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 PR 5233.R6704 1904 
 
 Old London Bridge:a romance of the sixte 
 
 3 1924 013 540 665 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013540665 
 
Half'Fofgotten Books 
 
 OLD LONDON BRIDGE 
 
HALF.FORGOTTEN BOOKS. 
 
 Edited fay E. A. BAKER, M.'A. 
 
 Author of "A Descriptive Guide to the Best Fiction." 
 
 Oovun 8vo, ctoth gilt. Each 2s. 
 
 Asmodeus ; or, The Devil on Two Sticks. A. R. Lesage. 
 
 Ben Brace ; or, the Last of Nelson's Agamemnons. Capt. Chamibr. 
 
 Brakespeare ; or. The Fortunes of a Free Lance. G. A. Lawrence. 
 
 Caleb Williams. William Godwin. 
 
 Children of the Abbey. R. M. Roche. 
 
 Family Feud. Thos. Cooper. 
 
 Grimaldi, the Clown (Memoirs of); with introduction by 
 Percy Fitzgerald, M.A., and Plates by G. Croikshank. 
 C. Dickens. 
 
 Guy Livingstone. G. A. Lawrence. 
 
 Hajji Baba in Ispahan. Capt. Morier. 
 
 Hour and the Man. Harriet Maetineao. 
 
 Mysteries of Udolpho. Mrs. Radcliffk. 
 
 Nick of the Woods; or, The Fighting Quaker. R.JVI. Bird. 
 
 Nightside of Nature. Mrs. Crowe. 
 
 Old London Bridge. G. H. Rodwell. 
 
 Pottleton Legacy. Albert Smith. 
 
 Bomanee of the Forest. Mrs. Radcliffe. 
 
 Bory O'More. Samuel Lover. 
 
 Sam Slick, the Clockmaker. Judge Haliburton. 
 
 Stories of Waterloo. W. H. Maxwell. 
 
 Susan Hopley (The Adventures of). Mrs. Crowe. 
 
 Thaddeus of Warsaw. Jane Porter. 
 
 Tom Bowling. Capt. Chamier. 
 
 Virginia of Virginia. Am^lie Rives. 
 
 Whitefriars ; or, The Court of Charles II. Emma Robinson. 
 
 Willy Reilly. w. Carlbton. 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LIMITED, LONDON. 
 
OLD LONDON 
 BRIDGE 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY 
 
 .-h1 
 
 RBERT RODWELL 
 
 \ WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 ERNEST A. BAKER, M.A. 
 
 London : GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, Ltd. 
 
 New York : E. P. BUTTON & CO. 
 
 1904 
 
^.^fa^^(=,s' 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE 
 
 "William IIewet, clethwcrktr of Old London Bridge, sometime Lord 
 
 Mayor of London. 
 Dame Alyce Hewet, his wife. 
 -Anne, his daughter. 
 Flora Gray, her maidservant. 
 Edward Osborne 1 ,, , 
 Henry HORTON ]JJewefs apprenHces. 
 
 The Cripple of the Bridge. 
 
 William, the Bridge Shooter. 
 
 ■His Mother, a supposed witch. 
 
 Father Brassinjaw, a drunken and rascally priest. 
 
 The Blear-eyed Bully \ Members of a powerful 
 
 Beltham Spikelby, his twin brother | gang of thieves and 
 
 Ray the Clipper j criminals in league with 
 
 l^KS, Ray's paramour, Spikeley^s wife \ Horton and Brassinjaw. 
 
 Diddle'em Downy, akas Knowy the Newsman, » noted comic 
 
 singer, 
 Dick Checklocke, a smith 
 John Catchkmaybe, c ttwyer 
 Silkworm, a stringer 
 An Arrowmaker 
 John Stow, the future historian. 
 Abbess of the Minories Convent. 
 Eveline, « Hind girl, afterwards found to be the heiress of Andrew 
 
 Horton. 
 Sir Filbut Fussy, a dandy who courts Hewefs wife. 
 X.0RD Georgb Talbot, disguised as Walter Lerue, an artist • »"•=< - 
 
 of Anne Hewet. 
 TJiNO, his servant, accomplice of Spikeley, &'c. 
 Thomas, Lord Cromwell, Henry VIII.'s minister. 
 Walter Cromwell, Brewer of Putney, his father. 
 Henry VHI., King of England. 
 Jane Seymour, his gueen. 
 
 Gossips of Old London 
 Bridge. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 George Herbert Buonaparte Rodwell 
 (1800-52) was better known probably as a 
 theatrical manager and a composer of musical 
 plays than as a novelist, although he produced 
 two stories besides "Old London Bridge,' 
 namely, "Memoirs of an Umbrella" in 1845 
 and " Woman's Love " in 1 846. The present 
 novel was published in 1849. He came of a 
 family that had long been connected with the 
 stage. His brother, James Thomas Gooderham 
 Rodwell, was a playwright and lessee of the 
 Adelphi Theatre, and on his death in 1825 
 George Herbert Rodwell succeeded him as 
 part proprietor. In 1828 he was appointed 
 professor of harmony and composition at the 
 Royal Academy of Music, and two years later 
 published a treatise on " The First Rudiments 
 of Harmony." He had already begun to write 
 the numerous and multifarious series of farces, 
 operettas, and other musical pieces that are 
 down to his name in Grove's " Dictionary of 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 Music" and elsewhere. One of the most 
 successful things he produced was the farce of 
 Teddy the Tiler, written for the Irish comedian 
 Tyrone Power. It had a remarkably success- 
 ful run, and encouraged him to write a number 
 of similar pieces. Rodwell was usually lucky 
 in securing good actors to interpret his dramatic 
 pieces. For some years he was musical director 
 of the Adelphi Theatre, and in 1836 he attained 
 the same position at Covent Garden. He 
 advocated with much persistence the establish- 
 ment of a National Opera. Two collections 
 of his songs, which were melodious and very 
 popular, were published under the titles " Songs 
 of the Sabbath Eve " and " Songs of the Birds." 
 He married a daughter of Liston, the comedian, 
 but S. C. Hall states that the marriage turned 
 out unhappily. He died at Pimlico in 1852. 
 
 In " Old London Bridge " Rodwell gives us a 
 sensational version of the story of a well-known 
 man of Tudor times. Sir Edward Osborne, 
 sometime Lord Mayor of London and establisher 
 of the fortunes of the ducal house of Leeds. 
 Osborne, who was born about 1530 and lived 
 to the year 1591, was one of the most illustrious 
 of the merchant princes that the City of London 
 has produced. In 1566 or 1567 he succeeded 
 to the mansion, the estates, and the extensive 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 business of his father-in-law, Sir William Hewett, 
 and was soon recognised as one of the wealthiest 
 English merchants. His foreign trade was 
 immense. He became Governor of the Turkey 
 Company, which was afterwards incorporated 
 under the style of " Merchants of the Levant 
 trading to Turkey and Venice," a powerful 
 body that offered to defray the ambassadorial 
 expenses to the Porte in return for their royal 
 charter. He owned lands in several parts of 
 the country, the largest in Yorkshire, although 
 he did not reside there on account of the 
 distance from the capital. He was Sheriff of 
 London in 1575 and Lord Mayor in 1583, when, 
 in accordance with custom, he was knighted by 
 Queen Elizabeth. He was elected to Parlia- 
 ment for the City in 1586. His son, Sir 
 Hewett Osborne, was father of Sir Edward 
 Osborne, Baronet, of Kniveton, in Yorkshire, 
 and the son of the last mentioned was the 
 famous politician of the Restoration and the 
 Revolution, Sir Thomas Osborne, first Duke 
 of Leeds, but most familiarly remembered in 
 history as the Earl of Danby. A graphic 
 picture of that sagacious statesman, at the time 
 of the fictitious Popish Plot and the terrible 
 judicial murders instigated by Titus Oates, is 
 drawn by Emma Robinson in " Whitefriars." 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 A little later than Rodwell's novel, in 1851, 
 the lady known in literature as " Y' Author of 
 ' Mary Powell ' " wrote one of her charming^ 
 little historical studies on this same theme. It 
 is entitled "The Colloquies of Edward Osborne, 
 Citizen and Clothworker of London." Miss 
 Manning keeps more faithfully than Rodwell 
 to the traditional events of the story, which she 
 casts into the form of autobiography, Osborne 
 beginning the narrative of his life on May- Day 
 1547, with the incident of his apprenticing to 
 Hewett. It is not quite certain whether this year 
 or 1 544 is the correct date : Rodwell takes the 
 liberty of making it 1536, in order to bring in 
 Henry VIII.'s persecutions and the arbitrary 
 doings of Lord Cromwell and his myrmidons, 
 all which, of course, are matters quite foreign 
 to the actual history of Hewett and Osborne. 
 The historical events that balance the private 
 story in Miss Manning's version are the death 
 of Edward VI., the ten days' reign of Lady 
 Jane Grey, the accession of Mary, and the 
 savage persecutions that ensued. Many of the 
 traditional incidents of Osborne's life are re- 
 peated in both stories. His famous leap into 
 the Thames from the balcony of the Golden 
 Fleece to save little Anne Hewett is one of 
 these. That gallant feat of their ancestor is 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 commemorated by the Dukes of Leeds in a 
 picture at Hornby Castle, and is represented 
 also in the hall of the Clothworkers' Company. 
 Hans Holbein is said to have been a lodger 
 with the Hewetts soon after their marriage, 
 and to have painted the portrait of Mistress 
 Alice Hewett, who was of great beauty. She 
 does not appear in Miss Manning's story, which 
 represents the merchant as a widower, his sister 
 keeping house for him. Lord Talbot was really 
 Anne Hewett 's suitor and Osborne's rival. 
 How Anne prefers her adopted brother and 
 the man who saved her life to the courtly 
 fortune-hunter is told very charmingly by Miss 
 Manning, and with the subdued humour that is 
 one of her best characteristics. Here is her 
 sketch of this actor in both versions of the 
 story : 
 
 " For good Looks, there was no Fault to 
 find in my Lord : he had that Easiness of 
 Carriage and Manner which I think none but 
 young Lords have. He took not much upon 
 him, considering what he was and with whom -, 
 and, for the Rest, he was pleasant, but not 
 bright. His Hands were womanish for Soft- 
 ness, and I heard from Damaris, who had it 
 from his Men, that one Reason thereof was, he 
 never washed them in cold Water, only dabbed 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 them a little with a soft Napkin. Methought 
 rather than that, I would choose my Hands of 
 a. little coarser Grain. I think he parleyed for 
 a. Quarter of an Hour on the Christian Names 
 of his ancestry, how the Heads of his House 
 had been alternately a Richard and a Gilbert, 
 a Richard and a Gilbert, for I wot not how 
 many Generations ; and then how the Name of 
 George got in, and then of Frauncis, and how 
 he was a George again . - '. flimsy Talk and 
 tedious. Mistress Anne sat wondrous quiet, 
 and once gave me, across the Table, such a 
 Look ! Methought if she were secretly amusing 
 herself, I had no need to be so jealous unto 
 Death as I felt." 
 
 While Miss Manning, by a few delicate 
 touches, manages to give a pleasant aroma 
 of antiquity to the manner and language of the 
 supposed autobiographer, Rodwell frankly casts 
 his dialogue into modern English, going so far 
 even as to put modern slang and modern 
 mispronunciation into the mouths of Tudor 
 Cockneys. On the other hand, he takes great 
 pains to get his antiquarian stage properties 
 right. His pictures of old London — the streets, 
 the great houses, the brave old customs, and 
 the ceremonial usages of holidays and fair days, 
 show that he has studied the history and anti- 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii» 
 
 quities of the City with genuine enthusiasm. 
 A word that occurs repeatedly in his references, 
 to the Bridge, namely, " Sterlings," is explained 
 by Miss Manning : " Then I noted at the Foot 
 of each Pier, strange Projections of Timber- 
 work, and askt my Mother what they were, 
 and she could not tell me. But a Man that 
 overheard me, said they were called Sterlings, 
 and were strong Piles of Wood driven into the 
 Bed of the River. Also he told me the Bridge 
 was sixty Feet above the Water, and that its- 
 Founder, Peter of Colechurch, lay y-buried in 
 the Chapel on the Bridge ; and more he would 
 have added, but for the Interposure of my 
 Mother, who said, ' Come, Child, we linger,' 
 and drew me away." 
 
 Rodwell's historical romance belongs to the 
 same class as those which Harrison Ainsworth 
 was writing contemporaneously with so much 
 rapidity and such enormous profit. The English 
 historical novel began with "Longsword," "The 
 Old English Baron," "The Castle of Otranto," 
 and similar stories, in which the manners, dress,, 
 and other conditions of times long past were 
 adopted merely as the most suitable scenery 
 for a tale of the marvellous and the terrible. 
 Historical fiction has largely retained this 
 character to the present day. It is still the 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 natural field for the romanticist and the writer 
 of melodrama. In spite of many attempts to 
 represent bygone epochs seriously and with as 
 much truth and accuracy as may be, it is still 
 a rare thing comparatively for historical realism 
 to be something more than a cloak and an 
 artifice, as it is triumphantly in " Henry 
 Esmond," "John Splendid," and "Richard 
 Yea-and-Nay." In Ainsworth's long series 
 of romances, despite his painstaking accuracy 
 of chronology and local colour, the Gothic 
 element predominates over the historical. In 
 " Old London Bridge " Rodwell mixes the two 
 in similar proportions, and obtains very similar 
 effects. The crimes of Horton, Spikeley, and 
 the Blear-eyed Bully ; strange beings like the 
 blind Eveline, the mis-shapen Cripple of the 
 Bridge, Nan the Clipper, and the old Witch, 
 and scenes like the burning of London Bridge, 
 the murder in the Cardinal's Hat, and the 
 thieves' fight in the Clink, are just the melo- 
 dramatic things, not without a strong infusion 
 of the grotesque, that Ainsworth, Lytton, 
 and Hugo loved far better than any historical 
 accuracy. 
 
 E. A. B. 
 
 October 1903. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. May-Day in the Olden Time 
 
 II. The Swimming Lesson 
 
 III. The Murder .... 
 
 IV. Sir Filbut Fussy 
 
 V. The Trial .... 
 
 VI. The Execution at Billingsgate 
 
 VII. The Cripple of the Bridge 
 
 VIII. The King and the Merchant 
 
 IX. A Friend in Need 
 
 X. A Lesson in Pronunciation 
 
 XI. A Scene of Horror . 
 
 XII. Death of Sir Filbut Fussy 
 
 XIII. The Abbess of St. Clair . 
 
 XIV. St. Bartholomew's Fair 
 XV. The Meeting at Tybourne 
 
 XVI. Father Beassinjaw in the Cage 
 
 XVII. A Midnight Visitor 
 
 XVIII. Anne Hewet's Narrative . 
 
 XIX. Flight of the Cripple 
 
 XX. Brassinjaw in a New Character 
 
 XXI. A Timely Rescue . i . . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 30 
 
 29 
 
 34 
 
 47 
 
 57 
 
 70 
 
 80 
 
 90 
 
 107 
 
 lai 
 
 132 
 
 146 
 
 158 
 
 170 
 180 
 185 
 197 
 
 2 16 
 219 
 226 
 
XVI 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 CONTENTS */ 
 
 XXII. The Artist 233 
 
 XXIII. The Compact 240 
 
 XXIV. The Lily of the Inn Z49 
 
 XXV. A Mysterious Visitor 354 
 
 XXVI. The Italian 259 
 
 XXVII. The Withered Blossom .... 264 
 
 XXVIII. A Secret Divulged 273 
 
 XXIX. An Attack on the Cottage . . . 280 
 
 XXX. The Abduction 290 
 
 XXXI. Revelations 395 
 
 XXXII. The Recovery.,^ 320 
 
 XXXIII. The Death Struggle 333 
 
 XXXIV. The Marriage 341 
 
 XXXV. Conclusion i . i . . , . 348 
 
OLD LONDON BRIDGE 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire 
 
 Mirth and youth, and warm desire ; 
 
 Woods and groves are of thy dressing, 
 
 Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
 
 Thus we salute thee with our early song, 
 
 And welcome thee, and wish thee long. — Milton. 
 
 YN the street of the Bridge — OLD LONDON 
 jT BEIDGE — upon the afternoon of May-day, 
 1536, not a shop-door was to be seen without 
 its little knot of gossips, laying their heads together 
 in a vain endeavour to solve some important mystery; 
 every window was occupied by two or three, or more 
 heads, piled one above the other, nodding and shaking 
 and locking more wise than those wise heads had ever 
 looked before. 
 
 From the upper windows, apprentice boys, who 
 had not been allowed to go a-maying, seemed to be 
 banging out to dry, so far did their bodies reach 
 down in endeavouring to get within earshot of the 
 wondrous conjectures uttered' by thosfo beneath., 
 
2 EDWABD OSBOBNB. 
 
 Around ono of tlie doors stood a rather larger 
 crowd than tho others; above their heads swung a 
 tremendous sign — called " The Bag of Wool and the 
 Golden Fleece" — and over the ^op to which this 
 sign belonged, was written, in large well-formed 
 letters — 
 " William Hkwbt, Clothwokker and Merchant." 
 
 " Well," said John Catchemayde, the bowyer from 
 next door — "What does honest neighbour Hewet say? 
 I'll wagor the best bow in my shop, that if Master 
 Hewet do but open his mouth, and speak his mind 
 aloud, we shall hear something." This did not appear 
 to be a very hazardous wager, but Catchemayde looked 
 around, with that peculiar expression of countenance 
 which men at times put on when they have a mis- 
 giving of having gone a little too far, and tremble 
 for the consequences; but a knowing twitch of the 
 head, and a slight wink from all the bystanders, as 
 much as to say, " Old birds are not caught with 
 chaff," soon relieved him of his doubt; and Dick 
 Checklocke, the smith, after a rather long and 
 appropriate oath, observed — " No, no, friend Catche- 
 mayde, you don't catch us — we know Master Hewet 
 as well as you do; and well we know that what 
 Master Hewet does say — he does say ; and what 
 Master Hewet doesn't say — he doesn't I " Then in 
 accordance with tho fashion of the time, he sent forth 
 another long oath, something about tho " Beard of 
 St. Vulcan," adding that he'd take Master Hew^t's 
 word, evan before that of his own father confessor. 
 
 Such a wicked assertion made every one in the 
 crowd shudder, which Checklocke observing, crossed 
 himself devoutly, and set his lips off at full galop, but 
 uttered no sound. At the conclusion of this inward 
 confession, he called aloud upon the saints to bear 
 witness that he meant no harm. 
 
 "But I repeat it," chimed ia John Catchemayde. 
 " Yes, I repeat it, what does Master Hewet say ? " 
 
MAT-DAI IN THH OIiDHN TIMB. 3 
 
 The person thus called upon was a tall handsome 
 man, of middle age, with a counteuance whose expres- 
 sion bespoke more of sedateni'ss and steadiaess of 
 tbougbt, than of aught approacbing to brilliancy of 
 imagination. 
 
 His doublet and sleeves were of fine brown broad- 
 cloth, as were also bis upper and netber stocks. But 
 the portion of hia dress which at once bespoke him a 
 man of substance was his black cloak, being well furred 
 with martens' sisins — the gold chain, too, which hung 
 around his neck, also betokened one of no mean 
 wealth ; for martens' fur, and ornaments of gold, such 
 as chains or bracelets, or collars, could be worn by 
 none but such as enjoyed a good clear income of at 
 ha^t two hundred marks a year. A pouch, some- 
 what after the fashion of a lady's reticule of our day, 
 hung by a double silver chain from his girdle, answer- 
 ing all the purposes of a pocket. A square low cap 
 adorned his Lead, and enormously broad-toed shoes 
 were on bis feet. His handsome visage was close 
 shaven, all but the cliin, from which a neatly-trimmed 
 beard was permitted to grow. A smaU. flat white 
 shirt collar, turned down abnut the neck, and a sbort 
 dagger at his side, completed the appearance of honest 
 Master Hewet. 
 
 Master Hewet raised his eyes from off the tablet, 
 upon which he had been setting down memoranda 
 concerning the treasures which then lay around him, 
 and looking into the faces of Catchemayde, Check- 
 locke, and others standing before the open shop front, 
 he heaved a sigh — then shaking his head, again com- 
 menced writing upon the tablet. 
 
 "Quite enough, quite enough !" exclaimed the by- 
 standers. " Let but Master Hewet shake his head, 
 and we all know what that means." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; more trouble, more trouble, my masters !" 
 bawled out Catchemayde ; " and only to think of it 
 happening upon May-day too, when we all wanted to 
 be so happy and merry." 
 
4 BSWABS OSBOBNE. 
 
 "As for myself," said Checklocfce, "I'll have a 
 dance on Mary Overies' green to-day, though they 
 should make me dance upon nothing to-morrow. They 
 may hang me if they like — and, by St. Thomas of the 
 Bridge, we are pretty used to it now-a-days." 
 
 " And shall be more so yet ! ho, ho ! ha, ha ! he, 
 he !" — the last " he, he !" sounding almost like a 
 whistle, as it was screeched out by an ugly cripple, 
 whose voice made all who heard it start suddenly 
 aside, leaving him in an open space exactly before the 
 shop of the G-olden Pleece. 
 
 This cripple was a young man, but whose head was 
 nevertheless nearly bald : the few hairs which were 
 found there were perfectly white, but so stubborn in 
 their nature that they stuck up on end, like so many 
 ueedles in a cushion. He wore the badge of servitude 
 upon his left arm, and that badge bespoke him a ser- 
 vant of the Bridge ; his crippled leg made it necessary 
 to walk by the assistance of a long staff, which, not- 
 withstanding his lameness, he was known full oft to 
 use, and to good purpose, upon tha heads of those who 
 dared offend him. 
 
 It was strange that one, whose laugh and sound 
 of speech resembled so much the peacock's screech, 
 should, if he sang, possess a voice of heavenly sweet- 
 ness : let him but sing, and all his deformities, even 
 all his spite, were, by the power of that spell, forgotten. 
 
 "Tes, ye dainty pets of mother Nature!" he ex- 
 claimed, " ye straight-limbed fools, ye shall bo more 
 and more used to hanging, and burning too, or I 
 know not that master whom Heaven, as we are told, 
 hath placed over you. And there, too, stands hand- 
 some Master Hewet ! But we shall see — we shall— 
 ha, ha ! ho, ho ! he, he ! I shall boil his head yet ! — 
 I shall boil his head yet ! Tes, brother Hewet, I shall 
 boil your head yet ! and, by the blue sky above us, I 
 swear that when I do, I'll drink, and latten on the 
 broth— ha, ha 1 ho, ho ! he, he !— I'll fatten on the 
 broth." Saying this, the cripple began to move away ; 
 
MAT-DAT IN THE OLSEH TIME. 5 
 
 but still, as he went, he oontiaued to mutter, " Tea, 
 yes ; I shall boil his head yet — I shall boil his head 
 yet !" 
 
 "Well," said Catchemayde, but not until .the 
 cripple was quite out of hearing, " Master Hewet must 
 be a sweeter-minded man than I am, to bear the inso- 
 lence of such a cripple ; had he addressed me thus, I 
 would have brained the villain." 
 
 " Like enough, like enough," said Checkloeke 
 — " that is, if his hands had been tied, and his staff in 
 your own ; but you know, as well as most of us, that 
 Willy of the Bridge-gate Tower is no trifling playmate 
 when one comes to handy-cuffs." 
 
 " Tou would cease to be angry," said Master Hewet, 
 now placing his tablet in the pouch by his side, " as I 
 have long since been, and would feel as much pity for 
 tliat poor afflicted soul as I do, were you but as well 
 acquainted with his story as I am. It is now some 
 years since," the honest merchant went on to say, 
 " when—" 
 
 " Eh ! what's that ?" exclaimed Harry Silkworm, 
 the stringer. " Egad, they're coming at last. Huzza ! 
 huzza ! They're coming, they're coming at last !" 
 
 Every eye and every ear was now suddenly turned 
 towards the northern end of the Bridge, whence arose, 
 amidst distant shouts, the sweeter sounds of music. 
 
 The crowd thought no more of Master Hewet, nor 
 of the Cripple's tale, but hurried off to meet the 
 coming throng. 
 
 The cavalcade and vast procession announced by 
 the distant sounds which had so suddenly put a stop 
 to the, no doubt, interesting history of the Cripple, 
 was that of the anxiously-awaited Maypole for St. 
 Mary Overies' Green. 
 
 Great interest had been exerted m the highest 
 quarters, even with the king, to obtain a reversal of 
 the cruel sentence which had doomed to exile the 
 greatest pride of the city, the lofty Maypole, that had 
 lormerly every year reared its proud head upon Corn- 
 
6 EDWAED OfBlRNB, 
 
 hill, but wbich had not been used for now aomo 
 eighteen years — never since the unlucky " Evil May- 
 day" of 1517. So great a riot had then occurred, that 
 the future raising of this mighty shaft was prohibited. 
 It was of such gigautic proporfton^■, that it far o'er- 
 topped the steeple of the neighbouring church, and 
 caused that church henceforth to be denomioated St. 
 Andrew TJndershal"t. Permission had been obtained 
 to raise another on the green of St. Mary Ovaries, a 
 lovely Fpot, not far removed from the southern end of 
 Old Loudon Bridge. 
 
 As the shouts increased, and thus announced the 
 nearer approach of the Maypole, all the ladies of the 
 Bridge btgan to wave kei-chiefs of every colour of the 
 rainbow. 
 
 The head of the procession was led on by a notrd 
 band of morris, or moresque, dancers, whose wild 
 antics, and jingling bells that hung about their legs, 
 gave infinite delight to all who were fortunate enough 
 to witness the disp'ay. 
 
 In one hand each of these daucera held a shortish 
 slick, highly adorned with streaming ribbons of varied 
 hues ; and in the other, the coruer of a bright scarlet 
 handkerchief: these they continually waved about, 
 but all the time dancing with their feet in a fashion 
 perfectly their own. 
 
 "Wherever a smiling female face appi ared at any of 
 the windows, of fairer features than the rest, they all 
 at once pointed their staves towards the spot, making 
 the face more lovely still, by the deep blush their 
 notice had called up ; and then they sang — 
 
 "Prom Moorish lands we come, fair maid, 
 To seek out Beauty's queen j 
 But all our toil is now repaid, 
 Since thy svTeet free we've seen ;" 
 
 and kissing their hands to the beauty, with a merry 
 laugh, moved on to repeat their gallantry a few doors 
 off. 
 
MAT-DAT IN THE OLDIW TIMB. 7 
 
 The first fair dame they had thus singled out was 
 Alyce Hewet, wife to our honest merchant ; and 
 seldom had a fairer face been seen than that of lovely 
 Alyce Hewet : and, yet, beside her stood one, who, 
 although but then a child, gave promise of future 
 loveliness that vi^ould, if ever she arrived at vromau- 
 hood, throw into shade even the sweet features of 
 Dame Alyce, the admitted beauty of the Bridge. 
 
 This child, was the only daughter of merchant 
 Hewet, and not a little proud did he feel upon that 
 day to observe that not a soul pas^d by but made 
 some remark to those most near at band, evidently in 
 admiration of what they saw at the casement of the 
 Golden Fleece. 
 
 Next to the morris dancers came the city trum- 
 peters, decked out in their golden coats of state ; to 
 tliese succeeded the loud-sounding kettle drums; 
 the city arms, most richly worked in gold, ahd silk, and 
 silver, hung down from every instrument. Each pair 
 of drums was slung upon the back of a sturdy clown, 
 who walked before the drummer, and who grinned and 
 laughed as much at the crowd as the crowd grinned 
 and laughed at him. 
 
 Then came some hundreds of apprentice boys, 
 dressed all in their best — their cloaks were new and 
 blue, for the summer months were coming. Their 
 white slops, or breeches, were round, and somewhat 
 loose ; not so their nether hose, the tightly -fitting 
 broad-cloth stockings, which reaching half way up the 
 leg, were sewn to the slops, and being also wkite, 
 seemed all iu one. Each wore a ribbon of the favourite 
 colour of the ward in which their master lived ; their 
 flat caps were all adorned with a sprig of May, and on 
 their shoulders rested tbe far-famed " Prentice Club." 
 
 Close to their heels came the Southwark band of 
 musicians playing upon slilams, and other instruments 
 bearing equally euphonious names, followed by a large 
 party of singing girls, whose voices were well sus- 
 tained bv the pleasing accompaniment of flutes and 
 
8 ESWABD OSBOBNE. 
 
 recorders — that is, large flageolets with theorbos and 
 smaller lutes. After the musicians came a large 
 company of the "Southwark lads," as a guard of honour 
 to the Lord Mayor, Sir Ealph Waren, who, with the 
 Lady Mayoress mounted behind him on a pillion, rode 
 upon a noble cream-coloured charger, whose gallant 
 bearing, and tossing of whose head, evinced hii con- 
 sciousness of the worthy load he bore. The Mayor 
 and his good lady, whose natal day it happened to be 
 had condescended upon this auspicious occasion to 
 become the Lord and Lady of the May. 
 
 Immediately after these came the gorgeous May- 
 pole! 
 
 No less than thirty oxen were employed, two by 
 two, to drag it. The ropes by which they were 
 attached to the machine whereon the Maypole lay 
 were covered with flowers of every kind then in bloom} 
 to each horn of the ox was attached a nosegay of 
 sweet herbs and flowers. 
 
 The Maypole itself, large as the mast of a ship, was 
 painted in twisted bands of various colours. At 
 seve»al parts enormous hoops hung around the shafc, 
 suspended by variegated ribbons, and thickly covered 
 with hawthorn boughs and eglantine, mixed up with 
 roses. These hoops were made to move easily around 
 the pole, and from them hung down long lines of 
 Flora's choicest gifts. 
 
 The two first oxen were entirely white, and had the 
 honour of being led with golden chains fastened to 
 their horns, by the two wardens of the bridge ; the 
 rest were guided by the servants of the Lord Mayor 
 in their state liveries. 
 
