttered some solitary linnet-some lonely goldfinch -that, feeling the breath of spring, albeit through prison bars, sang a song of hope and cheerfulness. "Chickweed for singing-birds," cried St. Giles, with increasing volume and impatience. Then again he looked up at the window, and then mut- "Now, my poor child," she said, "take some tered, "The old un can't be dead, can she?" As tea. I've kept it for you, with some toast;" and he thus speculated, the window was raised, and a Mrs. Simmer took a smoking jug and a plate woman looked down into the street. "Is it you, piled with toast from either hob, and placed them. my poor boy?" she cried; "stop a minute ;" and on the table, before her guest. "Take as much. instantly disappeared. "Thought the old un as you can, my child, and then you shall tell me could n't be dead," said St. Giles, self-commun- all your story as you promised. Poor lamb! ing; and then he began to hum a tune and shuffle Bless you, eat-it does my heart good to see: you;" and Mrs. Simmer, folding her hands, looked with almost maternal tenderness upon St. Giles, who, acknowledging the welcome with a knowing nod of the head, proceeded vigorously with his meal. Mrs. Simmer thought she never saw so handsome a creature: what St. Giles thought of Mrs. Simmer, we will not say. "And so you've no father nor mother, my dear boy?" after some time asked Mrs. Simmer. 66 "Not one on 'em," answered St. Giles, rapidly moving his buttered chin. Not one on 'em." "The Lord help you!" cried Mrs. Simmer: "and no uncle, no aunt, no" "No nothing, mum, ," said St. Giles; and he gulped his tea. "All on 'em died, mum, when I was a babby." "Poor dear child! Bless my heart! And how have you been brought up?" 66 Brought up, mum"-and St. Giles grinned and scratched his head-" you said brought up, mum? Don't know, mum.' "And where do you live, now, my poor boy ?" and Mrs. Simmer melted with every question. "Don't live nowhere, reg'lar, mum. Poor boys, like me, why we live-as Tom Blast says -like the rats, where we can. Then o'nights, mum, I sometimes sleeps in the market among the baskets. Sometimes, though, don't they come with a stick, and cut us out? I believe you!" and St. Giles seemed to speak with a lively recollection of such incidents. "Cuts the werry breath out o' you," he then significantly added. "Cruel creatures! Gracious little lamb ! And I'm afraid you meet with bad boys there, eh? Wicked boys, that may some day tempt you to do something wrong? Eh?" asked simple Mrs. Simmer. "Believe you," said St. Giles, with well-acted gravity. "Lots on 'em wanted me to go picking pockets-' "Heaven forbid !" cried Mrs. Simmer, and the tears came to her eyes. "That's what I said, mum; no, says I, no, I shall stick to chickweed if I starves for it-I'm not a-going to be hanged to please nobody: no, mum. "That such a precious flower should be thrown away!" cried Mrs. Simmer to herself: and then to St. Giles: " you 're a good boy; I'm sure you 're a good boy. And tell me; I hope you go to church ?" "Oh, I should like it so!" cried St. Giles: "but you see, mum, it's impossible.' "How so, my boy?" asked Mrs. Simmer. "Look here, mum," and St. Giles, with the coolness of a philosopher, drew his feet up almost level with the table, and with his forefinger pointed to his ten muddy toes, that showed themselves through the parted shoe-leather. "Parson would n't have 'em, by no means. I did once try to go to church; I did begin to feel so wicked. Well, mum, if the beadle did n't come up, mum, and nearly cut me in two, mum." "How wicked-how barbarous!" said the ingenuous Mrs. Simmer. "And only for my bad shoes, and the oles in my coat; but that's how they serves poor boys, I don't think it's kind, mum; do you, mum?" And St. Giles tried to look at once injured and innocent. mum. Mrs. Simmer wiped her eyes, making an effort to be calin. She then said, "I've been thinking, if I could get you a place in a gentleman's house." "Wouldn't that be prime?" cried St. Giles; and as he spoke, there rang through the house a loud and hurried knock at the street-door. Mrs. Simmer, without a word, jumped to her feet, and ran to the window. 66 Well, I declare! if it is n't that blessed child! if it is n't his lordship!" she cried. Young St. Giles, at the word lordship, slid from his chair, and looked slyly about him. Was it possible that a lord could be coming into that room? Could he imagine such a thing as to see a real lord in such a place? Ere St. Giles had done wondering, the room-door was flung open, and in ran young St. James. St. Giles seemed to shrink into himself at the splendid appearance of the new comer. He wore a bright scarlet coat, thickly ornamented with gold buttons; and a black beaver hat, with a large, heavy feather of the same color, brought out in strong contrast his flushed and happy face. For the moment, young St. Giles felt himself overpowered, abashed by the magnificent outside of the little stranger. He sidled into a corner of the room, and looked at that scarlet coat as though it had been something dropped from the heavens. "Well, nurse," cried St. James, with a loud, ringing laugh, "I told you I'd come and see you, and here I am. I went out riding with Mr. Folder. Well, he stopt to talk to somebody, and so I just gave him the slip, put Jessy into such a gallop! and was here in a minute. I say, can't that boy"-and St. James pointed his riding-whip towards St. Giles-" can't that boy hold Jessy, instead of the girl?" "To be sure, my lord-to be sure," cried Mrs. Simmer. 