 The rear of this long and magnificent procession 
 was guarded by two enormous giants, dressed after 
 the fashion of Q-og and Magog in Q-uildhall, and a 
 joyous, wide-mouthed, waggle-tailed dragon, who ever 
 and anon threw out fiery squibs and crackers amongst 
 the crowd. 
 
 One great feat of fiin was that of all the jesters to- 
 
ItAT-SAY IN THE OlDEN TIME. 9 
 
 gether pulling at the dragon's tail, which being made 
 to give way, whenever the man inside liked to let go 
 the string, they all fell down backwards in a heap. 
 The dragon then would turn indignantly around, and 
 pufiF a quantity of flour from his nostrils, right into 
 the face of any country clown, who, open-mouthed, 
 might be laughmg loudest at the fun. 
 
 Thus, then, moved on the Maypole merry crowd, 
 who, then, as usual upon aU holiday occasions, seemed 
 to forget for a brief space that they lived in a reign 
 of tyranny, deceit, of fire and of blood. 
 
 The moment the eyes of the good folk of the 
 Bridge were opened to the splendid delights pre- 
 paring for them on Saint Mary Overies' Green, it was 
 deemed incumbent upon them to close at once their 
 shops, for who could attend to business at such a time ? 
 
 These shutters were now being quickly lowered — 
 the bolts passed through — then the master and his 
 dame, maids, apprentices and all were seen issuing 
 from the dwellings, and last of all, the careful master, 
 having closed and locked the outward door, was hur- 
 rying after his family, whose anxious haste could 
 brook no delay. 
 
 Almost the last of those who left the Bridge was 
 Master William Hewefc. On hia arm hung his sweet 
 and loving dame, wearing her newest fashioned kirtle 
 of Stamel red, which sliewed full bravely from be- 
 neath her open-fronted gown of lion colour. On her 
 head she wore the French hood which became her 
 mightily. Behind her walked her pretty serving maid, 
 with head uncovered, but whose luxurious hair, 
 plaited in a most coquettish style, was amply adorned 
 with various knots of ribbon, that made her look 
 provokingly agreeable. In her hand she held the 
 lovely child, whom we noticed at the casement of the 
 Golden Meece ; and after them followed the two ap- 
 prentice lads. 
 
 These youths were both tall — both slim — but both 
 strongly framed. 
 
10 EDWAED OSBOBWE. 
 
 The one as fair as day, whose ingenuous open coun- 
 tenance bespoke nought but honour and straight- 
 forward truth — his name was Edward Osborne. 
 
 The other, Henry, or Harry Horton, was proud of 
 his raven locks, and in spite of all commands, would 
 let them grow much longer thaa the law prescribed, 
 OP thaa were ventured to be worn by any other ap- 
 
 Erentice of their ward. His eyes were sparkling 
 right, and black as jet ; and, altogether, in spite of 
 the apprentice garb, the blue cloth cloak, with slops 
 and hose of white, stood out a truly handsome lad. 
 
 The mannei s of these two youths were as unliije as 
 were their features. Osborne, as they walked slowly 
 to the Southwark Green, was ever trying to amuse 
 his master's child, by all the little acts of kindness 
 his youthful fancy could devise. Not so, Harry 
 Horton — all his attention was directed towards the 
 Hebe of a maid, the pretty Flora Gray, who seemed, 
 by sundry side glances, to be upon a footing of vastly 
 good understanding. ■" 
 
 At the moment they arrived upon St. Mary Ove- 
 ries' Green, maidens, almost buried in flowers, had 
 seized the long hanging floral cords which depended 
 from the Maypole hoops, and now were dancing round 
 and round, singing a new May-day verse, written for 
 the occasion by Sir Pilbut Fussy, and in which, at 
 stated times, all the bystanders joiiied, by way of 
 chorus ; and thus it was they sang — 
 
 Maidens — " Wliicli is the sweetest mouth in all the year?" 
 Bystanders — " Why, the merry, merry, merry, merry, merry 
 
 month of May !" 
 Maidens — " When fall the hirds' notes sweetest on the ear?" 
 Bystanders — " In the merry, merry, merry, merry, merry 
 
 month of May!" 
 
 Upon this, twelve young girls advanced towards 
 the seat upon which the lord and lady of the May 
 were enthroned, and as they strewed May-flowers and 
 roses before them, they also sang — 
 
MAT-DAY IN THE OLDEN TIME. ^^ 
 
 •• If May be fairest — if May be Bweeteet — 
 
 If May be birth-time of hope, oh ! then say, 
 Which of the months in the twelve is the meetest 
 To father our fair lady'a own natal day ?" 
 
 Then it was that the whole assembly tlmndered out 
 and danced about like mad, as they exclaimed — 
 
 " Why, the merry, merry, merry, merry, merry month of May," 
 
 Oh, how merrily did they sing it — and how merrily 
 did they dance it ! — and how right merrily did Master 
 Harry Horton appear to foot it away with the poor 
 simple girl. Dame Hewet's maiden, Flora Gray ; while 
 Edward Osborne delighted the good merchant, by 
 dancing and playing with his darling child, the lovely 
 little Anne. 
 
 "We shall not draw too heavily upon the patience 
 of the gentle reader, by detailing all the good haps, 
 nor all the mishaps, which happened upon this happy 
 day — nor how the Duke of Shoreditch, King Henry's 
 mock Duke of Archers, with all his mock marquises, 
 and counts, and earls, and merry men all, challenged 
 the Prince Arthur, another mock, but formally- 
 acknowledged, dignitary, with all his knights of the 
 round table, who had come from Mile End gorgeously 
 attired. 
 
 The law compelling all masters to teach their ap- 
 prentices the bowman's art, a trial of skill took 
 place amongst these young tyros ; but of this we shall 
 give no further account, than to state how Harry 
 Horton missed the butt every shot, and that Edward 
 Osborne hit it no less than four times out of five ; 
 and perhaps he would have hit it the last shot, but 
 just as he let lorse his fifth shaft, a disturbance arose 
 that had nearly put an unpleasant end to all the day's 
 sports. 
 
 The cry of — " A witch ! a witch !" resounded from 
 a crowd of unfeeling lads hard by, who were quickly 
 headed and encouraged by Harry Horton, to hunt a 
 poor old woman. She screamed, and cried for mercy ; 
 
12 ebwabs osbobke. 
 
 the more hopeless her state, the more the shouts and 
 laughter increased ; they bade her " run for her life, 
 or she should be ducked tiLL she drowned." Harry 
 Horton cried out — " Tie her by the legs, and drag 
 her to the pond," 
 
 At this moment Edward Osborne dasbed into the 
 middle of the crowd, club in hand, and standing over 
 the poor old woman, who had sunk upon the earth, 
 he, with about three swings of his formidable weapon, 
 in an instant cleared a space of some yards around 
 him. — " Tou cowardly curs !" exclaimed young Ed- 
 ward, his mild eyes now flashing fire as he spoke ; " is 
 an old woman the only game you have the courage to 
 hunt ? Now, mark me, ail of you — if but one dare 
 advance a single step, until I have raised this poor 
 old soul, and put her in a place of safety, by my 
 master's honour, and that's my own, I'U fell him to 
 the ground!" 
 
 " Hollo ! young champion of the young anifair," 
 roared out Harry Horton, laughing aloud, and then 
 added, in a savage tone, " let her alone, or we let 
 not you alone, or if you must have a bout at fisty- 
 cuffis, have at you." Saying this, he, with two others, 
 who were now armed with their clubs, rushed forward 
 upon Edward, as he was at that moment stooping 
 down to assist the wretched woman. What might 
 have been his fate, thus taken at disadvaotage, we 
 know not, but just in the very nick of time, up 
 sprang two new friends to the weaker side, and in a 
 moment more, Horton and bis valiant comrades 
 found themselves grovelling in the dust. 
 
 One of the new comers turned out to be our 
 newly-made acquaintance, the Cripple of the Bridge, 
 the other was a ragged youth, who having dexter- 
 ously disarmed Harry Horton, knocked him down 
 with his own club: the cripple had settled the 
 other two. 
 
 " Come, mother, come," said the ragged lad, " I 
 kuowed you'd get into trouble if you comed here." 
 
MAT-SAT IN THE OLDBN TIMX. 18 
 
 " Take her away quickly," said Edward ; " remove 
 her while she is safe, and I, and our sturdy friend 
 here, will keep the rabble back." 
 
 " Give me your hand," said the cripple, addressing 
 Edward Osborne, " I'll shake bands with you — but 
 it's not every hand I would shake — but you are a 
 brave lad, and a kind — you have a heart, and that is 
 more than we can find ia every breast ; yes, you have 
 a heart, for you will befriend the old — even the ugly. 
 I would that you had a better master." 
 
 " "Where shall we find one ?" replied Edward ; " his 
 equal does not exist in London town." 
 
 " Good aa you think him," said the cripple, chuck- 
 ling, " I shall boil his head yet," and again he 
 laughed. 
 
 As Edward turned about to rejoin his master, he 
 was accosted by the poor ragged lad, who having 
 found a shelter for the old woman, now returned 
 to ofier his simple, but heartfelt thanks. 
 
 After making a thousand bows and scrapes, he 
 said — " I vish I vos a gentleman born and bred — for 
 then I would ask to take your hand, I am so grateful 
 for what you have done to-day. That poor old 
 woman, Master Edward, for I knows who you are 
 vel enough, is my old mother, and I love her more 
 than my life." 
 
 "Well, then," said Edward, smiling, giving him 
 his hand, " a lad who loves his mother as you seem 
 to do, cannot be a bad fellow at bottom ; but I owe 
 you much more thanks than you do me. I know 
 the spite of my scowling brother apprentice there ; 
 but for you he'd have cracked my head or his own 
 club, I'll swear. I know that I have given him 
 mortal ofience by my good luck with the long bow. 
 But tell me, who and what are you, since you know 
 who I am ?" 
 
 " Vy," replied the lad, " I'm not exactly a prince, 
 a3 you may see with half an eye, nor am I beggar : 
 I keeps open house at the foot of Old Swan Lane, 
 
14 EDWABS OSBOBITE. 
 
 and lots of lords and ladies, and nobles does come 
 to see me, I can tell you, and takes me by the arm. 
 Vy, I've been the support of hundreds on 'em." 
 
 " Speak more plainly, there's a good fellow," said 
 Edward, not at all 'comprehending what the lad 
 could possibly mean. 
 
 " ^y> yo^ 8^6« ^'^'^ ^^^y owes their support to me 
 is this— I keeps a board for 'em to valk on from the 
 shore to their boats." 
 
 " Oh, I understand you now," said Edward ; "you 
 are a Jack-ia-the water." 
 
 " Yes," replied the other, " I'm a Jack-wt-the- 
 vorter, but I'm a ViUiam out on it." 
 
 " Then your name, I suppose, is William," inquired 
 Osborne ; " but have you no other ?" 
 
 " To be sure I have ; I've three names altogether," 
 replied the lad; "I'm Jack — I'mVilliam — and I'm 
 Billy the Bridge-shooter !" this last he uttered with 
 evident feelings of pride. 
 
 "BUly the Bridge-shooter! that's an odd name," 
 observed Edward ; " how came you by that ?" 
 
 "Tou see," said the other, " almost all men in this 
 vorld exctls iu summut, and my summut vos found 
 out almost as soon as I vos born." 
 
 " Indeed ! and pray what might it be ?" 
 
 " Vy, I vos born corky." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Edward, completely taken by 
 surprise. 
 
 " Vot ! vy, corky. You knows vot a cork is, I 
 suppose ? Veil, then, I vos born corky — that is, I'm 
 Eo uucommon light, that if you throws me into the 
 vorter, old Kick himself c^^n't make me sink." 
 
 "Your definition of the term," said Edward, 
 smiling, " is per'ectly satisfacl ory ; but may I ask 
 you," and Edward again smiled, " may I ask how 
 your corkiness Was first discovered ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you how it happened ; and if I hadn't 
 been born corky, I shouldn't a been here now to tell 
 you Tot I'm going to tell you. Veil then— mother 
 
MAT-DAT IN THE OLDBN IIMB. 15 
 
 V08 ill in bed, and fast asleep. Father vos a blind 
 man, but uncommon clever in household concerns, and 
 alvays looked arter the cooking — and such a cook he 
 was — " 
 
 " But if he were blind," said Edward, " how could 
 he see which things he wanted." 
 
 " Oh, that vos easy enough ! he used to stick his 
 fiuger into all the things vun arter the other, and suck 
 it, uniil he corned to the vun he vanted. Now, he 
 and mother were dotiigly fond of boiled sucking-pig, 
 and on the day I'm speaking on, father, who had been 
 drinking a leetle more than he ought to have done, 
 and bad made me drink a leetle drop too, just to keep 
 me quiet while he vos at his cooking, laid me down 
 dead asleep on the table, by the side of the pig : oflf 
 he goes — back he comes vitli the only saucepan ve 
 had, vhich vos an uncommon large 'un — fills it half 
 full of vorttT— pops it on the fire — pops me into it, 
 instead of the pig, and ti.ea pops on the lid. As I 
 happened to go in flat on my back, there I floated 
 safe enough, for nothing can ;uake me sink. By-and- 
 by, as you may suppose, the vorter began to get 
 rather too vorm to be pleasant ; and then, oh, my 
 viskers ! didn't I begin to bawl, and kick about ? Off 
 vent the lid — splash veut the vorter — mother began 
 to scream out that the devil vos in the pot — in rushed 
 the neighbours to larn the cause of such alarm ; vhen, 
 fortunately, vun on 'cm, happening to be a priest, 
 who didn't care for the devil or all his imps, volked 
 boldly up to the saucepan, and took me out, to the 
 astonishment of all. It vos soon settled, that I bad 
 been bevitched, and changed, for a time, into a pig, — 
 the real vun the priest took avay vith him to his own 
 bouse, declaring that — ' He vomd first roast the evil 
 fiend,' as he called the pig, ' and then dewour it ;' and 
 ve have every reason to believe he did. And now, 
 master Edward, do you think I am wrong in saying I 
 vos born corky. It's because I'm corky, I'm called 
 the Bridge-shooter. Yen a boatman's afiaid to go 
 
16 EDWA.BD OBBOBlirfi. 
 
 through by himself, vy, I shoots through vith him. 
 If I happens to shoot him into the vorter, I shoots 
 in arter him, and picks him up, fev nothing can make 
 me sink. By-the-by, a thought has just struck me — 
 can you svim ?" 
 
 "Not like a fish !" said Edward; "no, I have 
 often tried, but always to but little purpose." 
 
 "That," replied Billy the Bridge-shooter, "is be- 
 cause you have never been properly teached. Now 
 vill you make me downright happy ?" 
 
 " How can I do that ?" said young Osborne. 
 
 "Vy, let me lam you to keep your head above 
 vorter — it's an uncommon useful hart. Tou have 
 saved my old mother's life, and do now, let me teach 
 you to save your own. In a single veek, you shall 
 be as corky as I am." 
 
 " "Well, I must confess," said Edward, " that is a 
 temptation not easily to be withstood ; and, upon one 
 condition, I accept your offer — you must let me pay 
 you for it." 
 
 " You've paid me afore hand all I means to take," 
 replied the other. "No, no, svim for love; and pay 
 me, if you likes, for any other little artful dot I may 
 teach you." 
 
 The expression, "dot," he evidently used in the 
 manner we, nowadays, employ that elegant little 
 word, " dodge •" but we have no doubt that, to the 
 " gents " of those days, it was equally expressive and 
 intelligible. 
 
 And so it was soon arranged, to the great delight 
 of Billy the Bridge-shooter, that, every morning at 
 daybreak, young O ahorse should take his swimming 
 lesson. 
 
 With this understanding, they separated; Jack-o'- 
 the-water was soon lost in the crowd, and Edward 
 hastened to rejoin his master and mistress. 
 
 The moment he came within sight of them, be per- 
 ceived that something had gone amiss; his master 
 looked angrily — his mistress snatched back thq child, 
 
MAT-DAT IN THK OLBEIT TIME. 17 
 
 who had made a movement, as if to rua and meet her 
 playmate. 
 
 Poor Osborne, who, in spite of all his endeavours, 
 had never yet been able to ingratiate himself fully 
 into the good favour of his mistress, saw now, by her 
 looks, that he was, from some cause or other, lower 
 than ever in her estimation. 
 
 Tue truth was, that Harry Horton had been before- 
 hand, and made his own story good, by reversing the 
 whole facts of the case. Tears actually came into 
 Horton's eyes, as he related Osborne's cruel *«rn of 
 mind, that could feel delight in afflicting the aged 
 and infirm. " Why doss he not," he continued, " do 
 as I do ? — why does he not associate more with the 
 good father of St. Thomas-of-the-Bridge, instead of 
 always being with such thieves as that lad who at- 
 tends the boats at the Swan-stairs? they are alwaya 
 together— always! And only to think, now, — look 
 there, you can see them both-^but alas ! they are 
 always together. Good heavens!" he ejaculated, as 
 if a sudden thought had seized him ; and then con- 
 tinuing, as though he had been merely thinking 
 aloud — " But, no, no ! that cannot be ! — and, yet — " 
 
 "Yet, what?" exclaimed Alyce, with anxiety, 
 " speak plainly ; for myself, I have always doubted 
 the sincerity of young Osborne ; the more so since 
 our saintly father, Brassinjaw, first pointed out to me 
 that such unceasing propriety of conduct and such 
 uiivarung attent'on to his every duty, formed an un- 
 erring proof of inward hypocrisy !" 
 
 " Why," said Harry Horton, "" it suddenly flashed 
 across my miud, seeing what I have just witnessed — 
 but Heaven grant 1 may be wrong — that it was 
 within the pale of possibility, that Edward and that 
 ragged ruffian might be found to know more of the 
 robbery at my good master's house, and for which a 
 poor fellow, whom I sincerely believe to be as inno- 
 cent as I am, is now in jail, and should the trial go 
 against him, will be hanged. Tou know," he con- 
 
18 BDWAED OSBOKKE. 
 
 tioued, " that it was Edward who first discovered tha 
 robbery, which had been so ingeniously contrived, 
 that little short of previous knowledge of what was 
 to be done, could have detected it. He was ever the 
 enemy of the poor fellow now in prison, and the 
 sworn friend of the only witness upon whose evidence 
 the life of the accused will hang. Now, putting this 
 and that together, it strikes me that much truth 
 might be elicited, could you obtain permission but for 
 a lew minutes to put him to the rdck." 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" exclaimed the merchant, indig- 
 nantly. "What ! give the son of my oldest and best 
 of friends to the torture, for the sake of a paltry 
 pieee or two of cloth of gold ? Eather would I toss 
 the whole of the contents of the Golden Pleece into 
 the Thames !" 
 
 " I only spoke for the best, master," said Horton ; 
 " and I am sorry, now, I have spoken at all ; forget 
 what I have said — I dare say I am wrong — and no 
 doubt a friendly squeeze of the hand means any thing 
 but familiarity." As he said this, he pointed rather 
 insolently towards the distance, exactly at the mo- 
 ment Edward was giving his hand to the grateful 
 ragged lad. " I s'lall live an enviable life when he 
 shall come to know all I have said." 
 
 "But he shall know nothing of what you have 
 said," replied Alyce ; " you aie a good youth and a 
 worthy, and shall not be exposed to the ill will of 
 any one : and now, Henry, you may go and join the 
 merry-makers." 
 
 " No, mistress," he replied ; " I will home to my little 
 room, and prepare myself for to-morrow's confea- 
 sion." 
 
 As he retired, he looked first at Alyce, then sighed 
 gently, and casting his eyes up to heaven, he looked 
 once more, then wended his way towards the bridge. 
 
 Poor Flora Gray looked after him in vain; he 
 seemed to have forgotten that such a person had ever 
 existed ; she blushed too, but her blush was felt, waa 
 
MAT-DAT IN THE OLDEN TIMB. 19 
 
 understood, and with it camo a frown, tov slie was 
 angered at his neglect. 
 
 As Harry Ilortou hurried along, he let loose to 
 his ill feelings in low murraurings. "So, so!" said 
 he ; "I think I have sown some seeds this day in 
 Master Oshome's path, that shall ere long grow up 
 and bear a plenteous harvest of poisonous thorns. 
 He seems born to be my rock-a-head. I wish," he 
 went on, " that simpleton, Plora Gray, would be less 
 fond. I only flirted with her because I thought she 
 could worm out her mistress's secrets ; and now, for- 
 Booth, she thinks I'm over head and ears iu love with 
 her, and looks to be my wife — ha, ha ! a pretty wife 
 for Harry Horton ! I want no wife — at least of my 
 own. No, no ! I want fame and fortune ; and I'll 
 have them, or the gallows." 
 
 The High-street of Southwark was at that time 
 composed principally of large inns, and the most 
 notorious was the Tabard, opposite Sb. Margaret's 
 Hill, the well-known tavern at which Chaucer and 
 his pilgrims to Canterbury slept the night before they 
 started on their holy journey. As night came ou, 
 numerous bonfires were lighted, and it was before 
 this inn now burned the largest bonfire of the whole, 
 and around it danced the biggest crowd of madcap 
 maids and boys. 
 
 As time flew on, the more sober-minded citizens, 
 one by one, with their dames and children, left this 
 wild but highly picturesque scene of frantic revelry. 
 
 The strongest, reluctantly, were soon subdued, and 
 laggingly strolled homeward to their welcome beds. 
 The fires themselves seemed tired out at the roaring 
 life they had led, and sinldng by degrees became, 
 what all things that have lived must become — dust. 
 And thus ended that mtrry May -day on Mary 
 Overies' lovely green. 
 
20 EDWABD OSBOENE. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 THE SWIMMING LESSON. 
 
 Iheie saw I £rst the dark imagining 
 
 Of felony — and all the compassing ; 
 
 The cruel irfe, red as any glede ; 
 
 The pick-pursfe, and eke the palfe drede 
 
 Conteke with bloody knife, and sharp menJioe! 
 
 AU full of chirking was that sorry place. 
 
 Ceavceb. 
 
 Thick clouds overspread the heavens, and all around 
 was dark and drear. The cataracts beneath the 
 bridge were at their greatest fall, and came down 
 thundering and raging, as though Old Pather Thames 
 was struggling to dash in pieces the mighty chain 
 which Peter of Colechurch had thrown across him ! 
 
 The old bell of St. Paul's had just proclaimed that 
 the twelfth hour of night had passed away for ever, 
 when a glimmering light might be perceived issuing 
 from the small opening to be found in the basement 
 of Master Hewel's house, which stood exactly over 
 the fifth arch — then for a moment it was obscured — 
 then it shone forth again : and now might be dis- 
 cerned the shadowy form of a man descending by 
 a rope upon the sterling beneath — it was Harry 
 Horton. 
 
 Taking from his breast a small silver tube, he placed 
 <t to his lips and sent forth one long shrill whistle ; 
 but, loud as it was, it could scarcely be heard above 
 the falling waters, and yet it must have reached the 
 intended ear, for instautly a window over the centre 
 of the sixth arch opened, and another rope was let 
 down, at the end of which was fastened a small ship 
 lantern ; this was wavered from side to side, until it 
 reached the hand of Horton, who, twisting the end 
 
TEH BWIMMIirCt LESBOK. 21 
 
 of the rope round his nrist;, with a determined bound 
 Bwung across the flood, and landed upon the opposite 
 sterling. Prom this sterling a rude ladder led to the 
 house above. Before he mounted, he said to the maii 
 who was looking down upon hira — " Has he come ?" 
 
 " Not yet," was the reply ; " but he cannot now be 
 long. There are some half-dozen merry blades here ; 
 80 up, and be as merry as they." 
 
 Horton ascended, and once more found himself in 
 the well-known lower drinking-room of the " Car- 
 dinal's Hat," the public of worst repute upon the 
 bridge. 
 
 Amongst the half dozen ill-looking fellows who sat 
 around a large flaggon of sweet ale, mixed with 
 ardent spirits, was one, who had better, for his own 
 credit, bave been elsewhere — it was no less a per- 
 sonage than the saintly Father Brasainjaw ! 
 
 It was at these midnight meetings that Horton 
 used to gather from this drunken priest the secrets 
 of all his neighbours, and which he treasured up, in- 
 tending, as time should serve, to turn them to his 
 own account. 
 
 The excuse father Brassinjaw made for being there 
 this evening, was that he had seen the newsman come 
 iu ; and that he, like all the dwellers on the bridge, 
 was anxious to learn the real cause of their recent 
 alarm. 
 
 Just as Horton entered, the newsman, a ragged, 
 unwashed fellow, was standing in the midst of the 
 dirty room, relating what was pretty nearly the 
 truth — that — how he had just come from Greenwich, 
 where there had been a tournament — and how that 
 the King's Highness was there, and Nan BuUen too 
 (for so the common people usually called the Queen), 
 and how her brother Lord Eochford and Harry Norris 
 fought — and that how Nan dropped her kerchief, and 
 how Norris took it up and kissed it, pretending to 
 wipe his face — and how the King, swearing a dreadful 
 oath, jumped up, and mouuting his horse, galloped 
 
22 EDWAED OBBOENE. 
 
 off to London, attended only by six gentli.mon — and 
 bow Eochford, and Norris, and Sir Francis Western 
 ■were all arrested — and that how Wan BuUen fainted, 
 and bow it was said that all was a planned thing 
 against Nan, because the King bad a liking for Jenny 
 Seymour — and bow that she would be queen and Nan 
 be burnt to death. 
 
 " And serve her right," roared out Brassinjaw, in 
 rather an unsteady voice ; — " she's a heretic, and de- 
 serves to be burnt ; and so I would have told the 
 King to his face, bad I seen bim go by." 
 
 " Neither you, nor any man living, had dared to 
 wag a tongue," said the best, " had you seen him. 
 He came upon us, too, so unawares, that not a soul 
 upon the bridge, save Master Hevret, who's always 
 sure to be on the right side of the bedge — no, not 
 one of U3 flopped down upon our knees as he went 
 past. I hope the not bending of our knees may not 
 prove the breaking of our necks." 
 
 The discourse was here put an end to, as far as 
 Horton was concerned, by the entranco of the man 
 he had been so anxiously awaiting ; the man took no 
 notice of any one there save Horton, to whom be 
 made a sign, and lifting up the trap-door, they both 
 descended to the sterling beneath the arch of the 
 bridge. 
 
 " "Well," said Horton, " have your seen him ?" 
 
 " I have," replied the other, " a white-livered cur, 
 as be is ! Why, he has no more pluck than a linnet ; 
 be swears, rather than die, he'll bang us all — a nice 
 friend that, is'nt he ? So beautifully as you bad 
 planned the robbery too, it must have fallen upon 
 Osborne; and then for that bungliag fool to get us 
 all into this mess— I could hardly keep my pawB 
 quiet as I looked at him." 
 
 " It is useless railing thus — what is to be done ?" 
 said Horton : " I thought that if he were once 
 executed, we were all safo enough ; but if he means 
 to peach " 
 
THB SWIMMING LESBOS'. 28 
 
 "Why, they'll hang us up like rats," said the 
 other ; " there have been too many robberies of late, 
 for 'em to let one of us escape. Now, his plan is 
 this — he swears that he will not epeak out until the 
 Inst moment — so that if we put Wallace, the weaver, 
 out of the way, there is no o'.hor evidence that can 
 scrag our cowardly friend : Osborne ought not to ap- 
 pear, but his evidence does not carry death with it, 
 and it is death only that Miles so fears." 
 
 " I will provide for Osborne, somehow or other," 
 sa'd Horton ; " but as to murdering the weaver, I 
 don't like it— a man's blood they say never dries up — 
 and it's an awkward sight to be always seeing the red 
 spots dancing before one's eyes." 
 
 " Necessity, even the prieata confess, has no law," 
 retorted tlie other ; " and besides, if we do take one 
 life, we save another, so that strikes tlie balance — 
 doesn't it ? and I'll answtr for it, tliat Father Brass- 
 injaw won't be over hard upon us at confession, if 
 we do tlie haudsome.'' 
 
 After several plans had been proposed by Ilorton, 
 short of murder, and rejected by his companion, they 
 parted, Horton, as a sort of excuse to his own con- 
 science, continuing up to the last to affirm, that he 
 would never assent to the taking of life, but inwardly 
 hoping all the while, that his own safety might yet 
 be secured, by the other resting upon his own head 
 the whole weight and guilt of sheddinu; innocent blood. 
 
 A few minutes more, and Ilorton had again twistea 
 . the rope round his wrist — again had leaped the raging 
 torrent, aud once more had crept in through the 
 window of his tjleeping-room. 
 
 Poor Osborne, who until this night had never 
 known what it was to lie awake scarcely a moment 
 after his head had been placed upon his pillow, now 
 found himself restless and uneasy. lie could in no 
 way account fur the strange coolness of his master, 
 and the undisguised displeasure of his mistress — even 
 the smiling Flora Gray had now no smile for him. 
 
24 BSWABS OSBOBNE. 
 
 He had fallen into an uneasy slumber when he felt 
 himself violently shaken, and opening his eyes he 
 started up in bed, bewildered and astonished, for 
 there he beheld his master with a lamp in his hand 
 standicg by his bedside. 
 
 " Hush !" said the merchant, placing his finger 
 upon nis lip ; " get up quickly, but silently. Take 
 this letter to where it is addressed — take this money, 
 too, for you must hire a boat. Your further instruc- 
 tions will be given you at the end of your journey. 
 There is the key of the outward door. I would have 
 none here, not even my wife, know of your going 
 until you be fairly gone." Saying this the merchant 
 extinguished the lamp and left the room. 
 
 A few minutes saw Osborne fully prepared. He 
 placed the letter and the purse carefully in his pouch, 
 and with the key in one hand and bis shoes in 
 the other, the apprentice descended the stairs as 
 stealthily as the merchant hsd done a few minutes 
 before. 
 