66 Certainly, my lord-directly, my lord-I knows how to hold osses, my lord," said St. Giles in a flutter. “Just walk, her up and down a little, will you, for she's hot," said St. James, with an early knowledge of horse-flesh. "Yes, my lord-to be sure, my lord-walk her up and down, my lord ;" and St. Giles flew down the stairs, and relieved the girl of her charge. Young St. James was then left to have his gossip with Mrs. Simmer: from which gossip a stranger might have learned that the good woman had, for years, been in the service of the family of St. James; that she had been the favorite nurse of his young lordship; and that for the first time in her life she had come to London from the country, where, made comfortable by a pension granted to her by the marchioness, after a short sojourn in the metropolis, it was her purpose to return. She had been to the house in the square, where young St. James had made his chivalrous promise to visit her; yes, at all hazards, to seek Plum-tree street, out of pure love, and a linle frolic, to his old nurse. "Oh, I shall be at home now before Mr. Folder," said young St. James, in answer to the fears of Mrs. Simmer, alarmed at the escape of the young gentleman from his tutor. However, we must leave them and descend to the pavement to St. Giles. With an air of becoming gravity, the boy led the pony up and down before the door, his eyes riveted upon the beast: certainly a creature of extreme beauty. She was jet black, of exquisite delicacy of outline; and her arched neck, quivering nostril, and fiery eye, told something for the spirit and horsemanship of the boy who rode her. Up and down St. Giles walked; and now looking at the animal, now thinking of the boy lord, it appeared "Not wanted yet," said St. Giles, looking from the door to the window. "We'll give her another trot, eh?" And at the word the pony was turned towards Bedford-square. to him that all the treasures of the world were |phy or portrait in the Newgate Calendar. Hence, concentrated in that pony-that St. James was a he was a little perplexed at the temptation that sort of earthly angel; a being of altogether another would intrude itself upon him as he glanced at kind to the boys St. Giles had ordinarily met with. Lord St. James' satin-coated pony. Fortune There was something so magnificent about the seemed willing to make him a handsome present pony and its rider-that only to have had his lord- of horse-flesh, if he had only the valor to accept ship speak to him-that only to hold the bridle of it. No; he would not be tempted; he had rehis steed, seemed in the confused brain of St. solved to die a natural death, and therefore he Giles to redeem him from somewhat of his misery resolutely dismissed the demon that would destroy and lowliness. He could not but think the better him. Nevertheless, he thought it possible that of himself for all time to come. He had spoken to policy might achieve what courage failed to ata lord-had held his horse! Could any of his tempt. He might accomplish all by a stroke of gutter companions boast such greatness? These wit, profiting in security by the danger of another. thoughts were busying the mind of St. Giles, St. Giles might be made the robber, and Tom when he heard himself addressed by a familiar Blast, in happiest safety, pocket the proceeds. voice. "What! my flower?" was the greeting; Thus ruminating, Tom again reached Mrs. Simand St. Giles, turning, beheld his friend and tutor, mer's door. Tom Blast. St. Giles, in his last retirement to Bridewell, had had the advantage of Tom's tuition; and to speak truly, the teacher and pupil were worthy of each other. Tom was a scoundrel of most extensive experience; and had the Gently," said Blast, "gently. Why don't happy art of so simplifying his knowledge, that he you have a ride upon her? The young lord made it available to the meanest understanding. would n't know nothing of it. And what if he St. Giles, however, had no need of any such con- did? He could n't take the ride out of you again. descension he could jump at a meaning-good or Only not so big, else she's the very pictur-yes bad-half way. Hence, the teacher and the the very moral of Dick Turpin's Bess," said Blast, taught respected each other for their mutual ex-looking critically, admiringly, at Jessy. "Get up, cellence. In fact, Tom Blast looked upon young and don't be a young fool," he added; and then St. Giles, as his Newgate son; and St. Giles, in St. Giles-he hardly knew how it was accomdefault of another, considered Tom as the best of plished-found himself in the saddle. fathers. that's something like life, is n't it," said