 Although Osborne placed the key in the lock with 
 all the care of a professed housebreaker, yet the lock 
 would creak, and the hinges of the door seemed to 
 say — "Where there is secrecy there is guilt." At all 
 events Osborue felt uncomfortable for a moment, nor 
 did he quite recover his composure until he had 
 hurried on nearly half across the bridge. As he ap- 
 proached the Southwark end of the bridge, he fancied 
 he heard the sound of a lute, us if descending from 
 the skies ; but his head was so full of the strange 
 visit of his master, that he at first believed it to be 
 but the creation of an overheated imagination — but 
 no ! at every step the sound increased. He had 
 gained the opening of the Bridge-gate Tower, adorned 
 as it then wsb by the withering heads of those who 
 had fallen, sacrificed to the hate or vengeance of a 
 blood-thirsty tyrant. 
 
 The sound of the lute suddenly ceased, and Osborne 
 Btarted ; for in the uncertain light of the coming dfty, 
 
THE STTIMMINO LESSON. 26 
 
 he fancied he saw one of the heads descend from the 
 tall spike on which it had stood, and gaze down upon 
 him from the parapet of that tower of deatb. In a 
 moment more, aud the sound of his own name struck 
 upon his ear. " It is well," said the voice from the 
 tower, " it is well ; hut whither goest thou this way P" 
 
 Edward for an instant stnod spell-bound, but was 
 soon relieved from his fright by hearing the well- 
 known screechiug laugh of the Cripple of the Bridge. 
 " Be not afraid, lad — it is I, thy friend, here snug at 
 home, surrounded by my children," and he pointed 
 up to the ghastly heads ; " they are poor quiet souls 
 now, aud give but little trouble to any one. But 
 tell me, whither goest thou ?" 
 
 " I know not, Willy," replied Osborne, at once re- 
 covering himself, and now remembering that in his 
 hurry to obey his master's commands, he bad taken 
 the worst of all methods of doing so, for he had 
 forgotten to read the address upon the letter; he 
 drew it forth, and was about to answer the cripple's 
 question, when his master's injunction recurred to 
 him: "quickly and M7ew%," he murmured; tl:en 
 aloud he said — " cannot tell thee, "Willy — that is, I 
 must not — so fare thee well." 
 
 "Ha, ha ! ho, ho ! he, he— 1" laughed the Cripple. 
 " Eight, boy, right, do as the vrorld does ; turn your 
 back upon your friends when you don't want them." 
 Osborne had turned to retrace his steps, finding his 
 orders indicated an opposite direction. 
 
 " Go thy way in peace," said the Cripple ; " thou 
 hast my blessing — all is ready for thee ; he has been 
 waiting an hour past; if you would be safe, be 
 quick." 
 
 Osborne, scarcely heeding what the other said, 
 started at a run, and soon reached the Old Swan 
 Stairs. Now he was more astonished than ever, for 
 there stood Billy the Bridge-shooter, anxiously wait- 
 ing in one of the best boats, ready to push off at a 
 momeut's notice. " Be quick. Master Edward," eiud 
 
26 BDWAED OBBOHNE. 
 
 the lad ; " it is broad daylight, and we should haye 
 been a couple of miles above bridge ere this." 
 
 Edward jumped into the boat ; the Bridge-shooter 
 pushed off into the middle of the stream, and seizing 
 the oars, in a minute more they were well upon 
 their course. 
 
 Osborne looked back upon the bridge, and thrre 
 plainly saw the cripple running from one to the other, 
 shaking all the tall poles with their ghasbly htad^ 
 upon them, as if in token of his approval at Edward's 
 departure. " It vill be a heavy pull, Mastfr Edward," 
 said the lad, "vhen the tide turns; for it's more nor 
 a mile, T gue?s, to Putney, isn't it ?'' 
 
 " Putney !" said Osborne, surprised ; " how knew 
 you I was thither bound ?" 
 
 " Vy, didn't you tell me so," replied the other ; 
 '•' that is, the boy you sent vith the money did." 
 
 " I sent no boy, nor money either 1" 
 
 " Didn't; you, though ! Veil, then, hosr could I a 
 hired this boat, do you think, if you had not ? And 
 how could I a guetsed that I vos to be at the Swan- 
 stairs, instead of the Southwark tide, as ve settled ; 
 and voa then to row you to Putney ?" 
 
 " As you seem to know more of my affairs than I 
 do myself," said Oaborne, " perhaps, too, you can 
 tell me to tohom I am going ?" 
 
 " To be sure I can," was the reply ; " ve're a going 
 to old daddy Cromvell, Lord Tnomas's father — the 
 blacksmith that vos — the brewer vot is, and precious 
 nice ale he does brew — there's no pizen in that ; no, 
 no ; all pure malt — no hops there ; no, njr no brim- 
 stone neither." 
 
 It appears almost incredible that a time could ever 
 have been when hops, so highly valued now, so care- 
 fully trained and cultured in our days, for the sole 
 purpose of adding value to our far-famed London 
 porter, were considered a vile adulteration, and laws 
 were actually passed making it a heavy crime for 
 brewers to mix either hops or brimstone with their malt. 
 
IHB SWIMUIN'a lEBSOK. 27 
 
 The 8un was shining out magnificeutly, and as 
 Billy the Bridge-Bhooter had already liad a good pull, 
 Osborne, who was himself a good watermim, in- 
 sisted upon taking his turn at tlie oars. His attempt 
 gained great praise from his companion, who declared 
 " that if he would but feather his oars a leetle more, 
 there were few commoners " (by wliich he meant net 
 professed watermau) "who cuuld beat him." 
 
 They had reached Chelsea, opposite the old clmrch, 
 and steering to the Battersea side, they landed in the 
 fields, and were soon seated upon the luxuriant grass, 
 discussing for breakfast the contents of a certain 
 basket the Bridge-shooter had drawn from the stern 
 of the boat. 
 
 After Ihey had thoroughly rested themselves, no- 
 thing would satisfy William, as Osborne now called 
 the Bridge-shooter, but he must give the .ai prentice 
 some idea of what swimming was. In a few minutes 
 more and he was fl.iating like a fish upon t!;e silver 
 Thames. First Le swam on one side, then on the 
 otber— then he turned over head and heels, aud per- 
 formed a thousand strange antics ; now his head was 
 above the water, now his heels — and now he disap- 
 peared altogether. At last he said — " Masier Edward, 
 pick up a stone that you will know again, and chuck 
 it as far as eyer you can into the vorter." 
 
 Osborne did as he was directed, and William kept 
 his eye steadfastly fized upon the spot where it had 
 descended, and swimming there, disappeared beneath 
 the tide. 
 
 So long did he remain under the water, that Os- 
 borne at last became dreadfully alarmed ; he hurried 
 to tiie boat, not knowing what to do for the best, 
 when, just as he was putting his foot upon it — nei 
 more than three yards from him, up rose the lad, 
 with the large stone held between his teeth. 
 
 "There, Master Edward, you see I can svim as 
 veil vith my head under vorter as above it. Tou see 
 I vent down there, and I corned up here ; that's vot 
 
28 SSWABD OgBOBN^E. 
 
 I calls syimming ; and you shall do all that too, in 
 less nor a veek, or my name's not Villiam." 
 
 The Bridge-shooter insisted upon Osborne com- 
 mencing his lessons that very hour ; and while he wa? 
 preparing, he said — " Remember, all men are raucli 
 more corky than they thinks ; and it's not so easy to 
 siok, as vua imagines. To keep your head above 
 vorter, keep your arms under it. Ven you vont to 
 dive, stick your cliin into your chest ; and ven you 
 vonts to come up a<;ain, throw your head back, and 
 up you pops. Strike veil out with your arms, your 
 legs, and your feet, all at vunce, and never be afraid — 
 it's fear vot drowns a man, not the vorter. Now, 
 I'll lead ypu gently out into deep vorter ; turn your 
 face right up to the skies, and you vill see how easy 
 it is to float as upright as a dart." 
 
 So much confidence had Edward in his instructor, 
 that he obeyed him implicitly; and, to his infinite 
 satisfaction, he found all the lad had told him come 
 to pass. 
 
 So pleased was Osborne with the advance be bad 
 made, aud so charmed was the instructor with his 
 own cleverness in teaching, and his pupil's aptness in 
 learninn;, that both entered their boat in the highe-t 
 state of mutual satisfaction. 
 
 Having safely conveyed them to Putney, where olJ 
 Walter Cromwell received Edward with a hearty wel- 
 come, telling hira, that all his old friend Hewet 
 desired in his letter should be done ; and having 
 given orders to make Edward's humble frietid com- 
 fortable for that night, we must there leave them for 
 awhile, and return once more to Olb LokduK 
 Bbii)&£. 
 
IHE UTTBDHB. 29 
 
 OHAPTBB III. 
 
 XH£ MITBSEB. 
 
 Wh»t needeth it, therefore, to sermon more ? 
 Ifor right, as they had cast his death before, 
 Bight, 80 they have him slain. 
 
 Chaitosb. 
 
 MoEB than a week had now passed away, and young 
 Osborne's absence had scarcely been noticed in the 
 house of Master Hewet. There seemed to be an 
 implied understanding that his name was not to be 
 mentioned. The merchant had told his dame that ha 
 had sent him upon a little business, and it would 
 have been unbecoming in a dutiful wife, like Alyce 
 Hewet, to have ventured further question. Horton 
 chuckled at his own supposed cleverness, believing 
 he knew, even belter than the merchant, where 
 Edward really was. The little Anne was the only 
 one who evinced any sorrow at his long absence ; but 
 she was easily pacified, when her father foretold her 
 playmate's speedy return. 
 
 As the day for the trial of Miles, the robber, drew 
 near, Horton became more and more rervous : he 
 thought, that if Wallace, the weaver, had been found 
 missing, which his guilty soul translated, murdered, 
 his master must have been apprised of it, ere this, and 
 could not have kept such a circumstance a secret. 
 
 For several nights past Harry Horton had waited 
 for hours in the lower drinking-room of the " Cardinal's 
 Hat," but the man with whom he there met before, 
 came not. On the last night but one before the trial, 
 his anxiety had reached a pitch of the greatest mental 
 suffering. Continually did he keep muttering to 
 himself — " Something must be wrong — something 
 must be wrong." At last a heavy foot was heard 
 descending the stairs— the door flew open, and there 
 
30 ESWATII) OSfiOaSE. 
 
 tbe long-expected villain stood. The name this wortty 
 bore amongst his pals was Blear-eyed Bully ; he had 
 gained this inelegant, but truly appropriate appellation, 
 from his reckless bearing, and from the circumstance 
 of his eyes protruding to a frightful and unnatural 
 extent. 
 
 " What, in the devil's name,'' said Horton, unable, 
 at the moment, to govern his temper, " has kept you 
 so long away ?" 
 
 " What, in the devil's name," retorted the other, 
 " caused you to send your bloodhounds on a wrong 
 scent ? But this is no place to talk of our affairs." 
 Not waiting a reply, he lifted the trapdoor, and, fol- 
 lowed by Horton, di seen ded to their former place of 
 conference. 
 
 " Did you not tell me, that in the letter you were 
 to place mysteriously in your master's way, to alarm 
 him for Osborne's safety, you would propose, as the 
 best place to send the boy for security, -would be to 
 the house of hia uncle at Woolwich, where we could 
 easily secure him, and place him under hatches, aboard 
 of our smuggling boat ?" 
 
 " I did ! and the boy is gone." 
 
 " And the boy has never been there," said the 
 other, snecringly. 
 
 " Not there ! thrn where is he ?" exclaimed Ilorton, 
 with evident surprise. 
 
 "That's wiiat I've come to ask of you," r.joined 
 the other ; and then went on in a more savage tone, 
 " I hate half measures : if you bite, bite to the bone ! 
 I like not your mincing morsels. If he was to be 
 put out of your way, why, put him out at once, say 
 I. That cursed weaver had nearly escaped us — he, 
 too, hiid been sent a^^ay to a place of eecurity ; but 
 the Blare-eyed Bully was not to be tricked so easily— 
 no, no, we traced him out, and " 
 
 " You've murdered him !" exclaimed Horton, 
 trembling, 
 
 "That's iny businesB," rejoined the other: "what 
 
THE MTTBDEB. 81 
 
 I promise to do, I do. Tou undertook to look after 
 Osborne — do it ! for I wash my liands of him. Go 
 into court with a bold face: all will go well if you 
 but keep your word about Osborne. I shall be there 
 to enjoy the joke; and a glorious joke it will be to 
 hear the fools calling for their witnesses— ha, ha ! 
 nice witnesses they'll find. I never saw a dead m.-iu 
 yet give evidence in a court of justice. Oh ! it will 
 be a glorious joke ; but, remember, you may spoil all, 
 unless you find Osborne." 
 
 " I have still one hope of doing so," said Horton. 
 " If Dame Alyce knows where he is hid, her saintly 
 father Brassinjaw shall get it from her, and then tlio 
 secret's mine. Farewell, until we meet on the morn- 
 ing after to-morrow, in the court. Tell Miles, I've 
 ordered a famous feast for hiai here, after hie acquittal 
 — farewell." 
 
 Although Horton assumed a bold air as they sepa- 
 rated, he no sooner found himself alone in his own 
 chamber, than he gave way to all his feara. "Man," 
 he said, " is a fool, when he thinks he can direct bis 
 own fate. I fear 1 have fallen into the trap I myself 
 had laid. I am certain Master Hewet had the letter 
 I placed under the outward door, otherwise, why have 
 sent Osborne hence ; but if he took the warning, as 
 from a friend, why not have carried out that unknown 
 friend's advice in full ? The Bully must have sought 
 him in the wrong direction — my search shall prove 
 more certain." 
 
 Old Walter Cromwell, the brewer, of Putney, liaJ 
 acquainted the youth with the true cause of his exile 
 from the Bridge; and having nought to do but to 
 amuse himself, he gave way entirely to h's newly-born 
 passion for the water. 
 
 Old Ciomwell had taken a great fancy to young 
 Osborne, and often did they stroll together into the 
 country around. On the morning of the day he was 
 to start for London, the old man and he were out 
 together, when the former stopped before a very 
 
82 EDWARD OSBOHNE. 
 
 humble cottage, lying west of the highway, leading 
 from Putney to the upper gate. It was called the 
 " Smith's shop ;" above the door was the sign of the 
 anchor, and within was beard the clinking of an anvil. 
 The old man heaved a sigh, as he said — " Many is the 
 happy hour I've passed in that old cottage ; but then 
 I was young, and to the young, everything seems hap- 
 piness ; and my boy Tom was happy, too, before he 
 ran away into foreign parts, and became a soldier, 
 and the Lord knows what. I doubt me whether he 
 is happier now he is called the great Lord Cromwell, 
 than when he was but poor honest Tom, the smith." 
 
 Edward started for his master's home, and when he 
 reached the ferry at Battersea, he could not resist the 
 tempation of a bath at the very spot where he had 
 taken his first lesson in the art he now so much loved. 
 He had scarcely prepared himself for the plunge, 
 when violent ecreams and cries were heard from the 
 opposite shore. He there saw a party of youths 
 bathing, one of whom had apparently floated oat of 
 his depth, and was evidently struggling for his life. 
 Edward dashed into the water, and reached the spot 
 just as (he poor boy sank. In an instant more, and 
 Edward was also gone. Now the screaming and cries 
 for help along the shore were redoubled ; but all was 
 changed to shouts of delight when they saw Osborne 
 come to the surface, bringing with him the senseless 
 form of the youth. 
 
 " Take him," he said, as he landed on the shore, 
 "take him quickly to the hostelrie, in the lane by the 
 church, there you will get proper aid ; fear nothing, 
 he is not dead — ^his heart still beats." 
 
 The lads en fhe shore, who were evidently of the 
 better order, were so bewildered, so confused, that 
 they never thought of thanking Osborne for the noble 
 action he had performed, but hurried away with their 
 death-like burden, while he, jumping into the ferry- 
 boat which had come to lend p.saistance, returned to 
 the opposite side, where he had left his own boat and 
 
iJHE MURDUa. 33 
 
 his clothes. Having dressed himself, and feeling 
 fatigued, he threw himself upon the grass, and in a 
 few minutes, his senses were wrapped in a profound 
 slumber. 
 
 "When he awoke, he was astonished to find that the 
 moon had already risen high in the heavens; so, 
 getting quickly into the skiff, he launched her into 
 the middle of the stream, and was once more on his 
 solitary way. 
 
 " Come," said he, " I have not learnt to swim for 
 nothing: he who saves a fellow-creature, has done 
 that, which, though no more than his duty, may still 
 make him feel an honest pride for the rest of his life." 
 Onward he rowed, and he was fast approaching the 
 Lambeth Marshes, whereon no house then stood — all 
 here looked desolate. As he drew near the solitary 
 tree which grew upon the point of land, at the bend 
 of the river, he fancied he saw the forms of men as if 
 struggling together, and dragging something towards 
 the water's edge. The moon at this moment shone 
 out so brightly that he could clearly discern four men 
 — three of them forcing the fourth along, whose liead 
 and shoulders were entirely covered with some thick 
 cloth, as if to prevent his cries from being heard ; 
 they dragged him into a boat and hastened to the 
 centre of the river. Here the struggle appeared to 
 ha renewed, and the poor wretch, having for a 
 moment freed his head, screamed out " murBer," and 
 frantically cried aloud for help. Osborne, forgetting 
 at once the danger he might run, strained every nerve, 
 and made his skiff fly through the water towards the 
 murderers ; just when he reached them he saw the 
 tallest ru£B^an raise a large hammer, and dash it with 
 all his might upon the head of their victim. The 
 body they east overboard, but as it fell, it nearly car- 
 ried with it the murderer, for the poor wretch had 
 seized, in the death struggle, so firmly upon th« 
 assassin, that had not his coat given way, they had 
 both sunk together into eternity. They now furiously 
 3 
 
Si EBWAUD 03B0BirE. 
 
 attacked young Osborne — and in a moment hia boat 
 was turned keel upwards, and he was goce ! 
 
 As the tide was running down rapidly, the mur- 
 derers watched anxiously in the direction of the flood, 
 and Blear -eyed Bully, for it was he who had just mur- 
 dered the poor weaver, s.iid, " Take this hammer, Bill, 
 and if he comes to the surface again, use it as I did. 
 He and the weaver may go together and give their 
 evidence to the fishes — they'll tell no tales of us to- 
 morrow, I'll swear." They looked around in every 
 direction ; not a ripple was on the bright face of the 
 water ; and feeling secure, the three wrttches rowed 
 on towards Old London Bridge. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 SIB riLBn FUSST. 
 
 For as the lamb toward hia death is brought, 
 So stands this innocent before th» King : 
 
 This falefe knight, that hath this treason wrought, 
 Bearetli her in hand, that she hath done this thing ; 
 But uathMess there was gi'eat murmuring 
 
 Among the people, and say they cannot guess 
 
 That sh3 had done so great a wictedness. 
 
 Ch^CCEB, 
 
 All London soon became fully aware of the strange 
 scene which had taken place during the tournament 
 at Greenwich, and every house upon the eastern side 
 of tlie old bridge, had its windows crowded with per- 
 sons anxiously awaiting the return of those fatal 
 barges, wkich seldom left the Tower but lo revisit it, 
 bearing some doomed victim of Henry's vengeance. 
 The powerful interest evinced by the worthy 
 
flIE PIIBTTT FTTSST. 85 
 
 citizens, arose principally from the exalted Btation of 
 the victim, already doomed to be immolated on the 
 altar of Henry's lust. 
 
 "It's not every day," as Catchemayde observed, 
 " that we can see a Queen burnt alive, and I am told, 
 if she's foand guilty, she will be." 
 
 " I wish I was a King," said Checklocke, who was 
 looking out of the same window of the Cardinal's 
 Hit, " I wish I was a King ; it must be so prime to 
 get rid of one's wife, whenever one sees a gal one 
 likes better, "Wouldn't I have a bran new wife? ay — 
 that I would, and that wife sliould be Flora Gray, 
 dame Hewet's pretty maiden, who's now looking over 
 the balcony yonder ;" and then kissing his hand to 
 her, called out, "a right good morrow, pretty one." 
 
 " Don't be a fool," said Catchemayde ; "you'll have 
 young Horton upon your back, for she says he's going 
 to marry her." 
 
 " She says !— but what does 7te say ? there are gene- 
 rally two words to a wedding, and though she may 
 say yea, he may say nay. No, uo, master Horton 
 looks for something a little alove her." 
 
 Whether or not Checklocke meant his last words 
 to carry a double meaning wo cannot say, but 
 certainly they might be so construed, for at that 
 instant, Harry Horton, who was with Flora Gray in 
 the lower balcony of the merchant's house, was 
 casting an anxious glance to the one above, over the 
 front of \Ahich vv..8 leaning, the lovely Alyce, her 
 husband, and a young man magnificently attired. This 
 young spark was an "exquisite," of the sixteenth 
 century. Kings of precious stones adorned bis 
 fingers ; and in his left hand he bore a silver scenter, 
 or bottle highly chased, containing the most valued 
 perfumes from Arabia. In his case, as in that of 
 some we could point out of our own day, the "dandy" 
 was permitted by nature to be the twin of genius. 
 He was a poet ! 
 
 Our dandy poet was called Sir Filbut Fussy. He 
 
38 HSWASD OSBOBITE. 
 
 was very youthful, very handsome, very good natured, 
 and very rich ; and a youth possessing all these advan- 
 tages, and a turn for poetry and music, was calculated 
 to become a great favourite with the generality of the 
 fair sex, and a great favourite Sir Pilbut Fussy was. 
 
 Sir Pilbut Fussy, who had travelled much, was 
 entertaining the merchant's lovely wife with a des- 
 cription of an Italian meal, and raised her wonder, 
 and a slight feeling of disgust, at the affectation of 
 these Italians, who she now learnt actually ate their 
 dinners with a forh, instead of their fingers. 
 
 " Tes," said Sir FUbut, " I can assure you such is 
 tlie fact ; and I do hope to see the day when Italian 
 forks, instead of alabaster fingers, will be employed 
 by all my fair countrywomen, to raise the luscious 
 morsel from their platters, to their heavenly lips." 
 
 " You really make me laugh, Sir Filbut," said 
 Alyce ; " only picture to yourself, husband, a whole 
 party of us seated round the board using such 
 childish toys. Did you ever use one. Sir Filbut ?" 
 
 "I always do," was his reply, and he produced a 
 small velvet casket, whence he took a very diminutive 
 fork, made of Milan sti el. " I believe," he said, " I 
 am the first who ever used a fork in England." 
 
 "And I hope you will be the last," said Hewet ; 
 " we have already too many foreign fancies brought 
 here." 
 
 " I wonder," observed fair Alyce, " our queen, who, 
 when plain Anne Boleyn, was so much in foreign 
 lands, has nevrr yet rendered this affectation of the 
 fork fashionable." 
 
 " That is easily accounted for," replied Sir Filbut ; 
 " the using of a fork would too much expose the sixth 
 finger on her left hand ; and we know her deformities 
 are subjects she likes to keep concealed — witness the 
 collar-band she wears about her neck, to hide the 
 Btr^berry growing there." 
 
 " If all the reports be true," observed the merchant, 
 "it trill grow there but little longer ; yet I cannot bring 
 
SIE EILBUT rUSST. 37 
 
 my mind to credit half the vile tales now circulating 
 through the town, such wholesale depravity ihey 
 accuse her with ! Why, even her own brother is 
 already a prisoner in the Tower ; and Alyce's poor 
 music-master, Smeaton, too, he little thought, poor 
 fellow, how dangerous a post his talents had raised 
 him to." 
 
 " But still," said Alyco, " so good and great a king 
 as is Henry would never act like this without some 
 fair cause for doing so." 
 
 " Ton are right," said Sir Filbut, " quite right ; it 
 is a fair, a right fair cause, and that fair cause is fa'r 
 Jane Seymour." 
 
 " "Why, Jane Seymour is one of the queen's own 
 maids of honour," observed Hewet. 
 
 "And was not Anne Boleyn one of Queen Ca- 
 therine's own maids of honour ?" replied Sir Pilbut ; 
 " if she supplanted good Queen Catherine, she pointed 
 out the way for others to supplant herself; she lacketh 
 wisdom, or she never would have had so fair a maid as 
 Jane within the reach of oae so quickly touched by 
 beauty as is her own dear lord. He always had a 
 'penchant for pretty maids of houour." 
 
 Great crowds of boats now appeared in the distance, 
 and then began loud shouts, and yells, and hootings, 
 which contiaued until the barge containing Anne 
 Boleyn, her uncle the Duke of Norfolk, her deadly 
 foe the Duke of Suffolk, Cromwell, and others of the 
 Council, reached the water-gate of the Tower. 
 
 The moment the boats had appeared in sight. Sir 
 IHlbut Pussy took his leave, saying he would just go 
 round to the Tower, see the queen land, and having 
 collected all the news he could, he would return at 
 their evening meal to relate what he should have 
 learnt, and give Alyce a lesson in the use of the 
 Italian fork, and, if he might be allowed so great a 
 happiness (here he slightly sighed), present her with 
 one he had at his lodging, made of Venetian gold. 
 
 As Sir !Filbut deaceuded the dark stairs, ho met 
 
38 EDWAED OSBOEHE. 
 
 Harry ITorton, who, whispering, said, " How Bpeeda 
 your cause, good sir ?" 
 
 "But indifferently well," the other answered: 
 " that dolt, her hushand, never left us for a moment." 
 
 " But, good Sir FUbut,'' said Horton, " have you 
 tliought further about the diamond you spoke of? 
 There's nothing wins a woman half so soon as dia- 
 monds." 
 
 " 1'1'aith, I have, and here it is ; take it, good 
 Hoiton, but, prithee, be careful of it, for it is a cqstly 
 gem, and worth a dozen other women; but Alyce, 
 pretty Alyce, is worth a dozen gems like that." 
 
 " And the purse for Flora ?" said Horton. " I wish, 
 to my very heart, we could have done without her ; 
 bu% as she was determined to use her eyes, I thought 
 it best to fasten a golden chain about her tongue ; at 
 all events, I've kept ber quiet." 
 
 " You are, indeed, a friend," observed Sir Filbut, 
 taking Horton'a hand; "but how do you propose to 
 give sweet Alyce the diamond bauble, so as not to 
 raise suspicion ?" 
 
 " Leave that to me," was Horton'a reply. " If once 
 you see her wear it on her neck, you'll know it has 
 been received right kindly. But pray be cautious, Sir 
 rUbut, and remember, it is gratitude alone that makes 
 me act the part I do : you have ever bound me to your 
 service, by aiding to save me from the fangs of that 
 vile Jew. Alas ! alas ! that I should have ever been 
 so weak ; perhaps, with years, I may become as wise 
 as you. Sir Tilbut, and escape the snares so often laid 
 for youth. I know not how to ask it — but — ^no, you 
 have done too much already for my service — and yet, 
 if he should take me for that debt, who then could be 
 your friend in this affair ? I fear, for your sake, I 
 must ppeak out — yes — yes, I must — " 
 
 " Tou alarm me !" said Sir Filbut. " Speak quickly, 
 then, be whate'er it may." 
 
 "He swears he'll have me, or another hundred 
 marks." 
 
SIR FXLBUT FUSST. 39 
 
 " Is that all ! " replied Sir Eilbut, breathing more 
 freely — " the money's yours." 
 
 "Too generous man!" replied Horton, with a voice 
 almost stifled by overflowing gratitude, as he received 
 this second purse ; " but remember, it is but a loan. 
 I keep a strict account, I can aesure you, sir, — this 
 makes tlie ifth hundred I have had." 
 
 " And you shall have five huadred more, if Alyce 
 will but, fly with me to Italy." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! walls they say have ears. I have 
 fortunately got rid of my prying brother aj)prentice, 
 and all for your good service. Hark, I hear a foot- 
 step ; farewell, and may good fortune smile upon so 
 generous a friend." 
 
 " Any one would think, my dear," said the merchant 
 to his fair dame, " you were half in love with Sir 
 Pilbut. I see but little in his poetry, that you extol 
 so highly, and much less in himself to ba admired." 
 
 " He must see enough in you to admire, "William," 
 Alyce replied ; " for he is ever seeking your society." 
 
 "Any man who has a pretty wife, my dear, is 
 seldom without some dozen butterfly attendants, 
 flutlering about the sweet flower he has gathered to 
 adorn his own breast with. Although I will not pay 
 myself so ill a compliment, nor offer such an insult to 
 my wife, as to be fearful of Sir Klbut, yet I had rather 
 he stayed away a little more, or gazed at you a little 
 less." 
 
 " Now you are jealous, my dearest husband, I am 
 sure you are ; and I am not sorry that you be ; for it 
 proves that Aljce is, in your dear eyes, still worth the 
 guarding. Only be kind and true yourself, dear hus- 
 band, and then you need fear nor sir, nor lord, nor 
 duke !" 
 
 How much longer this dove-like tite-^-iUe would 
 have continued, Cupid alone can tell, but it was now 
 put a stop to by the renewed shoutings and hootings 
 which ascended from those upon the river. The 
 barges stopped at the Tower, and it was »t this 
 
40 EDWARD OSBOENE, 
 
 moment, as history informs us, tbat the doomed Anne 
 Boleyn fell upon her knees in the barge, exclaiming, 
 " Oh, Lord, help me, as I am guiltless of that whereof 
 I am accused !" 
 
 The queen being safely lodged in the Tower, the 
 crowds began to disperse, the inhabitants of tbe 
 Bridge resumed their usual occupations, and all the 
 stream of life seemed to be again flowing on, as if no 
 strange event had just occurred, or that there were no 
 forebodings of troubles soon to come, worth oue 
 serious thought. 
 
 Being anxious to explain several circumstances 
 which happened soon after the dreadful murder of the 
 weaver, and the loss of Edward Osborne, we shall 
 touch but lightly upon the promised return of Sir 
 Filbut Pussy at the good merchant's evening meal ; 
 yet we must not omit to mention that, be the cause 
 what it might, whether it were done to charm her 
 husband, or flatter Sir Klbut Fussy, or only arose 
 from female anxiety ever to be admired, it is certain 
 that Alyce Hewet, on the evening in question, had 
 bestowed more than common pains upon her personal 
 attire. 
 
 "When Sir Filbut Fussy did arrive, he had nearly 
 swooned with delight on perceiving his splendid 
 diamond adorning the fair neck of Alyce. 80 over- 
 powering was its efiect upon his nervous temperament, 
 that now, instead of wishing, as was his wont, to be 
 doing something else, he now wanted to be doing every- 
 thing at once. He soon delivered himself of the 
 information he had gathered at the Tower, of how 
 Anne Boleyn (for he said — " Already she ceases to be 
 called the queen") was not to go into a dungeon, but 
 was to be a prisouer in the same apartment she slept 
 in the night before her coronation; that her two 
 greatest enemies, her own relation. Lady Boleyn, and 
 Mistress Cosyns, were to hold her under the most 
 insulting espionage; that, although her five accom- 
 plices were not yet tried, and by most considered 
 
SIR riLBirr russT. 41 
 
 innocent, it was still perfectly understood that Smea- 
 ton, the musician, would first be racked, then hanged 
 — the others beheaded. " The only doubt," he said, 
 " lay in the fate of Anne Boleyn ; but about her there 
 was certainly a doubt." 
 
 " Then the poor soul," said Alyce, with all a woman's 
 pity for her sex in sorrow, " she may yet be saved ?" 
 
 " Saved !" replied Sir Filbut, slightly smiling at so 
 preposterous a thought. " Saved ! oh, no 1 the only 
 doubt is whether she be sent to the block or to the 
 flames ; I should say the latter : much will depend on 
 what Jane Seymour wishes. ' A little longer, and 
 Nan's a little shorter,' I heard a smith facetiously 
 observe, as I came by, and, perhaps, the smith was 
 right : but what matter is it to us — a burning, or 
 decapitation, will each alike be cause of holiday,' so 
 say the people." 
 
 A gentleman of Sir Mlbut Fussy's rank being pre- 
 sent, the table for the evening meal was laid out with 
 holiday attention. Not a wooden platter was to be 
 seen, as on common days : all were polished pewter. 
 The little golden fork was not forgotten ; and Harry 
 Horton, being the youngest there, havir.g, as was his 
 duty, carved the meat for his mistress in her platter, 
 she almost choked herself with laughing at her own 
 absurd attempt to use it as elegantly as did Sir FUbut. 
 She accepted, however, of the golden fork, for she 
 regarded it as a great curiosity ; and she asked ber 
 husband, if he did not think it might be employed, 
 very becomingly, as an ornament for the hair ? After 
 the Burnap, or small upper tablecloth, had been re- 
 moved with the dishes, and a few of the scanty supply 
 of fruits then to be obtained having been placed upon 
 the table, accompanied by some flasks of those delicious 
 sweet wines. Malmsey and Eomney sacks, which then 
 cost a shilling a gallon, the child — the lovely little 
 Anne, was brought into the chamber. 
 
 Sir Eilbut Fussy, who knew that next to being her- 
 self admired, a lady generally feel? pleasure in hearing 
 
42 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 her o£fspring praised, threw himself into perfect rap- 
 tares with the " little angel." As there was no doubt 
 about the beauty of Anne, Sir Filbut declared he never 
 beheld two countenances so exactly alike as those of 
 Dame Alyce and her child ; he scanned and compared 
 every feature, oue by one ; but when he came to the 
 comparison of the eyes, Sir Filbut Pussy looked so 
 languishingly into those of Alvce, and put on such a 
 ridiculous expression of annihilating tenderness, that 
 the good dame could no longer resist a smile, and feol- 
 ing confused, she turned away, and proposed that they 
 should have a little music. 
 
 " Ay, do, sweet one," said the merchant kindly to 
 his wife, " and then I think Sir Filbut will in truth 
 wish you had not got a husband." 
 
 Sir Filbut did, but this he kept to himself; and 
 honest Master Hewet went on — "Tlb, Sir Filbut, 
 when you have heard her, I am sure yoii wiU confess 
 there is not in London town a prettier toucher of the 
 virginals than Alyce Hewet." 
 
 Sir Filbut ventured to say — he did not think there 
 could be a prettier anything in the whole world than 
 Alyce Hen et ; saj ing which he made a profound bow 
 to the lady, who, smiling, seated herself at the vir- 
 ginals, a sort of spinet, from which our modern 
 pianoforte is derived. 
 
 Sir Filbut seized upon a theorbo ; the merchant, 
 without being asked to do so, at once began to tune 
 his rebeck, or three-striuged fiddle ; Harry Horton 
 took up a flute ; and Flora Gray, who was really a 
 very pretty singer, was desired to be the leader of the 
 vocals. 
 
 Grand was the crash, as the reader may suppose, 
 when 80 many fine performers struck up together. 
 What did it matter to them whether they came in at 
 the right place or not ? Sir Filbut and Flora Gray 
 felt that tJiey were in the right place, so that was a 
 good way towards things going on smoothly. The 
 poor husband, as usual, came in for a sharpish repri- 
 
sm riLBOT FUSSY. 48 
 
 mand, for wlion all else liad left off, he kept on playing 
 by himpclf for at least a dozen bara. This he accounted 
 for by having turned over two leaves instead of one, 
 80 that ho had all through been fiddling the accompa- 
 niment cf a perfectly different piece of music, and in a 
 different key too. 
 
 As a punishment, his wife desired him to sing a 
 so;ig, forgetting at t'le moment that the punishment 
 would bj th. irs, not his — for Master Hewet never 
 sang but one song in his life, and that was " Simon 
 IVisill," a very ancient ballad, even three hundred} ears 
 ago. As eur gentle readers might liko to know what 
 was really pure Englisli iu those days, we will insert 
 one verse of Master Hewet's ten verse infliction ; thus 
 it ran : — 
 
 He I'ideth thourth the site as J tell may, 
 
 With gomen and with solas that wos here play. 
 
 To londone bmgge hee nome the way ; 
 
 Moni was wyues the chil' that ther on loteth a day. 
 
 And seide, alas ! 
 That he was ibore — and so Tilliche forlore 
 
 So fair mon as he wos ! 
 Now stout the heued above the tubrugge, 
 Fast bi Waleis soth for to sugge. 
 
 The sound is certainly pleasing to modern ears, but 
 means neilher more nor less, than that — he rides 
 through the city, amidst the rejoiciugs of his enemies, 
 and that iiis head stands on the towu bridge, close by 
 that of "William Wallace. The heads of Sir "Wil.iaia 
 "Wallace and of Sir Simon Trisell, or Fraser, are sup- 
 posed to have been the first ever placed above the 
 Traitor's Gate, on Old London Bridge. 
 
 After this the pretty Flora sang a ballad, every 
 verse ending with something about " Naughty Harry 
 oftheHiU." 
 
 Then Sir FUbut sang a song of his own authorship 
 and his own composition, but this was of a rather 
 better order, for, with all his vanity and folly. Sir 
 Filbut Fussy possessed many of the attributes of a 
 
44 EBWARD OSBOENE. 
 
 real poet, and of the genius of a musician : every word 
 he sang was of love, and every line he sang with 
 pdinted emphasis towards the beautiful Alyce. 
 
 The entertainments of this charming evening were 
 wound up by a sort of round or chorus, each singing 
 a verse, and the symphony was taicen up by all the 
 instruments, somewhat after the fashion of the modern 
 Ethiopian serenade) s. 
 
 The words have been old for some hundreds of 
 years, and in those days were universally admired, 
 therefore there was no difficulty in each person 
 present taking a verse. Like all really o!d English 
 ballads, it was of an almost interminable length ; but 
 we shall only insert a few verses. 
 
 The first vei se was chanted by little Anne, and 
 began — 
 
 London Bridge is broken down. 
 
 Dance o'er my Lady Lea ; 
 London Bridge is broken down. 
 
 With a gay La-dee. 
 
 " Then she must- have been uncommonly heavy," 
 observed Master He wet, who was beginning to get a 
 little tired of the concert, and was about to state so, 
 when Horton joined in, laying a strong emphasis upon 
 the word " we," as he looked at Sir Filbut : — 
 
 Then we must set a man to watch. 
 
 Dance o'er my Lady Lea ; 
 Then we must set a man to watch, 
 
 With a gay La-dee. 
 
 Suppose the man should fall asleep P (Sang Alyce) 
 
 Dance o'er my Lady Lea j 
 Suppose the man should £all asleep, 
 
 With a gay La-dee? 
 
 Here Hewet gave a very loud snore, which proved 
 that although not "with a gay Iio-dee" the man hcbd 
 fallen fast asleep. At this Flora sang, at the very top 
 of her voice— 
 
StR FItBTTT FTTSSt. 40 
 
 Suppose the dog should run away ? 
 
 Dance o'er my Lady Lea ; 
 Suppose the dog should run away. 
 
 With a gay La-dee ? 
 
 "What's that — what'a that!" exclaimed Hewet, 
 waking up with a start ; and then, liJ^e a man who is 
 Buddenly called from his sleep to fulfil some important 
 duty, he hurriedly bawled out — 
 
 Then we must chain him to a post, 
 
 Dance o'er my Lady Lea j 
 Then we must chain him to a post. 
 
 With a gay Lft-dee. 
 
 " And, damn 'em — thrash 'em both within an inch 
 of their lives !" We beg to apologize for swearing, 
 but it was a very coinmon habit in tbe sixteenth 
 century. Even Queen Elizabeth was not exempt from 
 that vice of the day, so wo hope, as faithful chroniclers, 
 to be pardoned 
 
 " Good heavens I" exclaimed Alyce, " what ails 
 you?" She was really alarmed, for Master Hewet 
 still stood in the centre of the room quite bewildered. 
 
 " A thousand pardons, my dear Alyce," at last he 
 said ; " but I must have been dreaming ; I've had 
 Buch horrid visions flying through my brain, and mix- 
 ing themselves up with that silly song. I'm afraid 
 I've made myself more silly than the song itself" 
 
 The parly now broke up, and each went their way. 
 
 Sir Filbut, as may be supposed, was in ecstacy at 
 the progress he was sure he had made in the good 
 graces of that queen of every grace, fair Alyce Hewet. 
 
 " Could any man on earth," he said, as he ktroUed 
 homewards, " having so few opportunities of making 
 himself agreeable to the fair, as he hitherto had had 
 with Alyce, have done so much, in so little time, as 
 he ? No 1" he exclaimed, proudly, as if there could 
 be any cause for. pride in succeeding in any act of 
 villany. " She has kept my diamond— how beautiful 
 it loosed on her fair neck ! She has kept my lute— 
 
46 EBWAED OSBOBKE. 
 
 how lovely it will sound beneath her fair hand ! And 
 she haB kept my golden fork too," 
 
 As he passed beneath the Traitor's Gate he started ; 
 for a voice, as if issuing from the very stones of the 
 wall, sang pointedly, but oh ! eo sweetly — 
 
 Then we must set a man to watch, 
 
 Dance o'er my Lady Lea ; 
 Then ive must set a man to watch 
 
 With a gay La-dec. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! oh, oh ! be, he !" screeched out the 
 
 Cripple of the Bridge-gate Tower, for it was he who 
 had thrust his misshapen head out through a little 
 window in the wall, close to Sir Pilbut's ear, and had 
 thus startled him. 
 
 " Why, Willy," said Sir Pilbut, " jou are like a 
 ghost ; at every turn you hauut one. Why are you 
 not up amongst your darling traitors ?" 
 
 " Because," replied the other, " I have a spike to 
 spare, and came down to look for one darling traitor 
 more." 
 
 "And have you found one?" asked Sir Filbut, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Perhaps you can tell me," was the Cripple's reply, 
 
 " If you mean me, certainly not. I'm too loyal 
 ever to war against my kint;." 
 
 " Oh 1 there are other traitors," replied the Cripple, 
 " than t'lose who compass a king's death ; for instance, 
 he who secretly wars against a man's good name — he 
 is a traitor ; and be who wars against a maid's good 
 fame — he is a traitor; and — " 
 
 " Enough, good Cripple, say no more ; you're far too 
 quick for me to argue with. But I marvel not at 
 your wisdom, seeing kow many wise heads you always 
 have at your command." 
 
 "Mind I do not place a fool's amongst them, by 
 way of variety," said the Cripple, as he slammed to 
 the casement. 
 
 Sir Filbut could not help laughing at the Cripple's 
 
THE TEIAIi. 4 
 
 retort, and having called out to him a loud " good 
 night," continued hia way towards his home. The 
 Cripple was heard repeating the verse lie had juft 
 sung, but now be alered the last line ; for be said — 
 
 We must set a man to watch, 
 
 Dance o'er my Lady Lea ; 
 We must sot a man to watch 
 
 For this poor La-dee. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 THE TBIAL. 
 
 I will myselvcn with you ride, 
 
 Eight at mine owen cost, and be your guide. 
 
 Chatjoeb. 
 
 TuE reader wiU doubtless remember that at the close 
 of the third chapter we described the manner in which 
 the Blear-eyed Bully, with his two assistant murdertrs, 
 had disposed of the unfortunate weaver and Edward 
 Osborne. This happened in the night preceding the 
 day on which the robber Miles was to be tried for his 
 life. During the whole of that erening Master 
 Hewet had felt so much anxiety concerning the non- 
 appearance of Edward, tliat he could no longer resist 
 telling his wife and Harry Hortou the course he 
 had pursued to ensure tlie safety of his apprentice. 
 ' Alas !" he said, " I f ar I have fal'eu into a deep-laid 
 suare, and have perchance become the innocent cause 
 of some dreadful mi;' fortune to the youth. Why was 
 I in such ha^te to IbUow the advioe of any anonymous 
 informer ? I believe that both the letters — " 
 
 " Both the letters !" exclaimed Horton, taken off his 
 guard. 
 
 "Yes, two kltiTs reached me; but I have every 
 reason to believe that the second was forwarded 
 merely to raise my confidence in the advice offered in 
 the first : for in that I was told another would be 
 
48 EDWAED OSBOBITE. 
 
 placed within my reach, and bo there was, and exactly 
 in the manner described." 
 
 Horton was taken completely aback. Could the 
 Blear-eyed Bully have betrayed him ? But why should 
 he? He was the only one to whom Horton had 
 divulged his scheme ; but, then, the Bully's safety waa 
 as much at stake as his own. 
 
 Dame Alyce, to whom all this seemed like a 
 romance, became greatly interested, and asked her 
 husband a thousand questions, while Horton listened 
 anxiously to every word the merchant uttered in 
 answer to AJyce's inquiries, hoping therefrom to find 
 some clue to the mystery. 
 
 It appeared, that not an hour after the dead of 
 night, the merchant was disturbed by a strange noise 
 at the window of the room next to his dormitory, 
 looking on to the Bridge ; indeed, it was the same 
 casement at which they had stood the day before to 
 witness the procession of the Maypole. As this nose 
 continued, the merchant at last arose to learn the 
 cause ; and on looking out, he saw a boy beneath, who, 
 the moment the casement opened, raised on tiie end 
 of a long willow wand a letter, which the mer- 
 chant having taken, the boy ran swiftly towards the 
 city. So truthfully was this letter written, that 
 Master Hewet acted upon its advice immediately, and 
 sent oif Edward in the manner the reader is already 
 aware of. The merchant, on descending in the morn- 
 ing, found Horton's letter forced under the outer 
 door ; he had placed it there only a few minutes after 
 Osborne had departed. The merchant said, that 
 although the finding the second letter confirmed, in 
 some degree, the trut'h of the first, yet it had per- 
 plexed him much, fur it proposed a place of safety 
 directly opposite to that in which he had placed 
 Edward. " But," he continued, " whatever misfortune, 
 if any has happened, must have occurred this day ; fur 
 he was safe with my old friend at Putney as late as 
 yesterday ; this I know." 
 
THE TEIAIi. 40 
 
 " And is safe, yofc, you may depend," said Alyce. 
 " He knows full well the hour he will be wanted, and, 
 no doubt, will be at Westminster to-morrow, by the 
 time you reach the court." And bo saying, Alyce 
 took up the lamp, and left the room, followed by her 
 husband. 
 
 Horton went to his chamber, but it was useless to 
 attempt to sleep : he was bewildered quite, and so 
 anxious and restless did he feel, ho determined to visit 
 the " Cardinal's Hat," thinking it might, by some 
 chance, so happen that his murderous friend the Bully 
 might be there upon other affairs. 
 
 "We have already stated, that after the murder, the 
 three wretches took their way towards the Bridge, so 
 that, by mere accident, it did turn out exactly as 
 Horton had hoped ; for, soon after he had entered, 
 these blood-stained worthies also came in. 
 
 Horton was upon the point of telling the BuUy all 
 he had that night learnt ; but was silenced, and made 
 almost to sink with fear, as the Blear-eyed Bully whis- 
 pered in his ear the horrors they had just committed — 
 " Here, milksop !" he said, pushing a jug of hot liquor 
 towards Horton, who had turned deadly pale, " take 
 some of this spirit, for you have but little of your own, 
 and then go home to bed — that's the best place for 
 boys ; sleep off your fears, and, in the morning, when 
 Ml e meet in the court, look well at me, and learn the 
 proper bearing of a man." 
 
 We will not attempt to follow the workings of 
 Horton's mind during the dark hours of that night. 
 At every turn he fancied he saw the weaver and Os- 
 borne bleeding at his bedside ; and waking, found 
 himself continually crying out, that it was not he who 
 had murdered them. The moment it was light he 
 arose, and bathing his head and face again and again 
 in cold water, he tried to shake off his fears, and to a 
 degree succeeded. He felt, that although the crime 
 had been committed, no one could accuse him ; and 
 now, both the witnesses against Miles being gone, the 
 4 
 
50 EDWAED 03B0BKE. 
 
 robber would doubtless put on a more courageous 
 bearing, and keep his tongue between bis teeth. 
 
 "When the time for departure of the merchant, and 
 tliose who were to attend the ourt had arrived, Sir 
 Pilbut Pussy made his appearance. He was mounted 
 on a beautiful horse, and followed by a number of 
 others, led by his men, bearing upon their left arms 
 liis badge of servitude. Alyce having expressed a 
 wish to hear the trial, it had been settled, at the 
 earnest solicitation of Sir Pilbut, that the whole 
 [■atty should go by land, instead of by water, as was 
 tie usual method, and that he should be allowed the 
 honour of supplying the horses from his own stables. 
 Another reason Sir Filbut offered for proposing this 
 arrangement, was, his desire to have the advice of the 
 merchant, regarding an open plot of ground lying in 
 the Strand, which be Lad a wish to purchase for the 
 purpose of erecting a mansion upon it. — " This they 
 could," he said, " examine on their way to "Westmin- 
 E-ter ; and lie should, by the present arrangement, have 
 the advantage of consulting the exquisite taste of the 
 merchant's wife." 
 
 A splendid charger had bet n provided for • Mmti-r 
 Hewet, with a pillion behind for the accommodation 
 of his fair spouse. A mule was placed at the disposal 
 of Horton, and another, upon which was a kind of 
 double leathern chair, very like those used in the 
 present day for children, when they ride in pairs upon 
 donkeys in the park — this was for the use of Flora 
 Gray and the little Anne, for Dame Hewet seldom 
 took pleasure away from home, when sh" could not 
 be accompanied by her handmaiden and her darling 
 child. After all were mounted, and ready to start, 
 two ruuning footmen took the lead, two more, one on 
 each side the head of the horse, which bore the mer- 
 ci ant and his wife, attended by Sir Filbut Fussy, then 
 came Flora with the little Anne, and at her side, Harry 
 Horton. The rear was brought up by several mounted 
 serving-men, all in the livery of Sir Filbut Fussy. 
 
THE TEIAIi. 61 
 
 Just before quitting the Bridge, when in one of 
 the narrowest parts, the merchant's horse, from 
 some cause or other, shied, and had nearly done great 
 harm to a passer-by, who, striking the horse across 
 the head with his staff, exclaimed — " Curses on yo, 
 upstarts! "What, oh! brother Hewet, is it thou? 
 
 Ha, ha ! ho, ho ! he, he ! But I shall boil your 
 
 bead yet ! I shall boil your head yet !" 
 
 " Out (if the way, Cripple !" said Horton, savagely 
 striking him with a heavy whip, which the Cripple 
 parried with his staff, and merely uttering a con- 
 temptuous " Pish !" hobbled oa towards the Bridge- 
 gate Tower, humming as he went — 
 
 We must set a man to watch, 
 
 Dance o'er my Lady Lea — 
 We must set a man to watoh 
 
 Tor this poor La-dee. 
 
 Leaving the Bridge, they turned to the left, and 
 passed along Thames Street. By-and-by they turned 
 up Paul's Chain, into Paul's Church Yard, descended 
 Ludgate Hill, then called Eleete Hyll; passed over 
 Fleete Bridge, for, at the time we speak of, the Eiver 
 Thames received a smaller river, where Blackfriars 
 Bridge now stands, called the Eiver of Meete : it 
 was broad and deep, and was of great use for mer- 
 chant-vessels. This river afterwards bore the less 
 ostentatious appellation of Meet Ditch. Many years 
 elapsed, and it was covered in, and now what re- 
 mains of it is hid beneath Bridge Street, and that 
 magnificent opening, Earringdon Street, at the ex- 
 tremity of which formerly stood another bridge, 
 crossing the same Eiver of Fleete, called Oldbourue, 
 or Holborn Bridge. 
 
 A little beyond Temple Bar, the noble horae upon 
 which the merchant rode, and which had previously, 
 more than once, shown a restive disposition, became 
 almost unmanageable, and Alyce was so alarmed, that 
 she dared not, she said, remain upon so fiery a steed ; 
 but Sir rilbut Fussy declared, that this horse was the 
 
52 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 one he always rode, and was mildness itself when he 
 was upon its back ; as a proof of the soothness of Ma 
 words, he begged the merchant to alight, and change 
 horses. This the merchant did, and Sir Klbut, 
 having placed himself before the lovely Alyce, and 
 having begged of her to hold fast by him, and fear 
 nothing, made the animal go through his various paces 
 with all the docility of a lamb. Sir Rlbut's spirits 
 now rose to an amazing height, for he had, at last, 
 brought about what he had expected long before ; but 
 he had miscalculated the good horsemanship of our 
 city merchant. The truth was, that Sir Klbut's 
 charger was so well schooled to the peculiar manage 
 of his master, that, hitherto, few had ever been able 
 to keep their seats but himself ; and it bad annoyed 
 him terribly, to find that Hewet knew so well the 
 temper of a horse, as to be able, thus long, to keep 
 him in control. 
 
 They reached the Strand, at that time a very ill- 
 formed road, for it was but three years before that the 
 real line of way could be said to have been fairly 
 marked out. 
 
 The whole of the north side of the Strand, at this 
 time, was open country, and it was here that Sir 
 Pilbut pointed out a spot of ground, not far from 
 where the Adelphi Theatre now stands, as the site of 
 the new mansion. He said — " I shall build a tower 
 high enough to overlook all the fields yonder ; the 
 Convent Garden (now Covent Garden Market), the 
 little village of St. Giles, and, indeed, far beyond." 
 The merchant pronounced it to be an admirably- 
 formed conceit ; and Alyce admired the locality as 
 being " so superbly open." 
 
 The party soon after arrived at the court of justice. 
 Sir Tulbut Pussy, with Alyce and her maiden, ob- 
 tained accommodation in the gallery above, while 
 Hewet and Horton hurried about, in vain endeavour 
 to find Edward Osborne and the other witness, 
 "Wallace the weaver, Horto'i was not yet so inured 
 
THE TElAli. 53 
 
 to crime, as to be able to hear, wiLli composure, even 
 the names of those whose dreadful fates ne knew full 
 well. Horton had another reason for his present 
 seeming activity in his master's cause, and that was, 
 the hope of learning from the Bully, if possible, how 
 Miles was likely to act, now there was every chance, 
 nay, certainty, of his acquittal. 
 
 The merchant had proposed to his man of law to 
 throw up the case, and let Miles be discharged at once ; 
 but the man of law, having prepared a most eloquent 
 speech, not feeling inclined, that the world should lose 
 so great a treasure, insisted upon going on at all 
 events, until they had to call their witnesses — " For," 
 as he said, " it is not impossible that both Osborne, as 
 well as Wallace, may yet arrive." Every time he 
 came to the words, " which we shall be able to prove 
 by our witnesses," Horton saw a sneer of contempt 
 and triumph pass across the features of the Bully. At 
 last, the counsel sat down ; and the crier called upon 
 Edward Osborne to come into court ; but no Edward 
 Osborne answered ; this having been done three times 
 the opposing counsel was heard to say, in an undertone 
 of voice, but quite loud enough to teach every ear — 
 "Exactly what I expected, exactly what I expected." 
 Then came great nodding of heads together, and 
 smiles, and a whispered witticism or two at the 
 expense of brother W histlepipe, Master Hewet's lead- 
 ing counsel. Then the crier called three times upon 
 the next witness, Wallace, the weaver, to appear, but 
 with no better result than in the case of Osborne. 
 Upon this second failure, up started Sergeant Thun- 
 derdown, brimful of that virtuous indignation which 
 counsel can at all times call up from the very bottom 
 of their too sensitive hearts. He said — " The insult 
 to the Court was almost too great to be borne, and 
 were it not for the respect he felt for the learned judge 
 before him, he should be tempted to tell his learned 
 
 brother, W histlepipe but, no, no ; he would, for 
 
 this time, swallow the gall of his indignation, and 
 
54 ESWABS OSBOBITE. 
 
 stifle in its birth the child of his resentment. Besides," 
 he said, " there was another reason for his determina- 
 tion to say but little, and that was, his wish to ease the 
 feelings of that poor innocent creature there," (here 
 he pointed to the prisoner, who really appeared to be 
 the very impersonation of villany), "look at his face 
 — there you will see the very index of a bock of inno- 
 cence, that a babe might read with advantage." He 
 appealed to the judge, he appealed to the jury, he ap- 
 pealed to aU who heard him — had there ever been such 
 a trumpery, such a contemptible, such an insulting 
 case, as the one now brought before them ? Here was 
 a poor, worthy, hard-working, honest, religious crea- 
 ture, accused of robbery, kept in prison for weeks and 
 months — he was going to say years, for every week in 
 prison, to the innocent, is as a year — he is to be tried 
 for his life, and when it comes to the proof, the wit- 
 nesses dare not look innocence in the face, and there- 
 fore abscond — yes, abscond ! Now, although his in- 
 jured client must of necessity be acquitted, yet, to 
 show the world how worthy a man had been placed in 
 that dreadful position, he would call one, only one, 
 although he had a hundred witnesses ready to speak to 
 character. He called Captain Bully. 
 
 Horton rose up actually vrith astonishment when he 
 saw the Blear-eyed Bully most unconcernedly take his 
 place in the witness-box. Had but one hundreth part 
 of what Captain Bully said been true, there was not a 
 virtue of man, woman, or child, that Miles did not 
 possess. The Bully became so warmed by his subject, 
 so enthusiastic in his eulogiums, so eloquent in his 
 praises, that Miles actually blushed at hearing him- 
 self thus painted in all the colours of the purest vir- 
 tue, religion, equity, and honour ! There is scarcely 
 any knowing how long the Bully would have continued 
 had not he been stopped suddenly, just as he was call- 
 ing upon heaven to send, ifsuch an one could be found, 
 a single human being, who would dare to accuse his 
 innocent friend. He had just finished this sentence, 
 
THl TRIAl. 55 
 
 when a cry was raised by those without, of "Ile'a 
 here! he's here!" and in another moment, a parly of 
 Hewet's workmen hurried in, bringing with them 
 Edward Osborne. 
 
 Had a ^host really appeared, the effect could have 
 been but little greater u()on the prisoner and the wit- 
 ness. Miles bec^ime deadly paL>, and had nearly fallen 
 to the ground ; the Blear-eyed Bully stood aghast, but 
 being a man of iron nerves, he recovered his selt'-po<- 
 session, and immediately attempted unseen to leave tlie 
 court. 
 
 "Eemain!" exclaimed the Judge, who had observed 
 the intention of the Bully. The crowd that stood 
 around the witness-box forced him back again, lie 
 iu a loud voice addressed the Judge, saying — " My 
 liird, why am I detained ? I have given my evidence. 
 I am a witness, not a prisoner !" 
 
 " Oh, God ! that voice !" exclaimed Edward, who, 
 turning, saw the Bully ; "that form — it is— it is the 
 murderer!" 
 
 Edward was called upon to explain his meaning, 
 and listened to with breathless attention, as he related 
 all that he had witnessed the night before. As lie 
 proceeded in his narrative, a shudder ran through the 
 court, as he described the death-struggle of the victim 
 with his murderer ; every eye was fixed on the Blear- 
 eyed-Bully, as Edward pointing to him, exclaimed, 
 " and as God shall prove my words, that man is the 
 murderer!" 
 
 There was little doubt now, that if what Osborne 
 had stated were true, the murdered man was the un- 
 fortunate weaver. The Bully was placed in the dock 
 with Miles, and called upon to answer the accusation 
 against him. 
 
 As he took his place by Miles, he looked down upon 
 him with a sneer of contempt, for Miles was almost 
 sinking from intense agitation. Harry Horton was 
 scarcely less alarmed, and kept his eyes rivetted im- 
 ploringly upon the Bully, who said in a deep under 
 
56 EDWABD OBBOENE. 
 
 tone, " I am no blab !" Horton felt his meaning, and 
 for a moment breathed more freely. 
 