the tempter suddenly, speaking from the whole breadth of the pavement, and every other minute looking "Got a oss to old," said St. Giles with an in-cautiously behind him the while he mended his quiring look at Tom. Then he added, sinking his voice" it belongs to a lord: sich a little chap, and yet a lord." "What have you got here?" asked Tom, his eye sparkling all over the pony. "Well, she's a beauty," said Blast; "make her walk a little faster." "She is a beauty," cried St. Giles, boldly venturing an opinion, and quickening the animal's pace. "What a sweet trot!" said Blast, so light and so free; why she would n't break a egg-shell! would she?" "I should think not," answered St. Giles, a little flattered that his opinion was solicited. "Come up!" cried Blast, urging the beast into & quicker pace. "Come along, sweet-lips!" Stop, Tom; stop!" said the prudent St. Giles, when he had arrived in Bedford-square. "Blest if we don't turn back, if they won't think we 're a.going to steal her; and that would n't do, no how, would it Tom?" asked the boy, and his eye encountered Tom's thoughtful look. 66 66 "There, pace, and St. Giles jerked the pony into a trot. That's something like living for, eh? and I should like to know why you should n't have it just as soon as any little lord whatsomever ?" "Ha! would n't that be prime, Tom?" cried St. Giles, his eyes sparkling, and face glowing. "Would n't it be prime?" "It's nothing more than what you ought to have; why, you ride as well as if you was born upon her back-give her her head a little morenow down this way," sharply added Blast; and then rapidly turning to the right, he ran on, St. Giles trotting hard after him. Arrived at the east side of Russell-square, Tom suddenly halted. Now, St. Giles," said he, are you man enough to make your fortin?" 66 "I should think so," said Giles, in high spirits with his feat of horsemanship. "Now listen to a friend, Giles-a friend as never yet deceived you," said Blast with sudden gravity. "Throw away this bit of luck, and you may never get another. Take the pony and sell it." St. Giles stared. "Why not, you fool! you may as well," cried Blast, "you've stole it, you know" "Stole it!" cried St. Giles. "It's all the same; there's nobody as would believe otherwise-so I'll stand your friend, and get you the money for the bargain. Ha! I seeyou have n't no pluck in you-not a bit," said the taunting friend. Why-no," answered Tom with some deliberation.No; it would n't-turn her round again; and walk her gently, Giles; gently, pretty cretur." And as St. Giles complied, Tom turned too, walking with meditative eye that now glanced at the boy and now at the pony. Ambitious thoughts busied the brain of the small, timid thief, Tom Blast; and he pondered on the means whereby he could reap the profits of a stolen horse, still assuring to himself exemption from the tragic penalty. For many years Tom had from time to time eaten stolen bread; nevertheless, he had lived, as it were, upon the crumbs, the broken morsels of 'Well, then, as you 've got yourself in a bit crime. He had never had the courage to dare of trouble, I'll stand by you. Now, you listen; Tyburn that he might dine, but he satisfied him- just dash as hard as you can through the fields, self with the pickings of petty larceny. No; he and then turn to the right-and so round and never promised to earn for himself either biogra-round, until—you know the way-until you drop "Ain't I though! just you see!" cried young St. Giles, determined to do anything. 66 down upon Smithfield. Then make for Long Lane; and then, just afore you get to the Blue Posts, get off and lead the pony up and down, as if you was holding her for somebody-and then in a crack I'm with you. Now, look sly, and your fortin's made. Young Turpin forever! Off with you!" And so saying, the Tyburn monitor slapt the pony smartly with his broad hand, and the mettlesome creature bounded forth, young St. Giles with difficulty keeping the saddle. Away went the pony up the Long Fields and away towards Islington! The words "young Turpin" still rang in the ears of St. Giles, as he cantered along. He felt that he had already done something worthy the exalted name bestowed upon him; and as his blood mounted with the exercise, he imagined future triumphs that would make him glorious. The robbery of the horse was for the time-altogether forgotten in the increased importance that had fallen upon him. He dreamt not of the punishment attending the theft; he only thought of the hatful of guineas that the stolen property would produce him. And then, as he rode, how petty and contemptible did his former pickings and stealings appear to him! he almost felt ashamed of himself, comparing his past petty larcenies with his last grand achievement. From that moment he had taken leave of boyhood. He had suddenly become a man, by the grace of daring felony. Then he thought-how should he ever be able to spend the money? Would he not have a scarlet coat with gold lace to it? ay, much finer than the little lord's! And would he not go to the play every