 " See, see," said Osborne, again pointing to the ac- 
 cused, " I had forgotten to say, that as the body, to 
 the feet of which a huge stone -was tied, fell heavily 
 Irom the boat, the murdered victim had seized so 
 tightly upon his assassin, that in ginking down, he 
 bore with him a portion of the murderer's coat, to 
 which he had clung ; and see, the jerkin of that man 
 is rent, and part is torn away." 
 
 " Ha, ha, a pretty witness this to swear a man's life 
 away!" exclaimed the bully, "who first examines a 
 poor devil's clothes, and because they are not so prim 
 and new as his own, turns one's poverty to account, 
 and " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by Miles, who no longer 
 able to bear his mental sufiering, cried out, — " Mercy, 
 mercy ! only save my life, and I will tell all " 
 
 " Silence !" roared out the Blear-eyed Bully. At 
 the same time, Harry Horton rose, knowing not what 
 he did. 
 
 " 1 will not be silent !" said the other ; " only 
 promise me my life — and I will tell all : there are 
 more here who know " 
 
 " Silence, hell-dog !" exclaimed the Bully, foaming 
 with rage. 
 
 " I will speak, I will speak " 
 
 " Then damn you !" he cried, in a voice of thunder ; 
 and with a giant's power gave the poor wretch such 
 a deadly blow upon the temple vrith his clenched flat, 
 that the blood flew about in all directions, and Miles 
 lay dead at his feet. 
 
 But this was not yet the climax of the horrid scene ; 
 shouts of execration were heard, the large doors 
 opposite to where the prisoner stood suddenly flew 
 open, and there was seen a crowd, headed by the 
 Bridge-shooter, bearing in the dead body of the mur- 
 dered weaver, in whose hand was still clenched the 
 damning evidence against his assassin. The Blear- 
 
THE EXECUTION AT BTlIilKGSGATB. 57 
 
 eyed Bully's whole face swelled up until scarcely a 
 feature could be distinguished ; his eyes seemed 
 bursting from their Booijeta ; the women screamed ; 
 Alyce fainted; and the whole court became a scene of 
 fright, bewilderment, confusion aud of horror. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE EXECUTIOir AT BILLINGSGATE. 
 
 Say forth thy tale, and tarry not the time. 
 
 Chatjceb. 
 
 Altce being too indisposed to ride home. Sir Filbut 
 Fussy flew to the Palace Stairs, and hired one of the 
 most commodious barges there ; in this she was placed, 
 and sat reclining between her husband and Sir Filbut : 
 on one side of the boat was Flora Gray, on the other 
 little Anne, with her favourite, Edward Osborne, and 
 in the centre, but at a respectable distance, Billy-the- 
 bridge-shooter was seated on the floor, for Edward had 
 already acquainted the good mercliant with quite 
 enough of the late strange occurrences to raise his 
 curiosity, and create a desire to know more. They had 
 searched in vain for Harry Horton — he had left the 
 court unseen, immediately after the murderer had been 
 committed. They felt no alarm on his account, for 
 just as the merchant was placing his foot upon the 
 barge, an ill-looking fellow handed him a letter ; this 
 was from Hortoa, excusing his absence, under the plea 
 of having been sent for, to attend, what, he said, he 
 feared would prove the death-bed of his father. 
 
 As may be supposed, they had scarcely been seated 
 before the wonderful scene they had just left became 
 the all-absorbing topic of conversation, and Edward 
 explained those parts in which he was concerned, and 
 which he had omitted when in court, as being uselesi 
 at that time. 
 
58 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 " But to what miracle," said the merchant, "did 
 you owe the preservation of your own life ?" 
 
 " To that miracle 1" replied Edward, pointing and 
 looking kindly at Bil!y-the-bridge-shooter ; " it is to 
 him I owe my life, through G-od's help, and to him 
 alone !" he seized the lad's hand and shook it heartily ; 
 " would that I knew how to thank him enough !" 
 
 " Kiss him," said the child ; " that's the way you 
 always thank me when I please you." 
 
 " But perhaps, Anne," said the merchant, smiling 
 at the child's innocence, "but perhaps he would prefer 
 being thanked by some fine lady — will Elora, per- 
 chance " 
 
 " Indeed, master, but Plora won't," said the maid, 
 tossing up her nose. 
 
 " Then I will," and throwing her arms round the 
 lad's neck, the child kissed the Bridge-shooter, whose 
 face became scarlet with confusion. " Thank'ye, my 
 lady,' said he, 'but vot I a' done for him an't worth half 
 of that — it an't indeed, my lady ! he was kind to my 
 poor old mother, you sees, my lady ; and I teached 
 him to svim — I only teached him to svim — that's all — 
 and I hope my lord and my lady, and you, honord sir, 
 I an't done no harm ; if I has, I humbly craves your 
 pardon." Having said this he looked all manner of 
 ways, he felt so terribly ashamed. Edward, to relieve 
 him of his embarrassment, drew all the attention to- 
 wards himself, by explaining how he had been enabled 
 to baffle the murderous intention of his assailants the 
 night befure. Fortunately for him-elf, his presence 
 of mind never for a moment forsook iiira. The 
 moment he was precipitated into the water, he felt 
 that were he again to be seen by those wretches, his 
 death was certain, so calculating, that as the stream 
 was running swiftly down, they would naturally first 
 watch in that direction, in order to complete his 
 destruction should he again appear, he, whilst under 
 the water, laboured to swim for a time against the 
 stream, and remembering that he had seen a single 
 
THE EXECUTION AT BILLINGSGATE. 59 
 
 barge at some distance off, he turned liis course, as 
 well as he could guess, in tliat direction ; fortune 
 befriended him, for when compelled again to come to 
 the surface to take breath, he percpived himself to be 
 just on the further side of it; this for a time screened 
 him from their view, but fancying they were turning 
 their boat to that point, he once again dived under, and 
 coming up as seldom as his now-failing strength would 
 permit, he at last gained the shore. So completely 
 worn out was he, that he found it impossible to rise 
 from the ground upon which he now lay. The night 
 had become bitter cold— his senses were gradually 
 leaving him — strange fancies flitted through his brain 
 — he felt that he was dying — when, just as his eyes 
 were closing, and he had given up all hopes of life, he 
 felt a hand placed upon his shoulder. The sudden 
 thought that the murderers had seized him, gave him 
 for a moment the strength of despair; he turned, 
 when over him he saw, by the moon's light, the kneel- 
 ing figure of an aged woman. " Come," she said, 
 " come, I am sent to fetch you. Ha, ha ! my son will 
 own I'm a witch now, I'm thinking : were I not a 
 witch, how had I known you were here. "Whoever you 
 may be rise and follow me ; but first take this — it is 
 a magic draught that always give me strength." She 
 placed to his lips an antique wooden bottle, curiously 
 carved ; the spirit it contained acted powerfully upon 
 his frame, it glowed Hke fire through his veins. The 
 old woman again urged him to foUow her ; he made 
 another efibrt to rise, which, by her aid, proved suc- 
 dessful. In a few minutes they reached a hut of the 
 humblest kind ; it stood alone in the midst of the 
 marshes near Lambeth, then a bleak and desolate spot; 
 but his heart was cheered by the sight of a blazing tire, 
 and his wonder raised to the highest pitch, for there 
 by its welcome light he saw the Bridge-shooter com- 
 fortably seated. 
 
 " But I was more astonished nor him," said the lad, 
 " to see Master Edward walk in with my old mother. 
 
60 EDWAEB OSBOEHB. 
 
 But don't believe, good gentlefolks, that she is a vitch 
 — she isn't — indeed she isn't; although she does at 
 times make van doubt vun's seven senses." 
 
 Edward soon concluded his narrative, by stating 
 that, completely overcome with fatigue, horror, and 
 anxiety, it was useless to attempt reaching the mer- 
 chant's that night, and it was late in the morning 
 before a boat could be procured. The Bridge-shooter 
 had not accompanied him, for he said he had a little 
 secret business of his ovm to perform that morning, 
 but hurried Edward away straight to the Court. Of 
 all that subsequently happened there, the reader is 
 fully aware. Alyce and Elora had been so interested 
 in Edward as he told his tale of wonder, that they 
 began to regard him with a very different feeling to 
 that which they had experienced towards the poor 
 youth on May-day, at Mary Overie's Green. Billy 
 the Bridge-shooter now became the centre of attraction 
 to all the party, as he took up the thread of the dis- 
 course, saying — " Indeed, I vos astonished to see 
 Master Edward come in vith my mother ! And dido't 
 she rate me soundly for my disbelief of her being a 
 vitch ? ' What,' said she, ven Master Edward vos 
 asleep, and we were a votching on him — ' what,' said 
 she, ' should have told me all that has come to pass, if 
 I am not a witch ? Is it nothing, think you, that three 
 several times to night a coal should have flown out 
 of the fire, and every time of a different shape ?' * It 
 vould a been much more vunderful, mother,' said I, ' if 
 their shapes had a been all alike.' Theo she vent ou 
 — ' The tirst was like a coffin, and so fairly made, that 
 I knew it was for speedy use ; that spoke of coming 
 death — and has not a man been murdered ? The next 
 was like but half a coffin ; a death but half performed 
 — and has not Master Edward, as you call him, been 
 within an inch of death ? The last that came, was like 
 a large full purse!' — 'Veil, mother,' said I, 'that's not 
 comed at all events.' ' But it wUl, boy — it will,' she 
 replied : and I visli it may " 
 
THE EXECUTION AT BILIiINCtJGATE. 61 
 
 " But," enquired Edward, who possessed, as all else 
 did in those days, a degree of superstition, " but, if 
 your mother were not a witch, how came she to find me 
 at that hour of the night, and in such a place ? and 
 what did she mean by saying she was sent to fetch me ?" 
 
 " I axed that myself," said the lad ; " aud she said 
 — 'Do you think it's nothing,' for she generally 
 begins her clevernesses by asking if it's nothing — and 
 it very often is — ' do you think it's nothing to see a 
 spider creeping, and creeping from under your petti- 
 coats ? I watched it,' said mother, ' all across the floor, 
 and it went on, and on, until it came to some water I 
 had spilt, and there it stopped ; by that I knew it was 
 at tke water's brink, that what I was to find would no 
 where else be found : so off I trudged, and didn't I find 
 the youth ; and now, silly boy, would you still say I'm 
 not a witch !' I know mother '11 be burnt, I know she 
 will ; I keeps her in the marshes out of the way, on 
 purpose that no one may hear her nonsense." 
 
 All the party agreed, however, that it was very 
 strange, a very wonderful coincidence, a very extra- 
 ordinary agreeing of facts, &c. &c. ; but everybody 
 laughed at the idea of believing in witchcraft, yet, 
 inwardly every soul there determined there privately 
 to pay a visit to the witch of the marshes. Billy-the- 
 bridge-shooter, at his most earnest entreaty, was 
 allowed to shoot the boat through Old London JBridge, 
 instead of landing the party at the Swan stairs, and 
 this he did in so masterly a manner, that all allowed 
 the honourable name he bore was most meritoriously 
 bestowed. Sir Pilbut placed a piece of gold in his 
 hand, and desired to know the address of his mother 
 in the marshes, as he might, perchance, pay her a 
 visit of charity. As the lad described the spot, not 
 only were Plora's ears strained wide open to catch 
 every word, but also those of the lovely Alyce ; and it 
 must be owned that Master Hewet, too, made up his 
 mind not to forget the direction of the cunning 
 woman of the marsh. 
 
62 EDWARD OSBORNB. 
 
 Such horrible murders as that of the weaver on the 
 river, and of Miles in the open court, combined with 
 the strange, nay, almost miraculous, discovery of the 
 perpetrator, naturally became the topic of universal 
 conversation. Every running newsman reaped a plenti- 
 ful harvest, by retailing all the most minul e particulars 
 of how deep the wound was in the weaver's head — 
 and how far tlic blood of Miles had flown, and how 
 the greater part of it had spirted right over Harry 
 Horton, Master Hewet's apprentice. " But who is 
 the murderer ?" said Checklocke the smith, for this 
 dialogue took place in the upper, or more respectable 
 room of the wine house, and was now fiUed by the 
 traders and smaller merchacts of the Bridge. " Oh !" 
 replied the newsman, knowing his business too well 
 to injure the respectability of the Cardinal's hat, by 
 owning he had seen him there, " oh, a fellow from 
 some distant part — no one seems to know him further 
 than that they call him the BL'ar-ejeJ Bully ; he's 
 as tough as iron, for when he was put to the rack he 
 only laughed ; although it is well known he had ac- 
 complices, he has not betrayed a single name." 
 
 " No, nor will he," said saintly father Brassinjaw, 
 who now looked smug and trim, and it being midday, 
 was perfectly sober, and was now drinking a little 
 sweetened water ; " no, they will wring nothing from 
 him. I have visited him night and day, at the inter- 
 cession of that good young man, Harry Horton, who, 
 although too ill himself to come to his master's, has 
 not forgotten the spiritual welfare of that poor lost 
 creature." 
 
 In part this was true, for Horton had employed 
 his friend the priest to act as tlie go-between for him 
 to the Bully, who laughed at Horton' s fears, and sent 
 him word to " Come to his execution, and see how a 
 man could die." 
 
 " But wTiat other news have you, good Master 
 Knowy ?" inquired Catchemayde ; " how goes on the 
 trial of the Queen ?" 
 
TUB EIECIJTIOSr AT BILIJNGSaATB. G3 
 
 " Oh, her affair's so stale, it's scarcely worth the 
 mentioning ; but it will be a rather pretty execution 
 on the I7th ; but it is vastly like playing with the 
 people's patience, methinks — first to give out that we 
 were to liave a bonfire, made of a real right arnest 
 Qu?en, and then, to be put off in this way, with a 
 mere slash-my-neck-and-it's-al.'-over." 
 
 " What !" faid Silkworm the stringer ; " is she 
 only to luive her head cut off, after all ? then I shall 
 iiot take the trouble to go and see it, I can tell 'em." 
 
 " A or shal I," added Checklocke. 
 
 " And I'm sure I won't 1" chimed in Catchemayde. 
 
 "And I'm sure," said the newsman, "you're all 
 right if you don't go, for you wouhln't see it if you 
 did. "Why, bless you 1 so tender-hearted is our good, 
 dear, sweet King Harry, so afraid that his dear 
 Nanny should be hurt, that he has sent all the way 
 to Calais for the French headsman." 
 
 Here the saintly father Brassinjaw, giving the. 
 newsman a sly wink, and beckoning him forward, 
 whispered into his ear — " Good Master Knowy, 
 canst thou not, in all thy budget, ecrape up a little 
 morsel of — of innocent scandal ? hush — mum — it 
 gives a piquant seasoning to thy discourse, friend 
 Knowy." 
 
 The newsman, catching at the hint, said — " By-th'^- 
 by, were I but sure that it would go no furiher, I 
 could give you, friends, a rare bit of tittle-tattle ; but 
 no, I'll keep it to myself, for were it known that I had 
 set it floating " 
 
 The moment he threw in a dash of mystery, that 
 moment did every one present desire to learn more, 
 
 "And, besides, it were cruel to draw an honest 
 neighbour into ridicule." 
 
 " I love to laugh at my neighbours," said Silkworm. 
 
 " And I'd rather laugh than cry at any time, or at 
 any thing," added Catchemayde. 
 
 Here Brassinjaw began to snore, and pretended to 
 go fast asleep. 
 
64l EDWABD OSBOBNE. 
 
 " Come, Master Knowy, speak out, man," said 
 Checklocke ; " we love a bit of scandal, particularly 
 about our own dear friends ; and see, Brassinjaw is 
 fast asleep, so you need fear to offend no one here." 
 
 " Well then," said Knowy, " it's about a certain 
 person, not a hundred miles from this house." 
 
 "Not Driggles," exclaimed one, "the lantern 
 maker, whose wife broke his head with a ladle f " 
 
 " Or Bunks, the buttoner, who could not get up, 
 for his wife had run away with his slops and his 
 hose ?" said another. 
 
 " Nearer than that," replied the newsman, " and 
 his name begins with H." 
 
 " It can't be Master Hewet ! No, you don't mean 
 it?" and they all get closer round the newsman; 
 and declared they would give a sound silver penny 
 each of them, ay, that they would, if they could only 
 get one good laugh at Master Hewet. 
 
 " Well, then, my friends, give me but the silver 
 pennies, and I'll give you the laugh," saying this he 
 held round his cap, into which they threw broken 
 pieces of money ; for the penny was then coined with 
 a deeply indented cross upon it, which, if broken one 
 way, made two Jialf pennies, if broken again the other 
 way, it formed four fourthings, or as we now say 
 farthings. 
 
 Having received a good round sum, for scandal was 
 as high in the market then, as it has ^een since, he 
 began by saying, " Now, remember, I say nothing, I 
 know nothing, and therefore can tell nothing, but it 
 is odd, isn't it, that Master Hewet should hare 
 such a pretty wife ?" 
 
 " Oh! come," said Catchemayde, "that won't do at 
 all — no, no, there's nothing of scandal there, I'd be 
 sworn." 
 
 " I didn't say there was — I only said it was odd — 
 and it is odd, that twenty times a week, a dapper 
 little page, splendidly dressed, should call on honest 
 Master Hewet, and always brings some costly fruits, 
 
THE EXEOTTIIOir AT BILIiINa8&i.TII. 65 
 
 or lovely flowera. — Dame Alyce, bo the story goes, is 
 wondrously fond of fruits and flowers — now it's odd, 
 but mind, I say nothing farther than that it is odd, 
 that Master Hewet's lovely wife is now no longer 
 satisfied with a good pillion behind her loving lord, but 
 needs must learn to ride upon a noble steed herself.'' 
 
 " Well, that is odd, I own," said Catohemayde. 
 
 " And it's odd, methinks, that the very horse she 
 learns to ride upon belongs to the master of the 
 dapper little page " 
 
 " And who is he ?" exclaimed more than one. 
 
 " I say not who, but only that it is odd — that on 
 the left arm of this same page, the arms should there 
 be found of young Sir Filbut Pussy !" 
 
 " No ?" ejaculated a dozen at the least. 
 
 " And odder still it is, that he who teaches the 
 merchant's lovely wife to ride, is rich Sir Filbut 
 Pussy's self ! But not a word, not a breath of what 
 I've told you as being odd, for it's only odd, and no- 
 thing more, depend upon it. And now a right good 
 day to you all, my worthy sirs." And so saying, the 
 newsman made his exit ; and soon after the rest of the 
 party, making their several comments upon what they 
 had heard, and uttering a few jokes at the expense of 
 Master Hewet. The moment they had all left the 
 room, Basainjaw got up, put on his bonnet, and left the 
 place muttering as he went — " She shall do a pretty 
 penance for this, in purse as well as person. I'U not 
 leave a bit of skin on her knees, nor a silver penny in 
 her purse. I'm not angry with her for disliking her 
 husband — I have hated him ever since he refused to be 
 one of my flock. Nor am I angry that she should dis- 
 cover beauties in the rich fool, Sir Filbut Fussy ; no, 
 for aU this I might find absolution ; but I'll never for- 
 give her keeping the secret so snug from me. Why, 
 properly used, it would have been a little fortune to 
 me ; but it may not yet be too late to do something in 
 the matter." A short time after this, Brassinjaw might 
 be seen seated upon a little fat long-eared mule, 
 
66 EDTTAED OSBOENB. 
 
 trotting along the road up Chancery Lane, then a 
 lane bordered by green hedges clothed in May's most 
 tempting livery. Making for a lonely cottage in the 
 fields near Holbourne, where Harry Hoi-ton had then 
 taken up his quaiters, the whole tale of his own, or 
 his father's illness being a mere subterfuge, until be 
 saw how matters were likely to turn. Brassinjaw was 
 not so great a fool as to imagine that Harry Horton 
 was not aware of all that had been going on under his 
 father's roof, and was now on his way to come to an 
 explanation, and to settle upon what terms he was 
 either to speak out or hold his peace ; the scheme of 
 villany concocted between them at this interview we 
 must leave the incidents themselves to elucidate. 
 But this much we may here relate, that Sir Filbut 
 became one of the saintly father Brassinjaw's flock, 
 and it occurred strangely enough, that father Biasdn- 
 jaw's memory became suddenly so bad, that he was 
 for ever appointing the same day, and the very same 
 hour, for receiving the confessions both of Sir Fiibut 
 and the lovely Alyce, by which it naturally occurred 
 that they were for ever meeting in the chapel of Saint 
 Thoiras of the Bridge. 
 
 It was Friday, the 19th of May, when, about the 
 middle of the day, a single gun was heard to boom 
 loudly from the Tower walls ; at that moment, the 
 head of the lovely Anne Boleyn, had &llen beneath 
 the sword of the Calais executioner. The hour of 
 the Queen's execution had been kept a. profound 
 secret from the public, so that tW avyful! scene was 
 witnessed by few. ■; - ; . , *■ 
 
 The gun the citizens had heard was the signal to 
 tell King Henry, who had gone hunting, that he was 
 now a widower; and it is said, that when the 
 anxiously-expected but welcome sound reached the 
 heartless miscreant's ear, he ordered his attendants 
 then to " slip the dogs, and let the chase begin." 
 
 Now, although the good citizens had been pre- 
 vented enjoying so rare a sight as that of gazing upon 
 
THE EXECUTION AT BIlLUfQSGATE. 67 
 
 the first female blood that had ever flowed in England 
 on a public scaifold, they had been, for some hours 
 previously, feasting their eyes upon n different kind 
 of death, which, from its lingering nature, the imagi- 
 nation can scarcely conceive aught more horrible — it 
 was the execution of the Blear-eyed Bully. 
 
 The trial of the Blear-eyed Bully, as might be ex- 
 pected, was but a short affair ; the evidence concern- 
 ing the murder of the weaver was too powerful to 
 admit of a moment's doubt ; and the second murder, 
 within the Court, could not for an instant be denied ; 
 indeed, the Bully knew himself to be so utterly lost, 
 that he would not answer a single question. As the 
 first crime had been committed upon the river, the 
 sentence passed was, that he should be chained to a pile, 
 driven into the bed of the river at low water, and 
 there remain until he had had three tides rise 
 over him. 
 
 Tlie spot appointed for the execution was off the 
 stairs at BiUingsgate, being a part of the river fre- 
 quented by the reckless portion of the city, and 
 therefore well adapted to so striking an example. As 
 early as six in the morning the preparations had 
 began. The water-bailiffs had arranged a semicircle 
 of boats, containing their officers, all fully armed, at 
 some distance around the fatal pile to which the poor 
 wretch was to be bound, thus keeping an open space 
 about the culprit, and at the same time preventing 
 any chance of a rescue. 
 
 About an hour after the turn of tide, such a yelling, 
 and shouting, and huzzaiug, was heard, that it was 
 not difficult to guess that the prisoner was on his way 
 to death. From the bridge an excellent view was 
 obtained, the bailiffs' boats keeping the space quite 
 clear, everything close to the pile could be clearly 
 distinguished. Presently, two boats put off; in the 
 one sat the Blear-eyed Bully, securely guarded ; in 
 the other, were the priests of St. Thomas of the 
 Bridge, amongst them our eaiutly father Brassinjaw. 
 
68 XDWABI) 0SB0B5Z. 
 
 To the front side of the pile had been aflixed a sort of 
 table to support the feet of the murderer ; but this 
 ^paB DOW out of sight, the water having risen nearly 
 two feet above it. A deafening shout burst forth as 
 the Bully took his place upon the spot appointed, the 
 water now reachiDg to his knees. A chain was then 
 bound about his body and the pile, like a serpent, 
 beginning at his feet, and coiling round and round 
 upwards, till it finished by being passed twice around 
 his neck, and fastened by a strong staple to the back 
 of the pile. 
 
 Before the preparations were completed, the poor 
 wretch could clearly feel the waters rising, and rising, 
 slowly, it is true, but surely : yet the Blear-eyed 
 Bully bore his fate as though his soul had been 
 wrought in steel. At every rising wave, the only 
 change that even the priests, who never ceased to 
 pray, and to exhort the dying man to repent, while 
 yet it was time, could perceive, was a stronger com- 
 pression of the lip, and a firmer fixing of the eye. 
 His hands were fastened in the attitude of prayer, 
 and between them was bound a crucifix. In this 
 horrid situation, he had to be exposed for hours, for, 
 to him, death came too slowly — and yet his only hope 
 was death! As the spectators grew tired, some 
 moved away, and others rowed nearer, to get a better 
 view of the doomed murderer. So passed away the 
 first dreadful hour — so the next, and higher still up 
 heaved the monster river ! but, oh ! so gently, that 
 his deadly approach was scarcely felt or seen. 
 
 Master Hewet and Edward Osborne kept their 
 rooms for that day, for they felt that in a degree 
 they were mixed up with the wretched man who was 
 then undergoing the dreadful expiation of all his 
 crimes: but Flora Glray, although she had been 
 commanded not to go out upon the balcony, peep 
 she would, and let little Anne peep too, and more 
 than peep, for she stood -the child upon the upper 
 edge of the balcony, and holding her fast, pointed 
 
ME EXEOUrlON AT flllllUGSOATE. 69 
 
 Out to her all that was moving upon the flood 
 beneath. 
 
 The waters had risen up to the very mouth of the 
 murderer. The Blear-eyed Bully's eyes protruded 
 farther and farther, as despair seemed to take posses- 
 sion of his soul; he held back hia head as far as the 
 firm manner in which it had been placed, permitted, 
 in the vain endeavour to raise his lips above the 
 stream ; this was indeed a moment fraught with 
 death, for it was at that instant the gun was fired 
 from the Tower. 
 
 The sudden sound of cannon made Alyce run into 
 the lower balcony, when, who can paint her horror, 
 as from the balcony above, she saw her only child fall 
 headlong into the raging cataracts beneath ! Her 
 screams were frightful, as were those of Mora, who, 
 startled at the sound of the cannon, had let loose her 
 hold — the child was gone ! 
 
 Of all the crowd of boats, not one dared shoot the 
 bridge to attempt the rescue of the child. But, oh ! 
 what a shout was heard, aa Edward Osborne was seen 
 to leap from the balcony's upper roof into the raging 
 flood. 
 
 Never were the instructions of a great master in 
 any art more fully rewarded by success, than in the 
 case of Edward Osborne. He buffetted the waves 
 until he mastered their power sufficiently to allow 
 him to call in the energies of his mind to direct his 
 course ; at last a loud peal of triumph rent the air, 
 as the beholders saw, to their astonishment, the youth 
 floating on the surface, and with one hand upholding 
 his master's child. And there was one more to share 
 the glory, the worthy master of such a pupil. Billy 
 the-bridge-shooter had that very moment proved his 
 right to the title he so nobly bore, and his was the 
 first boat that reached the almost-exhausted youth. 
 Osborne, with the child still held close to his breast, 
 was soon landed, and the mother and sire both 
 kneeling in thankfulness at his feet. 
 
70 EDWABD OSBOENE. 
 
 Before we close this strange and eventful chapter, 
 we are compelled to add one incident more, scarcely 
 ]ess strange, and Cfrtainly not less eventful to our 
 coming tale, than those which have preceded it. 
 
 The day was passing rapidly away, when the tide 
 having done its worst upon the murderer, was at its 
 lowest. There still was seen the dead body chained 
 to the fatal pile, for the law enacted that three tides 
 should cover it. At this moment, a boat coming up 
 the river, in which was a solitary passenger, with 
 trunks and other things bespeaking the traveller, was 
 being rowed towards the landing-place of Billings- 
 gate. The waterman explained to him all that had 
 occurred, and curiosity impelled him to make tlie 
 man row as close as possible to the executed criminal. 
 Indeed, so close had the man brought the boat, that 
 when the stranger who was standing up in it turned 
 round, his face came almost in contact with that of 
 the dead man. He gave one horrid shriek, and falling 
 backward, exclaimed — " Oh &od, it is my brother !" 
 
 CHAPTEE YII. 
 
 THE CEIPPLB OF THE BJEIDGE. 
 
 Alas ! 
 For in the etarrfes, clearer than ia glass, 
 Is written, God wot, whoso cotild it read, 
 The death of cTery man withouten drede, 
 • * but mennfes wittfes be so dull, 
 That no wight can well read to the fuU. 
 
 Chauoeb. 
 
 Night had fallen, and on the summit of that tower of 
 death, the Traitor's Gate, the Cripple sate and mused. 
 There, all absotbed, his fingers gently strayed from 
 string to string o'er that poor friendly lute, which oft 
 before had solaced weary hours, and made the gall of 
 disappointed nature flow for a time in kindliness to 
 man. He gazed up in the heavens, and paused to 
 think — what wondrous tales of joy, of sorrow, virtue, 
 
TUB CRIPPLE cr THE BEIDQB. 71 
 
 and of vice, those stars might tell, were they but ouce 
 to speak ; and, casting a melaQcholy look arouad, he 
 sang, in a plaintive strain — 
 
 Debth ia here, and deatli is there, 
 And death is round iis every where ; 
 Then do not lot us quarrel more, 
 
 For, oh ! 80 few the hours of bliss. 
 That bloom upon life's barren shore, 
 'Xwero madness not to treasure this. 
 
 Sure eyery moment of this life. 
 
 Should be the parent of a smile, 
 Not wasted thus in angry strife — 
 
 Such were Q-od's goodness to revile. 
 
 Then let our future life be past, 
 
 Enoirled by love's holiest spell, 
 As though we deemed each hour the last — 
 Our last it may be ! — who can tell? 
 For death is here, and death is there. 
 And death is round us every where. 
 
 And he sate for some time absorbed in reflection, when 
 he was suddenly startled by the sound of a voice. So 
 unexpected was it, that the Cripple grasped his staff, 
 .and stood upon his guard. A moment more, and the 
 Cripple, dropping his truaty weapon, sent forth his 
 well-known screeching laugh, for he recognised the 
 comer — it was Edward Osborne ! 
 