night, and have his hot supper afterwards! And would he not flourish money in a hundred ways that should make all his old companions-the little dirty, paltry thieves of Hog Lane-look up to him with devotion and astonishment? Still young St. Giles ambled along, and still the world seemed changed to him. He was in a waking dream-a rapture of happiness! All things about him bore a brighter hue; all things sounded with a sweeter music; his brain seemed on wings, and his lightened heart danced in his bosom. And-poor wretch-this ecstasy of ignorance arose from evil, from a crime whose fatal effects, certain as death, would follow him. Still the very houses, to his fancy, took a new and pleasant aspect; wherever he looked he saw a new face of happiness-whatever he heard came toned with a new note of harmony. He saw not the blackened stones of Newgate-heard not the freezing accents of the death-dooming judge. Miserable, foolish wretch ! Yet how often do men-in the ripeness of worldly wisdom, imitate the folly, share the ignorance of young St. Giles! Elated by the commission of some profitable wrong, seeming secret, too, as profitable-how often to them does fortune seem to put on a new and shining face, when at the very time she grasps the lash, or drugs the bitter bowl that shall revenge the wickedness. For a brief time does successful evil put a new tint of outside beauty upon all the world; and happy knavery rejoices in the cunning that makes the world to him so beautiful. What a plodding, leaden-eyed fool is mere honesty! what an oaf, an ass, compared to him who squares his code of rals by his seeming interest! And then full time advances, and the world, that looked h and smiling, is hollow-cheeked and ghast-its beauty wiped away, even as a harlot's paint. Successful knavery, dizzied with its luck, sees suddenly delicious scenes a paradise of worldly joy and life-long rest-then, waking to the truth, beholds around it burning, barren sand. If the mature pilgrims of the world are sometimes so deceived, why not the boy St. Giles? Still the young, yes, and happy, felon trotted on, until he entered Smithfield. He then walked the pony slowly up Long Lane, and soon as he espied the Blue Posts, faithful to his orders, he dismounted, looking anxiously around him for his friend and instructor, Tom Blast. A quarter of an hour passed, and still he came not. And then, and for the first time, he looked at the stolen goods with lowering eyes, and his heart felt leaden. What was he to do with the pony without Tom? Nobody would buy it of him. And then a deeper and a deeper shadow fell upon all things; and, biting his lips, young St. Giles, with eyes quick as rats', looked about and about him. What an ugly brute the pony seemed to him! Yes; he knew what he would do: he would jump upon the pony-gallop back to Plumtree-street, and swear he had only been for a ride. Anything to be well clear of the pony. With this thought St. Giles had his foot in the stirrup, when he was tapped upon the shoulders by a man plainly and comfortably dressed in a dark-gray suit, wearing a light flaxen wig in tight curls, surmounted by a large beaver hat, scrupulously sleek. He had a broad, fat face, with a continual smile, laid like lacker upon it. And, when he spoke, he spoke very gently and very softly, as with lips of butter. "My dear little boy," said the stranger, patting St. Giles affectionately on the back, “where have you been so long?" St. Giles looked-he could not help it-very suspiciously at the stranger; then scratching his head, he observed, "Don't know you, sir.” "I dare say not; how should you, my dear? But you will know me, and for a friend. I've waited for you, these ten minutes." St. Giles said nothing; nevertheless his thoughts were never more active. He by no means liked the appearance of his new friend: he felt afraid of him. He would fling himself into the saddle, and gallop off. As he determined upon this, the stranger, in the gentlest manner, twitched the bridle from his hand, and gently said, "My little dear, it 's all right." "All right!" cried St. Giles; and somehow he felt that his stolen pony was about to be stolen from him-" what 's all right?” "You came from Plumtree-street." St. Giles winced. "Now you know you did; don't tell a lie, my little dear; for don't you know what comes of little boys who tell lies? I have seen your friend, and paid him; it's all right; but as you 're such a nice little boy, here's a guinea for yourself." St. Giles' heart rose somewhat at the guinea. "You 're to go into the house, and wait for Mr. Blast." St. Giles' eyes twinkled at the name: of course, as the stranger averred, it must be all right, "Stop, don't change the guinea; here's a shilling too, my little dear. Now, go in-I don't want to be thanked--only let me see you go in, that you may n't come to any harm in the street." St. Giles, taking a last look at the pony, entered the Blue Posts. The stranger and the pony went-who shall say whither? St. Giles meekly seated himself in a corner of the hostelry, ordering for his refection two penny |