 " Well," said he, " this is indeed an honour the 
 Cripple of the Bridge-gate Tower could little dream 
 of. Why, boy ! you are the only living mortal that 
 has ventured here, besides myself, for I know not how 
 many a day. So few that do get up here ever get 
 down again, that I'm not over pestered by calling 
 friends. What ails you ?— you tremble, boy !" 
 
 " I do," replied Edward, " I own I do, at findiiig 
 myself thus suddenly surrounded by all these ghastly 
 evidences of violence and death. WiUy ! you pro- 
 fessed, unasked, to be my friend ; I now demand fu'- 
 filment of such profession. You are the last in all 
 
72 EDWABB OSBOBM. 
 
 this mighty city that most would come to, craving i 
 kindly favour ; you are the first I have ever asked a 
 favour from." 
 
 "Why, boy, you overpower me with your flattery !" 
 said the poor Cripple, who smiled vrith evident 
 pleasure at finding at last one soul on earth who 
 thought him worthy of his confidence. " "What can so 
 humble, so poor, so uffly a wretch as I am, do to 
 pleasure one whom nature has stamped as her own 
 especial favourite." 
 
 " Willy, they tell me you have a beauty in your 
 mind, which far outweighs in others their beauteous- 
 ness of form." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! ho, ho ! he, he — ! And pray, boy, what 
 may my great beauty be ? Wonders will never cease. 
 But, tell me, lad, and tell me quickly, for I cannot too 
 soon know my charms, what may. my wondrous 
 beauty be ?" 
 
 " Tbttth !" replied Osborne. 
 
 "Truth!" echoed the Cripple; "it is only the 
 really wise who always act by truth : your liars and 
 your rogues are ever fools — they lose tenfold what 
 they gain — mark that through life, and that you'll 
 find's a sterling truth. Now, lad, I promise one 
 thing, for I am your friend, that what I say to you 
 shall team with nought but truth." 
 
 " It is feeling that," said Osborne, " which has made 
 me seek you. But let us descend, for this is an awful 
 place to put the questiob I would ask your truth to 
 answer." 
 
 The Cripple, to relieve young Osborne of his fear, 
 consented to descend; and as they crept down the 
 dark winding stairs, he heard the Cripple bidding a 
 kind good night to all his children, and admonishing 
 them to watch, and not fall down asleep, as sometimes 
 they did, — and closing the turret door, followed 
 Osborne to the lodge below. 
 
 Although it was the month of May, and warm for 
 that time of year, a blazing fire was burning. The 
 
THE O&IFFLB Of IHE BBISaE. 73 
 
 Cripple first hung up a thick sort of curtaia over the 
 little casement — " For," said he, " the good folk of the 
 Bridge are mighty curious, and are ibr ever prying 
 into my domestic habits — what do they expect to see ? 
 believe me, there are many stranger scenes to be 
 witnessed in houses I could name, and on the Bridge 
 too, than ever passed within the Bridge-gate Tower." 
 
 He brought forth three trenchers, on one of which 
 was a piece of salted beef — the usual food of the 
 humbler class for more than half the year — with bread 
 and salt, and a flagon of sweet ale ; then drawing a 
 large pot, or saucepan, that stood upon the hob, further 
 on to the fire, he seated himaeu, and looked into 
 Osborne's face ; then pointing to the food, said — 
 " Now you are more at your ease, repeat your 
 question, and I'll answer it : but warm yourself, and 
 drink, for I know of no power to exorcise or lay your 
 midnight spectres half so certain as a blazing fire and 
 a flagon of bright strong ale." 
 
 Odbome felt little inclination to eat, for his mind 
 was fall of the strange things he wished to lay open to 
 the Cripple. " Willy," said he, drawing nearer to 
 the Cripple, and almost whispering his words, " do 
 you believe the dead ever again can walk this earth — 
 that to doubt your eyes would be to doubt your 
 reason ? — do you believe in ghosts ? If ever the dead 
 were permitted to revisit this our earth — the dead has 
 appeared to me !" 
 
 So solemnly did Osborne pronounce this awful con- 
 viction of bis mind, that the Cripple paused from the 
 work he was upon, and gazed in wonder at the youth. 
 
 "Tou know the wretch whose death I was the 
 cause of, tbough justly? Upon his sentence being 
 passed, he bade me guard well my midnight couch by 
 prayer, or I should see him as sure as the clock should 
 strike the dead hour of night. Now, although I know 
 that Heaven's power can easily keep in check the 
 fiends of darkness, yet I must own that such a denun- 
 ciation made so deep an impression upon my mind, 
 
74 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 that when night came I listened to the folliag of 
 St. Paul's great bell with fear and horror. I have 
 wrought my mind to such a pitch of nervous dread, 
 that I cannot close my eyes of nights until the fatal 
 hour be passed. Not knowing what to do, and seeing 
 my mistress's confessor, the father Brassinjaw, leaving 
 our house, I entreated him to advise me. Instead of 
 comforting, he has taken from me even the hope I had, 
 and tells me that all 1 suffer is a just punishment for 
 not before becoming one of his flock. He has ordered 
 me to attend the midnight prayers in the chapel of 
 St. Thomas-of-the-Bridge ; last night I did." 
 
 Here lie was interrupted, and made to start, by the 
 sudden boiling over of the pot upon the fire. The 
 Cripple, laughing, pushed the saucepan off the fire, 
 lifted the lid, and stirring the contents round with a 
 wooden spoon, again covered them, and desired Os- 
 borne to proceed. 
 
 Osborne, drawing a deep breath, continued — " Tes, 
 Willy, last night I attended at the appointed prayers : 
 few persons were there besides the priests, and when 
 the service was ended I fell upon my knees to pray 
 for ease of mind, and becoming absorbed in the fervour 
 of nay devotions, I did not perceive all else had left 
 the place, save one man, who was extinguishing the 
 lights upon the altar. As I rose to quit the chapel, I 
 was startled by seeing the figure of a man standing in 
 a gloomy corner ; he was enveloped in a dark mantle, 
 and motionless as death. I had to pass that spot. I 
 kept my eyes fixed upon the figure — I knew not why : 
 when, just within arm's reach, it suddenly threw open 
 the mantle, and there I beheld, if e'er my eyes saw 
 truly, the ghost of him who had so lately suffered for 
 his crimes. He stood before me in the very habit in 
 which he died. I covered ray eyes for an instant 
 with my hands, for I feared to look upon it, and when 
 I had gained courage to do so, the figure was gone, 
 but in its place I found this written paper. In stoop- 
 ing to seize it, I fancied I again saw the shadow 
 
THE CHIPPLE or THE BRIDOE. 75 
 
 gliding down the steps leading to the crypt below. I 
 would have followed, but was prevented by Fatber 
 Bassinjaw, who, at that moment, ascended by those 
 very steps. I exclaimed — ' Let me pass ! let me pass ! 
 'tis there ! 'tis there 1' He held me back, and when I 
 explained what I had seen, he smiled at my credulity, 
 and showed me bow impossible it wns that aught 
 could have descended to the crypt and he not see it. 
 He told me to hasten home, and, for the future, to be 
 obedient to whatever commands 1: e might lay upon 
 me, as the only means of relieving myself from the 
 power of evil spirits, who certainly then possessed me. 
 I did return home, but not to sleep, but to ponder 
 over and over the contents of this paper, which I had 
 unconsciously brought from the chapel. It is evidently 
 written in blood ; look at it — look at it, Willy, and 
 tell me what you think ?" 
 
 The Cripple took the paper, and read it aloud — 
 " If yon would avoid the miserable fate the fiends have 
 doomed you to, seek the right road, hy consulting the 
 witch of the marsh. To-morrow night, at ten, the moon 
 is at the full ; he there, but be alone — remember, be 
 alone, or a more dreadful doom awaits you than that of 
 the shade, which, from the grave, now warns you. No 
 mortal must Jcnoio what you this night have seen-^ 
 remember !" 
 
 "Now, how would you have me act?' inquired 
 Osborne. 
 
 " Go, and go unfearingly," said the Cripple ; " the 
 spirit means no harm, or it had chosen some other 
 witch ; she is, if I mistake not, the mother of your 
 new-made friend; therefore, if she have power to 
 raise up devils, shewill have power, too, to prevent their 
 hurting him who fought to save her. Where is her son?" 
 
 " Oh, far away," replied Osborne. " Ever since we 
 saved my master's child, the merchant has befriended 
 the poor Bridge-shooter, and has sent him, as a safe- 
 guard to the merchandise they are shipping, some 
 miles down the river." 
 
?6 EDWABS 08B0BH1S. 
 
 " And Hewet, where is he ?" 
 
 " The merchant and Horton are both at Hamptoft 
 Court ; for, by CromweU'a intercession, Master Hewet 
 is now one of King Henry's merchants ; he has gone 
 to take orders from his Highness for stuffs for our 
 new Queen's coronation." 
 
 "Then his wife is left alone; she must be very 
 dull," said the Cripple. 
 
 "She would be," replied Osborne, "but for the 
 kindness of Sir Klbert Pussy, who sometimes comes 
 and reads and sings, to amuse her, for hours to- 
 gether." 
 
 " Indeed !" said the Cripple, " he is wondrously 
 kind !" Then again stirring the saucepan, he 
 hummed — 
 
 " We must set a man to tratch, 
 
 Dance o'er my Lady Lea ; 
 We must set a man to watch 
 For this poor La-dee." 
 
 " Then you advise me, WUly, to go to the marshes 
 to-morrow night, at the tenth hour," said Osborne, 
 "and alone?" 
 
 "I do ; for who knows what the stars may por- 
 tend ?" replied the Cripple. " And now home to 
 rest ; for it must be on the stroke of midnight." 
 
 Osborne turned suddenly pale, prayed to be allowed 
 to remain until after that dreaded hour had passed. 
 " I should be less fearful," said he, "if even my master 
 were at home." 
 
 " Tour master ! curse him !" said the Cripple ; " but 
 I shall boil his head' yet— I shall boil his head yet !" 
 and then he chuckled again, and began to stir round 
 the smoking cauldron. 
 
 " What do you mean," said Osborne, " by that 
 disgusting phrase which you are so frequently re- 
 peating; ?" 
 
 " What do I mean ?" replied the Cripple, still 
 chuckling and stirring the steaming pot ; " what do I 
 mean F" — the deep sound of St. Paul's bell began to 
 
THE OBIPPLE or TUB BBISOB. 77 
 
 toll the twelfth hour, as he continued — " this is what 
 I mean," and saying which, he thrust a hook into the 
 cauldron, and drew tbence a human head. 
 
 " Horror 1" exclaimed Osborne, trembling all over ; 
 for in the features he recognised those of the Blear' 
 eyed BuUy. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! ha, ha ! he, he! foolish boy," said the 
 
 Cripple, " fear it not ; but I had forgotten at the 
 moment whose head it was. It was brought this 
 afternoon for me to prepare for being hung up upon 
 a gibbet to-morrow, as a warning to all who take 
 delight in committing murders upon the Thames. 
 There, there it is in again, so calm your fears. This 
 is the second I have boiled to-day, the other was of a 
 very different mould ; it was that of a poor monk they 
 executed this morniug, because he would not forswear 
 |]is conscience, and take an oath that the Pope was 
 Anti-Christ, and that King Henry was so pure, that 
 he ought to be supreme head of our Holy Church. 
 The poor creattu-e would have been saved, but your 
 master's friend, the blacksmith minister, the great 
 Cromwell, who they say is soon to be a lord, swore 
 that if the jury did not find him guilty, and hang him 
 up, he'd hang them up instead." 
 
 Cromwell was ever a bitter enemy to the poor 
 monks ; they were executed by hundreds. For 
 Henry, having cut off the head of the pontifical 
 power, found the limbs but incumbrances, and began 
 to lop them off one by one, and occasionally in greater 
 numbers ; but the time for their total annihilation had 
 not yet arrived. The great delight of Henry seemed 
 to be in burning thosewho refusedto follow the Bomish 
 religion, and in banging those who followed it too 
 closely. If they denied his supremacy in holy matters, 
 it was of little consequence which persuasion they 
 followed ; there were but two roads to go, the one led 
 to the flames, the other to the gibbet. 
 
 It was the head of one of these poor conscientious, 
 though, perhaps, mistaken creatures, that the Cripple 
 
78 EDWAED OSBOEKB. 
 
 had that evening heen fixing upon the tower, just 
 before Osborne visited him there. 
 
 Edward, feeling not only horror, but disgust, to see 
 the unconcerned manner in which the Cripple fulfilled 
 his dreadful duty, bade his companion a hearty good 
 night, and hurried away. 
 
 There were few places in London more melancholy 
 in appearance, than the road across Old London 
 Bridge at midnight, the over-hanging buildings, iu 
 many places, nearly shutting out the little light the 
 stars might lend ; and then the irregular line of 
 houses, here projecting, here receding ; here a deep 
 recess, as if made purposely for the concealment of 
 some lurking robber ; there long tunnel-like archways, 
 as if portals to the realms cf darkness. 
 
 Edward Osborne, at this moment painfully alive 
 to external influences, was startled by hearing, at no 
 great distance from him, sounds of music. He stopped 
 — he listened ; then creeping onwards, and taking 
 advantage of one of those deep recesses we have 
 noticed, he was enabled to watch, unseen, a party of 
 dark figures, enveloped in cloaks and masks, who were 
 performing beneath the window, as he thought, of his 
 master's house. He had approached so close, that 
 not a syllable escaped his ear ; and thus he heard the 
 midnight minstrels sing — 
 
 The stars are bright, are bright indeed, 
 
 But we know something brighter still ; 
 'Tis not the dew-bespangled mead. 
 
 Nor moonlight dancing on the rill : 
 'Tis not the northern meteor's light, 
 
 Nor glowworm's tiny lamp so clear; 
 'Tis not the diamond, sparkling bright — 
 
 But 'tis the eye of Alyoe, dear. 
 Then wake, dear Alyce, wake, we pray — 
 And let thine eyes change night to day. 
 
 Sweet is the breath of early mom. 
 But we know something sweeter far j 
 
 'Tis not the mellow sounding horn 
 Xhat lulls to rest the last pale star { 
 
TUB OttlPPlE OE THE BRIDflB. 79 
 
 'Tis not the violet, nor the rose, 
 
 Nor that sweet hour when daylight dies, 
 Like infant, sinking in repose — 
 But 'tis the sunlight of those eyes. 
 Then wake, dear Alyoe, wake, we pray, 
 And let thine eyes change night to day. 
 
 Did his ears deceive him ? No, the name of Alyce 
 floated on the breeze. He could not be mistaken. 
 But who would dare to sing thus openly the praises 
 of his lovely mistress ? 'Tis true, that another Alyce, 
 and with bright eyes too, dwelt on the opposite side ; 
 and alie was known to use those bright eyes for other 
 purposes than for reading prayers. 
 
 Such were the thoughts of Edward, during the 
 pause between the verses ; but, as the second strain 
 began, he fancied he must be dreaming, for surely he 
 saw the figure of a female, half concealed, standing by 
 the casement of his master's room ; and, presently, a 
 white band stole gently to the latch that held the 
 window close, and then the lattice slightly moved, as 
 if to admit the sound more clearly ; but all was evi- 
 dently done with greatest i aution, that those without 
 should know not that their flattery was listened to. 
 
 The serenaders having finished their task, or fan- 
 cying the night-watch coming, moved away. As they 
 passed the spot where Osborne stood concealed, one 
 or two of the voices sounded familiar to his ear : the 
 only words he could distinguish, for the party moved 
 rapidly along, were — " Be not afraid, success is cer- 
 tain; Alyce " 
 
 The moment they were past, he hurried to the spot 
 they had left, and gazed, not at his maaker's house, 
 for he could not bring his mind to believj that Alycj 
 Hewet coul 1 possibly be the subject of any lover's 
 midnight adoration, but his eye was directed to the 
 opposite dwelling : all there was still. He looked, and 
 looked, till fancy half pictured the form of Alyce 
 Vaughan, their young and pretty neighbour, flitting 
 by her latticed window. 
 
80 ESWABD OSBOBITE. 
 
 Having quite satisfied his mind that it must be she, 
 whose charms had called forth the praises he had 
 beard, he opened his own door ; but, as he entered, 
 he thought he saw another figure issuing from a 
 recess, like the one he had himself occupied, and 
 stealthilj creep along in the same direction the sere- 
 naders had taken. 
 
 His thoughts suddenly reverting to the shadowy 
 form he had seen in the chapel, he hastily entered 
 and closed the door. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE KTTTG AND THE MEBCHANT. 
 
 But down on knees went every manner wight, 
 And thanked him with all their hearths might. 
 
 Ohavces. 
 
 " God's blood, man ! what do you fear ? Am I so 
 terrible a monster, that the very sight of me should 
 make you tremble like a love-sick girl as she first 
 confesses her naughty passion, before her frowning 
 priest ? Arise, and speak out boldly what you have 
 to say." 
 
 These words were addressed by the giant, Henry 
 the Eighth, King of England, to Master "William 
 Hewet, who humbly knelt before his Highness, in 
 the beautiful gardens of Hampton Court. At some 
 little distance behind Master Hewet, was Harry 
 Horton, also kneeling. 
 
 At the King's command, they both arose, but kept 
 their eyes moat modestly fixed upon the earth. 
 
 " Tou owe me no thanks," said the King ; " take 
 them all to our trusty and well-beloved Cromwell ; 
 'tis he to whom they are justly due. Now, merchant, 
 shew me thy stufis and wares." 
 
 IJpau this Horton advanced, for in his charge were 
 all the samples they had brought, and sinking upoa 
 
fBS KXSa AND THB MEROHAITl'. 81 
 
 one knee he held up the various cases, that Henry 
 might see to what wondrous perfection the looms and 
 handy-works of various nations had been brought. 
 
 " For such variety, Master Hewet," said the King, 
 " you must have ransacked half the world : hast thou 
 many ships P" 
 
 " Thanks to your Highness for teaching us how to 
 build them, and the Voyal encouragement ever held 
 out to all who would advance the knowledge of the 
 sea, I have many — aad such as would do the King's 
 Highness good service, were a foreign foa to threaten 
 his happy shores." 
 
 " Wdl spoken, merchant ; but we think while bluff 
 King Hal — ha, ha, you blush, do you, for you see I 
 know how the villains of the city profane our royal 
 name — no, no, while bluff King Hal shall reign, we 
 need fear no foreign foe ; send thy ships whither thou 
 wilt in peace : to what lands do they mainly sail F" 
 
 Master Hewet was so delighted at the King's affa- 
 bility, and feeling he was addressed upon a subject in 
 which his soul delighted, started off, almost forgetful 
 of the royal presence. " They sail, your Highness, 
 principally to Brazil and Guinea ; to Sicily, Candia, 
 and Chio, Cyprus, and Tripoli, and even to Barutti in 
 Syria." 
 
 "And carry away all your poop King's gold, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 " Not so, your Highness ; we take our woollen cloths 
 and calf skins, and in exchange bring silks, camblets, 
 rhubarb, malmsey, muscadel, and other wines, oils, 
 cotton, wool, rich Turkey carpets, galls and spices — " 
 
 "Tut, tut, tut, man!" exclaimed the King, "we 
 want not the ledger of our Custom-house rehearsed ; 
 pay but the duties, and I'll forgive the items." He 
 then again looked over every article, asking innume- 
 rable questions ; then turning to a page who waited 
 at a distance — made a sign which appeared to be per- 
 fectly understood, for the page hurried away towards 
 a gay and noble party, which was attending upon one 
 9 
 
&2 sswASD osBouiri:. 
 
 lovely creature with perfect adulation. This beauty 
 might, with but little stretch of the imagination, have 
 been mistaken for Venus's self, paying a visit to 
 Plora's bower. The instont the page approached, she 
 made a slight, but gracious courtesy to all around, lefo 
 them, and hastened towards the Kiug. 
 
 " Come hither, sweetlieart," said Henry, as she 
 approached ; then talking her hand, he placed it within 
 his own arm, and smiling i;t her, "Now, Jane," said 
 he, "let me see if thou be a thrifty housewife, or a 
 careless jade, as 1 have known some to become, when 
 made mistress of their husband's purse as well as Leart. 
 Try thy skill at bating down this unconscionable jew of 
 a merchant, who, did he have his way, would leave our 
 exchequer as bare as the Pope would have done had 
 I not clippi d his nails, or rather, I should say, cut oft' 
 his hands, and thus made him give up his hold upon 
 our land." 
 
 Queen Jane, for it was she, the late Jane Sevmour, 
 servant to the Quein just dead, but now herself Queen 
 of England, appeared at once to have gained right 
 royal ideas of extravagant magnificence; nothing was 
 too costly, nothing loo splendid; but she had such 
 a meek and humblo way of expressing her desires, 
 that the enraptured King felt himself to be the delin- 
 quent, in giving way to such wicked .extravagance as 
 they were then pursuing. 
 
 " You are tired, love," said the King, looking 
 anxiously into the eyes of his newly-made wife, " we 
 will choose no more to-day ; to-morrow, Hewet, we 
 will dismiss you. I hope my people have cared for 
 you while you have bef-n at the court P" Hewet 
 bowed, as did Horton, who now ca'ching the eye of 
 the King, Henry said — "Stand forth, young sir; are 
 you my merchant's apprentice, Henry Horton ?" 
 
 Both Horton and Hewet could not disguise tl.eir 
 surprise at such a question coming from the King, 
 who, laughing, added, "You see, friend Hewet, a 
 King has eyes and ears, t!:at extend far beyond the 
 
THE KINO AND THE MEIIOHANT. 83 
 
 walls o£ hia palaco. I know more of you and yours 
 than you dream of; for instance, you have a monstrous 
 pretty wife. Don't be jealous, Jane ! But I must 
 see her, Hewet ; I must call and see her — I'm fond of 
 pretty wives !" 
 
 Hewet and Horton felt that it required no ghost to 
 tell them that ; but touching the King's threatened 
 visit to his wife, the merchant thought it was an. 
 honour he could very well dispense with ; and both 
 master and apprentice were still further surprised 
 when the King continued — " Horton's time of service 
 is nearly expired — is it not ?" 
 
 Both master and man here bowed. 
 
 " Have you any objection," he said, chuckling at his 
 own intended wit, " to transfer his indentures to one 
 Harry Tudor, aworthy, respectable, hard-working man, 
 in his vocation ? he is a large manufacturer of titles, 
 and mends holes in great men's estates, by patching 
 them up with heiresses ; he also deals in coronets, 
 and often gets cheated by his customers, who 
 seldom make good their promised payments; he 
 deals in a wholesale way at times, and has vast stores 
 in many ports, as weU as in London — know yon 
 such a dealer ?" 
 
 Hewet and Horton were too much delighted at 
 finding the king in such good humour not to chime ia 
 with his conceit, so put on looks of perfect innocence, 
 as if they found- it impossible to guess whom the 
 king could really mean. 
 
 " WeU, then," said Henry, " if you recognise him 
 not by the name of Harry Tudor, I'll warrant ye, ye 
 scurvy city knaves, that you know him well enough if 
 I call J>im bluflf King Hal — he wants an apprentice, 
 and proposes to take Horton off your hands ; what say 
 you?" 
 
 The merchant knew not what to say, doubting how 
 much the king meant as a joke, how much for earnest. 
 
 Observing Hewet's embarrassment, and perceiving 
 the queen with her ladies approaching, Henry told 
 
81 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 them to wait upon Cromwell, who should explain all 
 his wishes. 
 
 So bowing, and receding backwards as they bowed, 
 they managed to retreat into a friendly avenue, and 
 then turning, pursued their way toward the palace. 
 
 They had scarcely ended their midday meal, when a 
 page, entering their apartment, delivered the com- 
 mands of the queen, that Master Hewet should attend 
 her pleasure in her own chamber ; and another mes- 
 sage from Thomas Cromwell, that Henry Horton 
 should forthwith repair to his private apartments, and 
 be honoured by an interview with that great favourite 
 of fortune, and learn, through him, the pleasure of the 
 King. 
 
 Horton followed the page, and, as he had to remain 
 some time in the ante-room, he could not resist a feel- 
 ing of disgust at witnessing the cringing servility of 
 lords and nobles, churchmen, and men high in the 
 law, to all those who assumed the power of opening, 
 or keeping closed to them, the door to the audience 
 chamber of this second most powerful man in the 
 whole realm. 
 
 Thomas Cromwell was, as the reader already knows, 
 the son of "Walter Cromwell, now a brewer, formerly 
 a blacksmith, at Putney, who had raised himself, by 
 his own talents, to the exalted pitch he had now 
 attained. When a lad, he had run away from home ; 
 was afterwards a clerk in an English factory at Ant- 
 werp ; then entered the army, under Prince Charles, 
 Duke of Bourbon, and, it is said, was at the sacking of 
 Eome, in 1527. After acting as a trooper in the 
 Italian wars, he once mure resumed the character of a 
 mercantile man in Venice, then returning to England, 
 took to the study of the law, was appointed solicitor 
 to the great Cardinal Wolsey, after whose fall he 
 solicited an audience of the king, and proposed such 
 bold steps of defiance towards the Pope, who still 
 refused to sanction the divorce of the king from 
 Catherine, and his union with his then beloved Ajine 
 
THE KING AND THE MBEOHANT. 85 
 
 Boleyn, that Henry at once took him into his con- 
 fidence, made him one of his council, the head of which 
 he very soon became, and next to the king himself, 
 Bwayed the whole power of the realm. 
 
 Henry, from being one of the richest monarchs in 
 the world, which be was at his accession, had been so 
 prodigal with his wealth, that he now found himself at 
 times very straitened in his means ; but here again 
 the boundless resources of Cromwell's mind in dis- 
 covering expedients once more shone forth. He had 
 been the instrument of severing for ever the power of 
 Eome from this land ; he now was busily maturing a 
 scheme for the total suppression of the monasteries 
 and religious houses all over the kingdom. 
 
 Fortunately for the success of Cromwell's newly- 
 formed scheme, the whole fabric of the church in Eng- 
 land had, from ages of corruption, descended to such 
 a depth of degradation, that the difficulty did not lie 
 in finding ample specimens of the rottenness of the 
 system, but, amongst so many weeds of noxious growth, 
 the labour was to discover the virtuous exceptions. 
 
 Had Henry been as rich now as he had found himself 
 upon coming to the throne, this great war against the 
 monasteries had, perhaps, never taken place, at least 
 in his reign ; but his necessities made him listen with 
 a greedy ear to any plan which was likely to replenish 
 his exhausted coffers ; and nothing could do this so 
 effectually as at once seizing upon the enormous 
 wealth, in lands, and gold, and jewels, possessed by 
 the overgrown, overbearing, monastic powers. As an 
 instance of the wealth of religious houses, it is said 
 that at one time the Templars alone possessed no less 
 than sixteen thousand manors. 
 
 To bring about the degradation of the monks, the 
 friars, and general priesthood, Cromwell required 
 agents who knew no virtue but that of obedienee to 
 his will. It was on this account he had fixed upon 
 Horton as a fitting tool, for he had spies in all 
 directioas, to find out who and what men were. 
 
86 EDWAED OSBOMTE. 
 
 Presently tlie gentleman in waiting called the name 
 of Master Henry Horton. Horton, who felt that 
 now or never was his chance, arose from the seat on 
 which he had been resting, and from which he had 
 been studying another chapter in the book of human 
 nnture ; but it was an easy chapter, and required as 
 little conning then as it does at this day. The whole 
 interest of that chapter might be summed up in one 
 word — SELr! He had learnt it now by heart, so 
 entered the audience chamber of the great Thomas 
 Cromwell, armed at every point to gain the prize he 
 coveted — advancement. 
 
 The room into which he was ushered was small, and 
 displayed no great magnificence of appointments. 
 Cromwell was seated, writing ; he did not condescend 
 to raise his head, nor did he cease from his occupation, 
 but as he wrote, he said — "Tour name is Horton, 
 Henry Horton— you knew a man they called the 
 Blear-eyed Bully?" 
 
 Horton, more than once in his life — which was, it 
 must be owned, but yet a short one — had been sur- 
 prised at what he had heard ; but to say that he was 
 now surprised, would be to use a term of unmeaning 
 weakness — he was paralysed ! 
 
 Horton was about to oifer something after the 
 fashion of an excuse for his unfortunate kaowledge of 
 such a character ; but he was interrupted by Crom- 
 well, saying, " I require no answer ; I merely put the 
 question to show Henry Horton that I know him. 
 Possessing, as he now is aware I do, his real character, 
 he has merely to say — will he serve the king's high- 
 ness, or will he not ?" 
 
 Horton, upon whom the few words uttered by 
 Cromwell had all the effect intended, felt that to beat 
 about the bush with such a man was to lose the game 
 altogether, answered boldly — " "With heart, and body, 
 and soul !" and then stood silently awaiting his new 
 patron's pleasure to speak. 
 
 Cromwell now, for the first time, raised his eyes 
 
THE KIKO AND THE MEEOHAHT. 87 
 
 towards the youth, and, by the expression of his own 
 countenance, read something in that of the other 
 which pleased him much. 
 
 " Be seated," said Cromwell ; then looking him full 
 in the face, he continued — " Tou know something of 
 ecclesiastical life, though a mere clothworker's appren- 
 tice — do you not ?" 
 
 " I do," was Horton's answer ; " and more than I 
 should say was holy." 
 
 " Who taught you ? — the saintly Father Brassiojaw, 
 of St. Thomas's Ohapel, on the Bridge — ay ?" 
 
 " He has taught me somewhat of priestly rogueries ! 
 but my own observation has taught me more." 
 
 "Then you think, young as you are, you could 
 detect a flaw, if there were one, in the lives of eitlier 
 abbot, or monk, or even in that of a pretty nun ?" 
 
 " In the last I'm sure I could," he said, smiling. 
 
 " Tou see, young sir, that the whole world has 
 become so wicked, that now there is even an outcry 
 against those to whom we have hitherto always looked 
 for examples of virtue and of piety. Now, to save the 
 king's realms from utter ruin and the wrath of Heaven, 
 it has become incumbent upon us, who are the humble 
 instruments by which either the weal or woe of this 
 gr;'at kingdom is to be brought about, to institute 
 such rigorous investigations, that the guilty shall not 
 escape, nor shall the innocent be made to suffer for 
 others' crimes. A commission is about to be issued, 
 to examine into the lives and habits of every member 
 of the religious houses that now are covering and 
 devouring the land. It is upon that commission you 
 will be employed ; your duty is to find out vices ; 
 from what I have heard, I imagine you know the 
 meaning of the word, so that there needs no further 
 explanation. You vnll receive an order upon the 
 king's treasurer for your proper appointments; be 
 vigilant, and remember that it is vice, and only vice, 
 that you are to ferret out wherever you are commanded 
 to appear. Take this dispatch to my house in Throg- 
 
88 EDWAHD OSBOENE. 
 
 morton Street, and there await further instructionB. 
 1 will make all arrangements with your former master. 
 •Tou are now in the service of Thomas Cromwell." 
 
 Horton took the dispatch, and bowing profoundly, 
 left the presence chamber. 
 
 A groom was already in waiting to conduct him to 
 the various offices he had to pass through ; and, with- 
 out having seen master Hewet, he soon found himself 
 mounted on one of the king's horses, hurrying towards 
 London. When be arrived there, which he did in an 
 incredibly short space of time, for his impatience 
 would not allow him to loiter upon the road, the first 
 person he went to was his late master's tailor, for he 
 iielt that the blue and white livery of the apprentice 
 was but ill-becoming to one of the king's highness's 
 commissioners, which he knew he was soon to be. He 
 stopped at a small tailor's shop, near Aldgate. "Within, 
 upon a workboard, were seated an old man and a 
 lanky mild-faced boy. The old man had spectacles 
 upon his nose, and was, at the moment Horton 
 stopped, admonishing his son for neglect of duty, by 
 being ever employed in reading, when he should be 
 working. " But I'm not, father," said the boy, " in- 
 deed I'm not ; I do more work in the day than any 
 journeyman I know." 
 
 " But that only proves," said the old man, " how 
 much more you might do, but for those stupid books. 
 I'm of the same opinion with that good creature, 
 Father Brassinjaw, who says he has little doubt of 
 printing having been the invention of the devil, in 
 order to injure the Pope, and all his loving subjects." 
 
 " Talking of the Pope," said the boy, " puts me in 
 mind of the Pope's head on Cornhill. I can't dis- 
 cover anywhere what that house could have been ; it 
 must have pertained in olden time to some great 
 estate, or rather to the king of this realm, as may be 
 inferred both from the largeness thereof, and by the 
 arms, to wit, three leopards passant, gardant, which 
 were the whole arms of England befpre the reign of 
 
THE KINS AND THE MEBOUAHT. 89 
 
 Edward III., that quartered them with the arms ot 
 Prance, three fleur-de-lis " 
 
 " Boy, boy, you drive me mad," exclaimed the old 
 tailor ; " one can never mention a single word, but it 
 calls forth your nonsense about some old place in 
 London. There, you've got a book under your legs 
 now." 
 
 " I know I have, father ; for when I am winding 
 thread, or doing anything that does not require my 
 eyes, I always read between my legs, and I'm sure 
 that can do no harm to any one." 
 
 And who was this boy ? It was one who was lay- 
 ing the foimdation of an unostentatious immortality ; 
 it was tbe kind-hearted, simple-minded, industrioas 
 John Stow — the beloved of all the later historians of 
 our land, the indefatigable searcher after truth, the 
 " Old," the " Venerable Stow." 
 
 "Come here," said Horton, in an authoritative 
 tone, "and hold my horse ; do you hear?" 
 
 Toung Stow looked up, as did the old man from 
 over his spectacles, and both evinced great astonish- 
 ment at seeing the apprentice, Harry Horton, alight- 
 ing from a superb horse. Toung Stow ran out to 
 hold the bridle, and Horton entered the tailor's 
 dwelling. 
 
 " Why, roaster Harry," said the old man, " what 
 want ye, lad ? Doth thy slops still cut thee at the 
 knee ? or does your master require my attendance ?" 
 
 " What master ?" enquired Horton, as a sort of 
 leading question, to enable him to touch upon the 
 change in his condition. 
 
 " Why, marry, good Master Hewet ; what other 
 master wouldst thou have ?" 
 
 "Hewit, bah! he may do full well to commune 
 with, for dyers, or weavers, or botchers like thyself, 
 but not for us of the king's service." 
 
 " Art thou mad, boy ?" said the tailor, laughing 
 heartily ; " what means the lad ?" 
 . " It meanSj that if you would hold my custom, you 
 
90 EDWA«D OSBOEirB. 
 
 must hold a more beseeming tongue ; and that yoa 
 may do so, know that the favourite Cromwell is now 
 my patron. Out with thy measures, and thy pattern 
 book, for I have no time to waste with prick-louse 
 knaves." 
 
 " Then hie thee to thy patron's tailor, puff.d up 
 frog !" said the man of thread and patches, with 
 wounded pride, for prick-louse knave was the most 
 degrading epithet that could be then applied to any 
 one of his calling ; " I want none of your custom ; 
 fools are ever fortune's favourites, so thou'lt be rich, 
 depend on't ; thou'lt be rich, depend on't ! And if 
 that rogue, Cromwell, be thy patron, tell him from 
 me, he'U have none of my garden, either for love or 
 money." Saying which, the old tailor, boiling with 
 rage, returned to his shop-board, and set to work 
 with a vigour that made him break his thread at every 
 other stitch, 
 
 Horton, with enormous dignity, mounted his horse, 
 and pursued his way towards his patron's dwelling, 
 as young John Stow turned his mind in the same di- 
 rection, and immediately began to study the History 
 of Throgmortou Street. 
 
 CHAPTBE IX. 
 
 A ruiBND IN HEED. 
 
 The mother was an elf by idventure 
 Ycome, by charmfes or by sorcery. 
 
 Chatjobe. 
 
 Theub always appears to be, amongst the wonderful 
 ingredients of which a human mind is composed, one 
 Utile seed, or germ of superstition, which requires 
 only to be warmed by the heat of imagination, to 
 grow, to bud, to bloom, and in its turn bear seed, 
 to propagate its kind in other minds. Ignorance is 
 its native soil, and there it flourishes to an extent, 
 almost miraculous in its power. By superstition, the 
 
A TBIEND IN NEED. 91 
 
 giani; becomes a cliild ; the poor weak maid rushes 
 undaunted to the fiel4 of blood, and with her single 
 arm, makes armies fly before her ! 
 
 It is to superstition we owe millions of cold-blooded 
 murders by fire, and sword — by tortures, whose mere 
 relation makes our own flesh creep upon our bones. 
 How many a poor old wretch has been torn limb from 
 limb, amidst the laughter of a mocking crowd, because 
 some superstitious fool pronounced her Witoh ! 
 
 We have entered into this slight dissertation upon 
 superstition, from an amiable feeling towards our 
 hero, Edward Osborne, fearing that the apparent ten- 
 dency to superstition in his mind, might lower him 
 in the estimation of our readers. 
 
 Osborne, be it remembered, had seen the ghost, or 
 believed he had done so, of a man, whom he had wit- 
 nessed commit two murders ! He had known that 
 man to be executed, principally by hia agency, in a 
 manner the most lingering and appalling ; and in his 
 hand he then beheld an invitation, written in blood, 
 to attend some unholy rite, that should reveal to hiiii 
 his own future fate. Osborne was no coward ; but 
 still it must be confessed, that, as the hour drew 
 nigh for his promised journey to the hut of the Witch 
 of the Marsh, be felt his heart, in a slight degree, 
 fail him. " Was he again to meet the dead ?" 
 
 As the evening approached, Osborne was lost in an 
 ocean of perplexities. His master and Horton being 
 away, be felt himself more than ever responsible. 
 The men employed in the merchant's business being 
 gone, and the shop shut up, he found himself alone 
 in the bouse with Flora Gray. Where could his mis- 
 tress be ? she had left home in the morning, as usual, 
 to take her riding-lesson with Sir Filbut Fussy, but 
 had uot yet returned. 
 
 Such a circumstance had never occurred before, 
 and Flora became uneasy, and began to foretell all 
 sorts of misfortunes. Perhaps her mistress had been 
 thrown from her horse — perhaps killed; but then, 
 
92 ESWABB OSBOBKE. 
 
 unlesB Sir Filbut had been killed with her, he would 
 certainly have brought home the body, or at least 
 come to tell of the event. Another cause of per- 
 plexity was in the strange circumstance, that about 
 midday a woman had called with a message from 
 Dame Hewet, that Flora was to go upon some trifling 
 errand, to a distant part of the city, and that this 
 woman was to take the child with her to her mother, 
 who, she said, was going some little distance into 
 the country, and wished to give Anne a treat. The 
 woman who came was so fair spoken, and such a 
 kindly, motherly style of person, that no suspicion 
 arising in the mind of Flora, the child was sent, and 
 she herself went upon the errand for her mistress, 
 but failed to find the place she had been directed to. 
 
 Osborne, whose mmd was full of his own projects, 
 paid much less attention to Flora's alarm than he 
 otherwise would have done ; and, indeed, be felt 
 rather glad that his mistress was from home, as it 
 saved mm the necessity of inventing an excuse for 
 quitting the house so late in the evening ; when he 
 did so, he did it with reluctance, not because he so 
 much dreaded the business he was going upon, but 
 that he felt it unkind to leave poor Flora Gray in the 
 place alone, now she had pictured to her mind all 
 sorts of comiog horrors. It certainly was strange 
 that his mistress should not have returned long ere 
 that late hour; but still a few minutes, no doubt, 
 would see her and her dear child, the little Anne ; so 
 leaving Flora gossipping with Alice Vaughan, the 
 lantern maker's pretty daughter opposite, he placed 
 his flat cap upon his head, and arming himself with 
 his apprentice-club, sallied forth, under the fearful 
 anticipation, that he was about to learn something 
 strange, if not of dire import to his future fate. 
 
 The eveningj which had commenced in beauty, was 
 changing as the night began to close ; the wind which 
 had hitherto been sighing, and softly kissing the roses 
 that Jay in Flora's lap, came in angry gusts, then as 
 
A tKIEND tN NEED. 93 
 
 BUddenly died away; lurid clouds, sailing for the 
 Boiitb, were covering up the heavens, and Osborne 
 fancied that more than once, he heard a murmuring, 
 like the whispered voice of distant thunder ; the few 
 boats he met seemed to be hurrying homewards to 
 escape the threatened hurricane ; not a star was to be 
 seen, and the whole sky was become one dark mass of 
 storm-fraught clouds. 
 
 This unexpected change in the weather, added not 
 a little to the unpleasant feelings which were rapidly 
 taking possession of his mind ; not a scene of horror 
 that had lately passed, but now arose once more 
 before his imagination with all the vivid colouring of 
 a dream. Just as he was passing the very spot where 
 the murder had been committed, sheets of fire 
 illumined the entire skies, and peals of thunder came 
 in rapid succession ; then the clouds transforming 
 themselves into a deluge, fell in torrents upon the 
 earth. Every nerve was exerted by Osborne to carry 
 hia skifi" quickly to the shore, but the winds were 
 fierce against him, and more than once had nearly 
 jrecipitated him headlong into the angry flood. At 
 ast he succeeded m driving his boat upon the shore, 
 and jumping out, he secured it to a pole that stood 
 near, and was about to bend his steps towards the 
 hut, whose fire-lighted window pointed out the di- 
 rection in which it lay, when, turning once more to 
 assure himself that the boat was well secured, he 
 raised his eyes, and stood aghast at finding he had 
 fastened it to the shaft of a gibbet, from the arm of 
 which hung down an iron cradle, upon whose ribs 
 the lightning played so incessantly, that he plainly 
 saw within it a human head, and as it swung towards 
 him in the howling wind, he recognised the dreaded 
 features of the Bully. It now recurred to his memory, 
 that the Cripple had told him it was that morning to 
 be placed up the marshes, as a warning to other evil 
 doers. He hurried away, and was soon tapping at 
 the witch's door. 
 
 I 
 
94 EDWABD OSBORNE. 
 
 " Come in, Edward Osborne," the old witch inside 
 was heard to say ; and at the same moment, the 
 latch flew back with a sharp clink, and the door stood 
 open. How it came so he was at a loss to guess, for 
 the old woman was seated at some distance off, 
 watching a pot that was hanging by a long hook over 
 the fire, and had her back turned towards the door. 
 Her knowledge, too, of whom it was that had sought 
 her hut at such an unlikely hour, puzzled him a good 
 deal, but it well prepared his mind to believe in her 
 supernatural gifts. " Why have you loitered thus ? 
 The death-watch has ticked the tenth hour long ago ; 
 and think you tbat fate will tarry to suit the sloth- 
 fulness of mortals ?" 
 
 Edward closed the door, and advancing towards the 
 fire, was struck by the painful expression of the old 
 woman's face— the hand of fear seemed to have seized 
 upon her whole frame, for she trembled in every 
 limb — even the words she had already spoken had 
 come falteringly from her mouth. 
 
 " Are you ill, good mother ?" inquired Edward, 
 kindly ; " has my unexpected appearance terrified 
 you?" 
 
 " Thy appearance terrified me ! Thy appearance 
 unexpected ! No, no ! But I have cauae for tremb- 
 ling, ample cause : we ask not questions of the white 
 lips of death, without our own becoming blanched as 
 well — we ask not the voice of the grave to speak to 
 us, with its earthy breath, without our own breath 
 faltering ia its unhallowed task." 
 
 Here she took up a dead toad, and dropping it into 
 the boiling pot, stirred it about, as her shrivelled 
 lips appeared to be muttering some mystic charm. 
 
 Osborne's nerves were now so completely unstrung, 
 that he bad no longer power to reason upon what be 
 saw or heard, but eeemed to feel that he bad un- 
 wisely placed himself entirely within the power of 
 the beings of ano.her world ; he tried to oflfer up a 
 prayer, bi'li )m memory flew away afiirighted, and all 
 
A FBIEND IS NEED. 98 
 
 he could do, was to repeat again and again a porcel 
 of unconnected words. 
 
 After a determined eifort to subdue his nervous 
 fear, he said — " Good mother, let me at once tell you 
 my errand here, and then " 
 
 " Tou may save your breath," said the old woman, 
 interrupting him, " save your breatli, for you may 
 want it ere another hour be past ; for, see, the toad 
 sinks to the bottom — an evil sign, an evil sign! Besides, 
 your errand is far better known to me than to thyself. 
 Think you, that if I have the power of satisfying 
 3 our longing to look into the glass of fate, that I 
 should lack the power of knowing what imj-elled 
 your curiosity ? Ko, no ! all is known to me— all 
 is known to me ! The charm is nearly wrought ; when 
 'tis fully done, then ask me what you will, and I will 
 answer." Here she once more stirred round the 
 boiling pot, and once more her lips moved, as mut- 
 tering a charm. " Tis done !" she said ; then sud- 
 denly rising, placed a stick through the handle of the 
 pot, and holding one end, she motioned to Edward to 
 take the other, and thus between them they lifted the 
 boiling cauldron off the hook by which it hung, and 
 carried it towards the side of a wretched bed, which 
 stood in a recess at the further end of the room. The 
 flickering light of the fire alone illumed the miserable 
 hovel, and threw deep shades from every thing that 
 intercepted its uncertain rays. 
 
 Osborne started at seeing a figure moving near him 
 — it was his own shadow on the wall. He b'ushed 
 at his cowardice, and in a resolute tone expressed 
 his impatience to learn his fate, be it good or evU. 
 
 " Tuou wUt know it too soon, I fear. But take 
 this egg, and from thine own height drop it into the 
 boiling water — it will tell thy death." 
 
 Osborne would have rather learnt son^e more agree- 
 able part of his destiny first, for it seemed to his 
 mind unnatural to begin with the end; but being 
 ansious now to bring his interview with the witch of 
 
96 SS^ABS OSBOBi^E. 
 
 the marsh as speedily as he could to a termination, hs 
 did all he had been commanded, when the old woman, 
 advancing with a firebrand in her hand, desired Oa- 
 bome, by its aid, to look into the cauldron. 
 
 He did so, but started back, for the whole water had 
 become the colour of blood. — " "What means this 
 change?" said E^iward, in a faltering voice. 
 
 " That thy death will be a bloody one ; and as the 
 egg which held thy doom has burst so soon, it wiU be 
 as speedy as 'tis bloody !" 
 
 "Witch, or fiend, or devil !" said Edward — " be you 
 one or all, I'll put your soothsaying to the proof, or I 
 will swear away your life, and have you burnt in Smith- 
 field, for the witch you pretend to be t The cause of 
 my coming here was a command from the dead : if you 
 possess, in truth, your vaunted power, call up again 
 the vision that haunted me in the midnight chapel !" 
 
 "And would you dare to look upon that form 
 again ?" said the old woman, trembling. 
 
 " I would," replied Oaborne, " and from bis dead 
 lips learn the truth or falsity of your prediction." 
 
 " Be warned in time !" the old woman exclaimed. 
 
 " Impostor ! trifle no more !" Osborne said savagely. 
 
 " Then thus of thy blood I wash my hands." As 
 she uttered these words, she moved her hands about, 
 one over the other, as if in the act of washing them, 
 and then continued — "Take that burning brand in 
 thy right hand, and with thy left remove the coverlid 
 from off yonder bed." 
 
 She had pronounced this sentence with such evident 
 self-belief in her own powers, that Osborne hesitated 
 for a moment to fulfil her injunctions ; but sneering at 
 his own credulity, he seized the brand, and tearing the 
 tattered clothes from off the bed, stood transfixed 
 with horror, for there he saw the body of the Blear- 
 eyed Bully, lying as though he had been again in 
 life. 
 
 " Wilt thou ask thy fate of him f " demanded the old 
 woman, in a voice trembling with emotion. 
 
A TEIEITD IN HBID. 97 
 
 " No, no — I dare not I" Osborne replied, as he fell 
 Binking to the earth. 
 
 " Then learn it unasked !" exclaimed a voice. The 
 figure rose up suddenly, and in another instant 
 Osborne found himself within an iron grasp. Two 
 men, or fiends, he knew not which, rushed from 
 behind the bed, and before he had the power to collect 
 a single thought, they bound him hand and foot, and 
 he was powerless ; the old woman had fallen dead or 
 senseless upon the ground. 
 
 So suddenly had aU the latter portion of this strange 
 scene occurred, that Edward fancied he must be in a 
 dream ; but he was soon made sensible of the reality 
 of his awful position. 
 
 " Pool !" said the ghost, for such Osborne still found 
 it difficult to persuade himself it was not ; " and did a 
 boy like you dream of playing with the lives of men, 
 and think that none were living to avenge the dead ? 
 I am the twin-brother of him you brought to death, 
 and I am his twin in mind as well as in form and 
 feature. When I learnt that ^t was to you and to your 
 master the payment for his deu^h was due, I formed 
 my plans. I had, at first, intended to have followed 
 you wherever you went, in these habiliments in which 
 my other self perished — to have dogged your steps at 
 every turn, and by making your life a hell on earth, 
 by the supposition that a dead man was ever lying in 
 your path, have driven you by torturing degrees to 
 hopeless madness : for your master, I had other 
 schemes — but my plans are changed. It is now my 
 mtention to bind you face to face to the head that at 
 this moment swings in the night breeze from the gib- 
 bet by the water's edge, and there let you hang by the 
 neck till you are dead." 
 
 " Monster !" exclaimed Edward, " you will not dare 
 to put your horrid threat into execution ; and if you 
 would, these men, if men they be, cannot stand by and 
 see so bloody a crime committed." 
 
 •' Ha, ha, poor boy I" the other replied ; " open yoiir 
 7 
 
98 EDWAED OSBOiKE. 
 
 eyes and gaze upon them well : you Lave met before — 
 the murderers of the weaver ; those who assisted then 
 are not the most likely to withhold a helping hand in 
 such a trifle as a baby's death. Come, away with him '. 
 Don't be afraid that you shall die too soon ; ' give and 
 take' is our maxim. Ton provided a lingering death 
 for my brother— his brother shall find a lingering one 
 for you. Tou shall suflfer drowning a dozen times 
 before we hang you up to die." 
 
 The other two wretches now hurried with Osborne 
 borne between them, struggling with all the might his 
 bound limbs could muster ; he screamed out murder 
 with all the strength despair could bring him, but his 
 cries were only answered by the mocking wind and 
 laughter of those who had him so completely in their 
 power. They threw him into the water ; he struggled 
 hard, but they held him down until they believed him 
 nearly dead ; then drew him forth, and laid him on the 
 ground until he should recover consciousness sufficient 
 to endure a second death. They all sat down beneath 
 tiie gibbet to watch him. The storm of thunder and 
 lightning had passed away ; the wind still howled as 
 loudly as ever, but its violence broke up the clouds into 
 large masses, which rolling away in awful grandeur, 
 let in the moonlight, which, for the time, rendered all 
 around as clear as day. " Do you hear him breathe ?" 
 said the brother of the Bully ; to which the other 
 answered, "Who can hear anything, with such a 
 bellowing wind as this ? I wish you'd let us hang him 
 up at once, for see, he moves." 
 
 " Well, do as you like," said the first speaker, " he 
 will make a pretty example, and a glorious warning to 
 other meddling apprentices, when he is found hanging 
 here in the morning. Oh I it's turned desperately 
 cold," he added, as he seemed to be seized with a fit 
 of ague ; " the sooner the work be ended, the better, 
 for I must get something to warm me now. Slip this 
 noose over his neck, and let us haul him up at once." 
 As he said this, he rose up, and threw an end of a rope 
 
1. fSIElTD IK NEHD. Q9 
 
 over the arm of the gibbet, as the other men were 
 fixing the noose round the neck of the affrighted 
 Osborne, who had recovered full consciousness of his 
 dreadful situation. He gave all the resistance his 
 helpless state would allow, and endeavoured again to 
 scream aloud. The bank on which he lay was very 
 steep ; just as they had succeeded in fixing the rope 
 about his neck, he drew his knees up almost to hia 
 chin, then, with a desperate effort, seat out bis legs so 
 suddenly, that one of his murderers was cast headlong 
 down the bank iuto the water ; the other tn-o rushed 
 to his rescue, but the tide was so strongly running 
 round the projecting point of the land, that it carried 
 him out of his depth. Not being able to swim, be 
 called aloud for help. 
 
 " Eun and untie the boat," said the principal of the 
 wretches ; the other hastened to the gibbet and did as 
 he was told, while the Blear-eyed Bully's twin-brother, 
 jumping into the boat, pushed off to the rescue of hia 
 companion. He had scarcely accomplished the task, 
 when the man at the gibbet ran frantically to the 
 water's edge, and madly called upon them to return, 
 and take him aboard the boat. As the boat touched 
 the shore, and the man placed his foot upon it, a loud 
 shout of voices was heard near at hand. "Away, 
 away," he said, " or we are lost ! See yonder crowd 
 running hither ; pull for your lives, pull, pull !" The 
 boat in which the murderous wretches now found 
 means to escape, was the one Osborne had come in. 
 
 The crowd that came running and shouting toward 
 him was composed principally of peasants, some armed 
 with sticks, spades, and brooms, and others with pitch- 
 forks, upon the points of which they had hung lan- 
 terns, to hold high up in the air, as signals that aid was 
 approaching. What was Osborne's astonishment to 
 observe that the throng was headed by the Cripple of 
 the Bridge-gate Tower. Another surprise was to 
 observe the peasants carrying the witch upon their 
 shoulders, and at the same moment to find his bonda 
 
100 SI>WjI.BI> OSBOBirX. 
 
 being loosened by his faithful, hnmble friend, Billj- 
 the-Sridge-shooter ! OBbome was soon conveyed back 
 again to the hut ; dry clothes were put on him, which 
 were speedily ccllected, part from one, part from ano- 
 ther, of the bystanders, so that, as he sat by the re- 
 plenished fire, he looked anything but the comely lad 
 he really was. The old woman, too, was paid great 
 attention to by the peasants, who really did believe 
 her to be a witch, for, as they said, " who was it gave 
 them such good crops, if it was not her charms ?" 
 
 An explanation of the means of Osborne's almost 
 miraculous delivery was soon entered upon, by which 
 it appeared that the Cripple of the Bridge, imagined 
 that some trick, but not of a serious nature, was to 
 be played off upon Edward, for the sake of frightening 
 Lim, and nothing more ; but not admiring these prac- 
 tical jokes, it was his intention to be present at the 
 game, and if it turned out as he expected, namely, 
 that a parcel of apprentice boys were to be the actors, 
 he would frighten them in turn, and lay his staff 
 soundly about their shoulders. For this purpose, he 
 had gone to the marshes some time before Osborne was 
 to arrive there : the night became tempestuous, so 
 much so, that he gave up all idea of Edward's coming ; 
 he sheltered himself in a little-out house, or shed near 
 the hut. At last he saw, by the lightning's aid, 
 Osborne at the door of the hovel. When he had gone 
 in, the Cripple took to his station at the casement, to 
 which there was no shelter, and through which he saw 
 all that passed. 
 
 lie said — " He must own he had become intensely 
 interested by the scene, up to the bursting forth of the 
 three ruffians, when his wonder changed to alarm for 
 Edward's safety : he knew that his own single power 
 was of no avail, so that when the murderers were 
 dragging Edward from the hut, he hurried away to 
 seek for aid : not knowing the marshes, he lost him- 
 self amongst the ditches and dikes ; and then to his 
 horror, found himself again near the hut ; but this wai 
 
A lEIEND IN NEED. 101 
 
 the saving of the youth's life, for here he met the old 
 woman, with feeble steps, trying to hurry away for 
 aid ; she pointed out the only road to the neighbouring 
 village, where he soon arrived, and was immediately on 
 his return with the whole village at his heels." 
 
 It appeared by the old woman's account, that three 
 ruffians had come to her hut, and after beating and 
 torturing her, they swore they would drag out her 
 toDgue, roast it, and make her eat it ; they would then 
 tear out her eyes ; and last of all, they would set her 
 upon her own fire, and burn her to death, if she did 
 not do ail they commanded. They placed themselves 
 in such positions, that not only could they h«ar every 
 word she said, but also see, whether by look or si^n, 
 she should attempt to give Osborne the least warning 
 of his dreadful fate. She said the dead toad and the 
 egg, that seemed to change the water to blood, were 
 brought by one of the men, whom she guessed, from 
 what fell from their lips, to be one of the conjurors 
 who attended the fairs, and cheated the poor people 
 out of their pence. 
 
 "Veil, mocher," said Billy-the-bridge-shooter, "I 
 do hope now you vill give up your darEng vitchcraft ; 
 you vosn't made for a vitch, you vosn't ; upon my life 
 you vosn't ; and you never can be a vitch as long as 
 you lives !" 
 
 The poor old woman hung down her head, and 
 seemed to be thinking that her son was, very likely, 
 not far from right, but said nothing. 
 
 Edward Osborne's clothes being now thoroughly 
 dried, and finding himself wonderfully invigorated by 
 a famous supper, he determined to hurry home, lato 
 as it was. 
 
 The Bridge-shooter insisted upon his mother re- 
 moving at once into the neighbouring village ; " for he 
 was not going to have her murdered there, to please 
 her, or anybody else." 
 
 In those days, the furniture in most houses was of 
 no great extent ; use was laore studied then, tha^ 
 
102 EDWAED OSBOEHE. 
 
 ornament. Our forefathers' feet were well satiBfied 
 to tread upon the plain boards ; or, if a little gentility- 
 must be assumed, a few rushes answered all tbe pur- 
 poses of a modern velvet-piled carpet ; and as for linen, 
 we may presume there was no great stock kept, that 
 commodity being generally manufactured upon the 
 premises, excepting tbe finer sorts, and those were 
 imported from abroad, which made them rather too 
 costly to be in common use. If the general run of fur- 
 niture was thus simple in really decent dwellings, it 
 will not be surprising that, but a few minutes sufficed 
 for the packing of the whole household stuffs belong- 
 ing to the witch of the marsh. 
 
 Each of the party carrying a portion, they were 
 soon ready ' to run away by the light of the moon,' 
 which tliey speedily did. 
 
 The Bridge-shooter carried the old bedstead and 
 bedding and all, which was no very heavy load, the old 
 woman, the Cripple, and Edward, managed the rest, 
 and thus they trudged along towards the village. 
 They had not proceeded many hundred yards, before 
 the old woman started so suddenly, that the whole 
 party had nearly let all the things fall in alarm. 
 
 " Heavens !" she exclaimed, " where is my spirit — 
 where is my spirit ? I'll not go without my spirit." 
 
 "Vot, you're at jour vitchery again, mother, are 
 you?" said her son. 
 
 The old woman made no answer, but was at once 
 turning back, when she was arrested by her " spirit," 
 crying " mew, mew !" It turned out to be a large old 
 black cat, that had followed them from the hut, and 
 which the old woman sincerely believed was a spirit 
 that could tell her all the wonders of the hidden 
 world, although it must be confessed it had never 
 told her anything yet, and perhapsnever would. The 
 ancient dame took up the old cat, who purring, 
 nestled in her bosom, and on again the party trudged. 
 The old woman was comfortablylodged in the village,and 
 the other three started off towards Old London Bridge. 
 
A TBIEND IN NEED. 103 
 
 As they journeyed along, the converaation naturally 
 turned upon the recent occurrences, and Billy-the 
 bridge-shooter began to moralise upon the old adage 
 of " a man that is born to be hanged, will never be 
 drowned." " That's uncommon true," said he, " but 
 then the rascals vonted to leave you not no choice at 
 all, for they would have hanged and drowned you too 
 if they could. Now to-night has proved to me, that 
 there is a third chance left for us all — and that is — 
 yen a man is born to die in his bed, he'll never be 
 hanged nor drowned neither." 
 
 " Why, friend," said the Cripple of the Bridge- 
 gate-tower, " you're quite a philosopher." 
 
 " So mother says," replied the lad, " she often calls 
 me a philisossifer ; and vy do you think she calls me 
 by that rum name ? Vy, because I sometimes speaks a 
 little bit of truth ! — vot nonsense, isn't it ? Vy, if it 
 only vonted to tell truths to be one on 'em, I vunders 
 all the vurld are not philisossifers." 
 
 " Because," replied the Cripple, " the greater part 
 of the world finds it a difficult task to speak the 
 truth." 
 
 " I think," said the Bridge-shooter, " it's a precious 
 deal more difficulter to tell lies. I find it so, I know. 
 Vy, truth slips out so smooth and easy ; vun never 
 has to think about that ; but ven you've got to tell a 
 lie, my viskers ! haven't you got to think of a lot of 
 other things as veil, only to keep you from being found 
 out." 
 
 " Now Villy," he continued, addressing the Cripple, 
 " Tot is your advice in this matter ? vot course think 
 you will be the beat, I mean the safest for us all ? If 
 ve make a stir about to-night's business, ve shall get 
 the whole of Alsatia, and the Clink into the bargain, 
 about our ears. I think, as Master Edward is safe 
 now, the less we says about the business the better. 
 ' A silent tongue makes a vise head," as an old rip that 
 I knows always says, ven he don't von't you to tell of 
 his rogueries." 
 
104l EDWAEB OSBOESB. 
 
 " For the present," replied the Cripple of the 
 Bridge-gate-tower, " you are right. It is only a fool 
 who lets the spring go, until he is sure the rat is in the 
 trap. Besides, there are more wheels at work, than 
 those we see; by letting this oue turn on, and watch- 
 ing carefully, we may find a way of stopping the whole 
 at once." 
 
 " How strangely," said Osborne, " does man's life 
 at times suddenly vary, and upon such mere chances 
 too. Until these last few weeks, I was a simple 
 plodding apprentice, with not a care to trouble me — 
 when all at once, I find myself in the centre of a whirl- 
 pool of dangers. There is one thing I have never yet 
 been able to account for, that is, the mystery which has 
 always surrounded the circumstance of my good master 
 being warned of the danger, which we now know was 
 DO groundless fancy, that threatened me when he sent 
 me to Putney, and kept me there secluded until the 
 eve of the trial of the robber Miles." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! ho, ho ! he, he ! " screeched the 
 
 Cripple ; " how simple do mighty things appear, when 
 the veil of mystery be removed ; and yet it seemed 
 like fate that sent the chance to me." 
 
 " Tou I" exclaimed Edward and the Bridge-shooter 
 at the same time, as they looked inquiringly at the 
 Cripple. 
 
 "Tes," he replied, "it was I who warned your 
 master. On the night of May-day, at the deadest 
 hour of that night, I was restless, and wandered 
 about the Bridge ; when, seeing two lurking figures 
 approaching my tower, I entered, extinguished my 
 lamp, and was about to fall upon my couch once more, 
 when my ear caught the sound of voices close to the 
 little casement in my tower wall. ' We shall have 
 him safe enough there,' said one. I started up, and 
 placing my ear close to the opening of the window, 
 heard enough to tell me the plot that was laid against 
 you, and all about the letter recommending that you 
 should be sent to Woolwich, It was I who wrote the 
 
A. FRIEND IN MBBD. 105 
 
 note which may be said to have saved your life ; it was 
 I who instructed tlie boy to deliver it as he did ; and 
 I, too, it was, who sent for the Bridge-shooter ; but he 
 knew not from whom the message and money came." 
 
 Osborne expressed bis wonder, and also his grati- 
 tude. Little more occurred of any consequence until 
 they reached the Bridge. 
 
 When they arrived there, the Cripple took out a 
 large key from his pouch, and opening the door of the 
 Bridge-gate tower, bade his companions a right good 
 night, and entered, while Osborne and tiie Bridge- 
 shooter coutinued their way across the Bridge to the 
 merchant's house. Arrived there, Oaborne was sur- 
 prised and alarmed at seeing lights moving from room 
 to room. He knocked loudly. The door was opened 
 by Flora Gray, who was crying bitterly. 
 
 " What has happened ?" exclaimed Edw ard, whose 
 alarm was now greatly increased. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh !" was the only answer the 
 broken-hearted girl could utter. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake. Flora, speak ! speak ! what 
 has happened ? 
 
 " Oh, oh, oh 1" again sobbed the poor girl, at the 
 same time pointing with her fore-finger to the rooms 
 above. 
 
 Osborne, comprehending her meaning, started up 
 stairs, and hurrying into the front apartment, was 
 amazed to find his master sitting there, apparently 
 lost in grief. "Master! dear master!" exclaimed 
 Osborne, " what, in Heaven's name, has happened ?" 
 
 " I know not," replied his master, taking a deep- 
 drawn breath. " My wife — my Alyce — and my poor 
 child !" His utterance became choked, and burying 
 his face within bis two bands, his head sank upon the 
 table near which he sat. 
 
 Osborne felt that at that moment he ought not to 
 press his master upon the cause of his grief; so again 
 hurried down, and learnt from the Bridge-shooter, 
 who had succeeded in making Flora explain, by 
 
106 DSWABS OSBOBITE. 
 
 words, mixed up with sobs and tears, all she knew, 
 which, indeed, was verj little, in fact, nothing furthejf 
 than Osborne himself was aware of. 
 
 "No, no!" said Flora; "I know what my own 
 opinion is, but that I shall keep to myself : I'll not 
 let my tongue ruin any poor soul breathing — no, I'd 
 rather have it torn out first !" 
 
 " Good Heavens !" exclaimed Edward, his thoughts 
 being turned into a new train, by what Plora had 
 said, " good Heavens ! I will never believe that such 
 purity " 
 
 " That's what master says," replied Flora, sobbing. 
 "He believes she's dead, and won't hear a word 
 against her." 
 
 Osborne, whose suspicions were aroused, called to 
 mind many circumstances, mere trifles in themselves, 
 yet all tending to confirm his worst fears. He at 
 once determined to have these fears resolved. He sent 
 cif the Bridge-shooter to several places, where it was 
 just possible some tidings of his mistress might be 
 obtained, while he himself hurried away, without 
 hinting at where he was going, straight to the lodg- 
 ings of Sir Filbut Fussy. 
 
 "When he arrived there, notwithstanding the day 
 had not yet broken, he found persons busily em- 
 ployed, carrying away chests and trunks ; and when 
 he inquired whether Sir Filbut was there, they told 
 him they believed he had gone abroad, and that all 
 his things, with the exception of the few they were 
 then taking to the wharf, had sailed several days before 
 for Italy. Sadly, iadeed, did he return to the mer- 
 chant's house ; but here, if a doubt yet lingered in 
 his stiU-hoping mind, he learnt that which annihilated 
 doubt and hope together. 
 
 While Osborne had been away, Flora was occupied 
 in prying about every corner of her mistress's room, 
 h*ping to discover some clue to the mysterious cause 
 of her mistress's absence. At last, in the comer of 
 the hearth, in which a fire had recently been bum- 
 
A LESSON IN PEONUNOUTION. 107 
 
 iag, she found several pieces of a torn letter, some 
 of them partially consumed and discoloured by the 
 flames, others blotted, as if by tears, yet leaving suf- 
 ficient words plain enough to reveal the real nature 
 of the writing. These words were of the most ardent 
 and passionate nature, breathing unalterable affection 
 for her to whom they were addressed ; who that 
 might be, for some time remained uncertain, until 
 again raking over the ashes, two more pieces, nearly 
 consumed, were found ; on one the name of " Alyce " 
 could clearly be decyphered, on the other the initials 
 " F. F." 
 
 Flora could not conceal her discovery for a single 
 moment, but with the damning evidence, rushed into 
 the presence of her master, just as Edward and the 
 Bridge-shooter had entered. 
 
 When tha merchant was told what she had found, 
 and he cast bis eyes upon the fatal words, in cha- 
 racters he knew full well, he, with the fragments 
 firmly clenched within his two uplifted hands, threw 
 himself with violence upon his knees, and looking 
 towards heaven, his lips moved, but those around 
 heard not what he said : was it a prayer he offered ? 
 or was it a blighting curse he then called down 
 from Heaven ? 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 A LESSON IN PBONUNCIATION. 
 
 The Glod of Love, all, lenedicite ! 
 
 How mighty and how great a lord is he ! 
 
 AgarnBt his might there gainen none obstacles ; 
 
 He may be 'clep'd a God for his mir^es. 
 
 For he can make at his owen guise 
 
 Of every heart, as that him list devise. — Chauceb. 
 
 One of them was blind, and might not see. — Ibed. 
 Dat after day passed by, but still no tidings of either 
 Alyce or her child. And although the good merchant, 
 in external appearance, seemed but as a sedate and 
 thoughtful man, there was within his breast a hidden 
 
108 BDWARD OSBOBITE. 
 
 serpent, ever gnawing at his heart. Hewet's love for 
 his wife has been of that all-absorbing nature — that 
 he had had but one thought, one hope from the 
 moment they had plighted their vows, and that hope, 
 that thought, was for the happiness of his Alyce. 
 
 In exact proportion to his former unbounded con- 
 fidence, now came the bitterness of finding himself 
 deceived. Every incident of his wedded life flitted 
 before his heated imagination, as he, night after night, 
 lay upon his sleepless couch ; but in no one of his 
 wakeful dreams could he ever picture to himself a 
 single look, or bring to his remembrance a single 
 word, that had ever passed from the eyes or lips of his 
 adored Alyce, that should have raised a blush upon her 
 cheek, or have blanclied hia own. But the more these re- 
 flections crowded upon his miud, the more violent be- 
 came his resentment against one, whose consummate 
 art could so cloak her vile feelings beneath the guise 
 of sincerity, tbatno eye, but the one she wished to do 
 BO, could ever penetrate her designs. Could such profi- 
 ciency in deceit be drawn fom a pure heart in an in- 
 tant, as by a spell ? or was this perfection of duplicity 
 the slow growth of long continued habit ? He feared 
 the latter ; andthen the remembrance of his every act of 
 former kindness to her he had loved and trusted, would 
 bring a blush upon his cheek, for having been such a 
 weak confiding dupe. He soon persuaded himself, or 
 believed he had done so, that the only grief he now 
 suffered, was for the loss of his child. 
 
 " Why had the wretch," he muttered, " stolen away 
 the only consolation she could have left me ? "Was it 
 the overpowering love a mother might feel for her 
 ofispring ? Eanish the impious thought I What 
 mother, loving her child, could bring upon that child 
 the stain of infamy, that its parent's guilt must stamp 
 upon its future life, if that life were to be passed with 
 one revelling in vice and shame. Oh, no ! hatred to 
 him alone could account for the wicked act." As he 
 was ^bout to call upon Heaven to blast her with its 
 
A IKSBON IN PBOiniKOIATIOW. 109 
 
 fust TeDgeance, he raised his eyes and encountered the 
 innocent features of Alyce in a picture, which had been 
 pointed by the great Holbein, and which was regarded 
 as one of the most perfect specimens of his art. The 
 eight, added to the recollection of the happiness which 
 he believed to have been Lis own, when that pictU'C was 
 painted, completely overcame him, and he wept aloud. 
 Toting Osborne, who was ever on the watch, 
 fearful of the turn his master's grief might take, 
 hurried into the apartment. 
 
 "Tear it from the wall!" exclaimed Hewet, 
 covering his eyes with one hand, as with the other he 
 pointed to the portrait of his wife, " tear it from the 
 wall — cut it into shreds with your dagger — burn it to 
 ashes — or cast it deep into the flood — do anything 
 with it, EO that you utterly destroy that lying sem- 
 blance of a fiend iu angel's form !" 
 
 Osborne could not resist heaving a sigh, as he looked 
 upon the heavenly features of Alyce ; but knowing 
 that at that moment it were better not to combat the 
 commands of his agitated master, he hurried away 
 with the picture, promising its immediate destruction. 
 After this last paroxysm of the merchant's despair, 
 no mortal eye ever again witnessed his distress. 
 His whole mind was henceforth, to all appearance, 
 bound up in his worldly affairs ; but inwardly there 
 was a powerful spring at work, which drew into one 
 focus every action ; this was, his secret determination 
 to be revenged upon the ungrateful cause of all his 
 sorrow — in fact, to discover, and to kill his wife. To 
 such a pitch of madness had he wrought himself, that 
 in order that his child shotild never fall as her mother 
 had, his next intention was to bestow the whole of his 
 wealth, and it was already vast, upon some nunnery, 
 with the condition that she should ever be kept from 
 the eyes of men. 
 
 Did he fulfil these insane fantasies ? — the book of 
 fate is not yet opened to reveal. 
 From all the information that had hitherto been 
 
110 EDWAED OSBORNE. 
 
 obtained, it was pretty evident that the courae the 
 fugitives had taken, wag towards Italy. Hewet, 
 therefore, under pretence of the King's service, 
 now he hAd become his Q-race's merclmnt, requiring 
 that he should visit Milan and Yenice, in order to 
 select the most cnstly stuffs, and finest gold work that 
 the world could then urorluce, obtained permission, 
 and snfe conducts, by the King's grace, to enable him 
 to pass through the various states he must traverse, 
 with speed, and tolerable security. Taking advantage 
 of one of bis own ships, at that moment about to sail 
 for the Adriatic, he hurriedly prepared for his long and 
 perilous journey. Osborne was placed in full authority 
 at the dwelling upon the Bridge. His other affairs 
 he left in equally trusty hands ; then, with a heart sus- 
 tained against analmostinsupportabltpressureof grief, 
 merely by the unholy stimulant, a thirst for vengeance, 
 the merchant hastened upon his melancholy way. 
 
 Osborne, as might be supposed, his master being 
 away, and the whole weight of the concern resting 
 upon his shoulders, had enough to do, without spending 
 much time upon Billy the Bridge-shooter, who was 
 now regularly domesticated in the merchant's house. 
 But as Osborne was not one to form a good intention 
 and not carry it out, he begun seriously to think upon 
 some means of getting the youth a proper master. 
 
 It turned out oddly enough, that the master he 
 chose proved to be a mistress. She had herself been 
 a pupil of Osborne, and had, for those days, become a 
 very fair scholar. She could read and write uncom- 
 monly well ; as to figures she was not very great ; she 
 seemeJ to think that it was quite enough for girls to 
 do to study their own figures ; and the only arithmetic 
 required by the fair sex was the first rule in Hymen's 
 arithmetic, where, strange to say, one added to one only 
 makes one. The reader will doubtless guess, without 
 much difficulty, that the fair instructress chosen by 
 Edward Oaborne for the guide of Billy the Bridge- 
 shooter, was pretty Mora Gray. For a long time did she 
 
A lESSON IN PRONrNCUTIOK. Ill 
 
 despair of making any impression upon his " stupid 
 head," as she called it ; slow progress at the commence- 
 ment of his academical labours, arose from a feeling 
 of shame at "a great macr" — for youths think them- 
 selves great men at a very early age — " being instructed 
 to read and write by a little girl." But he very soon 
 began to discover, like Lord Byron, that fair Ups, of 
 all instructors of languages, are the vtry best. The 
 two great stumbling-blocks over which he fell and 
 rolled about in the most admired confusion, were the 
 Ws and V's! "Now, it is a very odd thing," as 
 Flora sagaei msIj observed, " that all uneducated 
 people should find any di£&culty in pronouncing these 
 two letters in their ^qper places, while they do it with 
 perfect ease when placed where they ought not to be." 
 
 " But I can't, and I never shall be able to get over 
 those two horrid little letters," said the Bridge- 
 shooter, with a look of utter despair. 
 
 "Nonsense," replied Flora; "now try — say 
 water ! " 
 
 " Vorter !" roared out the Bridge-shooter. 
 
 " Now say virtue," continued Flora, looking very 
 grave. 
 
 " Wirtue !' said the Bridge-shooter. 
 
 "There, you see; you find no difficulty in pro- 
 nouncing the letters, only you will put tkem in the 
 wrong places : adorn your virtue with a V, and pop 
 your W into the water, and we shall get on swim- 
 mingly." 
 
 The poor Bridge-shooter screwed about his lips in 
 all sorts of ridiculous shapes, ere he ventured upon 
 viETUE, aad when it did come, the V was about half 
 a yard long ; for, having once caught hold of it, he 
 seemed but little inclined to relinquish so valuable an 
 acquisition. " V — e — e — e — e — e — hirtue !" said he, 
 with a jerk, and then took a long-drawn breath, as if 
 completely overcome by the effort he had made. 
 
 " Excellent, excellent, excellent, indeed," said Flora, 
 with an encouraging smile. So delighted was the 
 
112 SDWABD OSBOBVX. 
 
 poor Bridge-shooter with this, his first conqaest orer 
 so formidable a foe, that "virtue" henceforth was for 
 ^er in his mouth, and, we are delighted to add, in 
 hi8 heart too. He got over the vtatee with much less 
 difficulty ; here he seemed more in his element, and 
 by following the same process of elongation, wor — or 
 — or — or — ter flowed on brilliantly, and he was again 
 encouraged by Flora's pretty smile. After their 
 lessons, which generally took place an hour before 
 sunset, in the pretty room behind the upper balcony, 
 overlooking the river, their conversation always 
 reverted to the strange and wicked conduct of Alyce 
 Hewet. One evening "William, for now Flora never 
 allowed him to be called by such a vulgar title as Biliy- 
 the-bridge-shooter, observed, " Although I knows — " 
 
 " Know," said Flora. 
 
 " Know," said "William. 
 
 " Yes," said Flora. 
 
 "Know," said "William. "Although I know that 
 mother is not a vitch — I mean witch, sometimes it is 
 werry, very, odd that she does stumble upon most 
 extraordinary things. Now I vunder, wonder, whether 
 she could by her conjurations, as she calls them, find 
 out for us what has really become of Dame Hewet 
 and the chUd. Shall we go and see the poor old soul, 
 and ask her ? Tou know this is the eve of St. John, 
 and you have promised that I shall take you about to 
 see all the gay sights to-night." 
 
 Poor Flora felt a sigh rising from the very bottom 
 of her heart, for she remembered that another used 
 formerly to take her out upon such occasions ; but she 
 checked it, and smiling upon her pupil, said, " I never 
 forget my promises, mind your remember yours. If 
 you make one mistake in the verb you have promised 
 to learn, dread my power." "What this verb was, we 
 shall by and by explain ; but he had already learnt it 
 by heart ; so he felt perfectly easy upon that score. 
 
 The eve of St. John the Baptist, in our City's olden 
 time, was an epoch of vast interest to our forefathers. 
 
i. LBS SON IN PaOMITKCIATIOI)'. 113 
 
 The great muster of all the watches of the City took 
 place then; feastings, bonfires, and revelries of all 
 kinds flourished to an enormous extent. Many of the 
 houses were covered from top to bottom with green 
 birch, long fennel, and a prodigious quantity of St. 
 John's wort, orpine, white lilies, and garlands of 
 beautiful flowers ; the street was thronged with people 
 busily employed rolling tar-barrels along to the ap- 
 pointed spots where the bonfires were to be displayed. 
 Prom Aldgate, without the walls, or ramparts, ex- 
 tending to Bisbopsgatc, lay a filthy ditch called, as the 
 spot is to this day, Houndsditch. A low mud wall 
 divided it from the main road, on the other side of 
 which were a number of small cottages, with little 
 plots of garden ground attached to them, all beyond 
 being open country, including Spitalfields, then a 
 charming rural Sunday walk, greatly frequented by the 
 citizens ; and it was towards these cottages that Flora 
 and the Bridge-shooter were now making their way. 
 These cottages were inhabited by poor bedridden 
 people, who were to be seen lying in their beds close 
 to the open windows, which were purposely made very 
 low, in order that the inmates might be easily viewed 
 by the passers by. On the window-sill was spread a 
 clean white napkin, upon which lay a cross and beads, 
 to indicate that the afflicted could now do nought but 
 pray. It was the custom of the affiment upon holidays, 
 and many other occasions, particularly on Fridays, to 
 stroll out this way, and add somewhat to the soul's 
 health, by relieving the wants of their poor afflicted 
 fellow- creatures. In consequence of the ill-usage, and 
 the dreadful fright the Bridge-shooter's mother had 
 experienced on the night when the murder of Edward 
 Osborne had been attempted, she had been seized by 
 a succession of violent fits, which ended in paralysis of 
 the greater portion of her body. Master Hewet's 
 interest had been exerted in her behalf, and she was 
 now settled for the rest of her days in one of those 
 charitably-bestowed cottages. As the Bridge-shooter 
 S 
 
114 EBWAED OSBOENB. 
 
 and Flora Gray entered Houndsdilch from Aldgate, 
 William was surprised, on looking towards his 
 mother's cottage, to see before her door a splendid 
 retinue, composed of some twenty gentlemen all in 
 bright harness, and mounted on magnificent horses. 
 Two running pages were holding the bridle of a 
 superb charger, the saddle of which was then vacant. 
 Before he and his pretty companion had proceeded 
 many paces, a youth, gorgeously attired, came from 
 the cottage, and mounting the charger, led the way, 
 followed by the twenty horsemen. As they passed 
 by, the Bcidge-shooter had an opportunity of 
 regarding the youth very minutely, for, on seeing 
 Flora was a prettji girl, the youth kissed his hand to 
 her, and seemed inclined to mahea ha't, which caused 
 a dreadful frown from the poor Bridge-shooter, who 
 was very much annoyed to observe that Flora, instead 
 of being terribly angry, as he thought she ought to 
 have been, raised her head higher than ever, and seemed 
 to regard his notice as anything but disagreeable. 
 
 " I knew you were coming, boy, I knew you were 
 coming," eaid the mother. 
 
 " Well, but I don't think that very wonderful, 
 mother," he replied, " considering I come every day." 
 
 " Shall I never convince you that I am gifted to 
 know every event before it happens ?" 
 
 " I should like to be convinced of that," said the 
 lad, "above all things, and, in fact, I've come to-night 
 on purpose to put your boasted foresight to the test ; 
 but before I tell you what I've come about, you must 
 tell me, if you do know everything :" — here he made 
 a motion with his hand behind him to Flora Gray to 
 kept out of sight — "just you tell me who it is that I 
 have brought with me ?" 
 
 " Flora Gray," replied the old woman, unhesi- 
 tatingly. 
 
 The fact was, that in the glass window she saw the 
 reflection of Flora Gray standing behind her son ; this 
 little natural aid to her magic she kept secret to her» 
 
A LiSSSON IN PEONUNOIATIOV. 115 
 
 self; but her reply had aa enormous effect in shakiag 
 her son's doubts regarding her supernatural powers. 
 
 "Hang me, if you're not right, mother,'-' said the 
 Bridge-shooter, drawing Flora forw.ird, " and if you 
 can tell us what we wish to know, as truly aa you 
 have hit upon this, I'll swear you're a witch to the 
 last day of my life, 'though they should burn us both 
 for saying so. But I say, mother, who was that inso- 
 lent stripling who just left you ?" 
 
 " One," said the old dame, " who has more faith in 
 a witch's words than her own flesh and blood has ; he 
 has gone away in the full belief of my secret influence 
 over the spirits of another world — he came for know- 
 ledge, and I gave it to him — but let that pass — let 
 that pass — 'tis useless to try and persuade a stone." 
 Saying this she looked very angrily at her son. 
 
 Plora softened the old dame wonderfully, by pro- 
 fessing implicit belief in the power of witchcraft ; 
 and even the Bridge-shooter, at times, felt his disbelief 
 terribly shaken, by the chance hits she was fortunate 
 enough to make. 
 
 As all other attempts to discover the fates of Alyce\ 
 and the child had failed, he thought there could je no 
 harm, in just pleasing his old mother so far, as to mk 
 her aid. Flora told the old woman the cause of their 
 visit, but the old dame pretended to know it all 
 beforehand, and said she had been nearly the whole 
 day trying with the cards to discover the truth. 
 
 " Every time I open this book of fate," she said, 
 taking up a pack of cards, and spreading them out on 
 the bed before her, " there do I flnd the Queen of 
 Hearts, meaning dame Alyce." 
 
 " She was indeed the Queen of Hearts, of all 
 hearts, until this sad affair," said Flora, sighing. 
 
 " Before her is a knave, and behind her is another ; 
 this is the twentieth time they have fallen in the 
 same position — the Knave of Diamonds and the 
 Knave of Clubs." 
 
 " Oh," said Flora, " the Knave of Diamonds is 
 
116 EDWABS OSBOBKE. 
 
 plain enougli, that means the wicked Sir Eilbut, who 
 has caused us all our trouble " 
 
 " And himself some, too," said the old woman, 
 " for see, he's turned upside down, and standing upon 
 his head ; but who know you that would answer to 
 the Knave of Clubs ?" 
 
 "If they were 'prentice clubs," exclaimed "WiUiam, 
 " I should say it means Harry Horton." 
 
 Poor riora blushed at hearing the Bridge-shooter 
 speak thus slightingly of one she had regarded with 
 tenderness, but even she had began to have her 
 suspicions as to his true character, but she ventured 
 to say, " That it was impossible he could have had 
 aught to do with Sir Filbut's wickedness, for there 
 Iiad been moments when she really believed that 
 Harry was more than half in love with dame Alyce 
 himself." 
 
 " "Was he, girl ?" enquired the would-be witch ; 
 "yet the cards speak as much, and they never 
 deceive ; but enough for one night — enough for one 
 night. As you re-enter the city, do so by the Postern 
 Gate, the road to it will lead you past the Nunnery 
 of the Minories ; ask for the blind girl, Boline, and 
 give her this little wooden cross ; she well knows my 
 meaning. J have seen strange things in the clouds 
 to-day ; tell Edward Osborne, on his life not to be 
 away from home to-morrow ; he is sought by those 
 who may smooth the rough road he has to follow for 
 many and many a year to come ; remember, the 
 strange visitor to Edward Osborne will visit him to- 
 morrow — there is much wUl happen soon — much, 
 much, much !" 
 
 " Mother says much," observed the Bridge-shooter 
 to Elora, as they took their way back again, " but we 
 have not gained much for our teouble." 
 
 " But what can she want," said Tlora, " of the 
 blind beauty of the nunnery ; svu:ely one brought up 
 in such a holy place can have nothing in common with 
 witchcraft." 
 
A LBSSOW IK PEONUNCIATION. 117 
 
 "I don't know that," replied the Bridge-shooter, 
 " there are strange stories getting about, concerning 
 all sorts of men, particularly the nuns of St. Clair. 
 Some say they are no better than they should be, or, 
 rather, not quite so good as they ought to be. But 
 never mind such useless things as nuns, and if you 
 ■will let me, I will just run through the verb you last 
 set me." 
 
 " What verb ?" enquired Flora ; " I have quite for- 
 gotten which it was." 
 
 "The verb — to love!" answered William, with a 
 peculiar expression, though he imagined it was a verb 
 that could be conjugated by the eyes alone. " It 
 begins, I love. Oh, Mora, I wish I dared add 
 one little pro — pro — noun, I think you say it is, to 
 the present tense of that verb — and then I'd say — I 
 — love you \" 
 
 " For shame, William," said Flora ; " we must give 
 up our studies if you talk thus ; and know, sir, that 1 
 do not love t/ou, nor do I ever intend to do so." 
 
 " I know all that, Flora," replied the Bridge- 
 shooter, " nor do I ask you to do it. All I crave is 
 to be allowed to love yow, not because you are pretty, 
 for every one could love you for that, but because you 
 are good and kind to those who require your smile 
 and aid. These, Flora, are the things that make me 
 love you — not your pretty face or pretty form." 
 
 Now, if the poor Bridge-shooter had studied the 
 sex for a thousand years, he could not have hit upon 
 a method more likely to win the good esteem of her 
 he wooed, than the one ho was pursuing. While 
 denying that he loved her for her beauty, he was still 
 covertly telling her how beautiful he thought her ; 
 and yet, even that beauty was nothing to be com- 
 pared to the amiability he discovered hidden beneath 
 it. One thing alone was wanting to make the Bridge- 
 shooter's success complete, and chance almost imme- 
 diately filled up the measure of his hopes, for juat 
 after Flora's heart had been powerfully assailed by 
 
118 EDWABD OSBOBNE. 
 
 the youth at her side, whom should they meet but 
 Harry Horton, now splendidly attired, arm in arm 
 with a man much older than himself, but equally gay 
 in his habiliments. The elder was a tall powerful 
 man, whose face was nearly hidden by a profusion of 
 whiskers, beard, and long moustache. Flora's old 
 feelings for Horton for one instant filled her breast, 
 and she made aa impulsive start forward to meet her 
 former flatterer ; but he, looking her full in the face, 
 seemed not to know one so humble in station, and 
 turning his head away, passed on. The man of 
 whiskers and of beard had started too, but his was a 
 start of that nature which we make at suddenly 
 finding ourselves in presence of the last person we 
 would have met. He fixed his dark protruding eyes 
 upon the Bridge-shooter, and scowling fiercely upon 
 him, vanished with Horton in the crowd. So 
 astonished had the Bridge-shooter been at seeing a 
 perfect stronger, as he thought him, gaze at him thus, 
 that he had not heeded the agitation which Horton's 
 contemptuous slight of poor Flora had thrown her 
 into. She looked after her false lover, and felt as 
 though she could have sunk into the earth for very 
 sliame at herself, for ever having thought of such a 
 worthless wretch. To hide the mortification she 
 really felt, she put on an air of exaggerated mirth, 
 and laughed quite loudly at the idea of such " a 
 magpie," as she called Horton, "strutting about in 
 his peacock's feathers." But, poor soul ! when she 
 returned to her own chamber, she gave way to one 
 long bitter flood of tears, and Horton was torn from 
 her heart for ever. 
 
 When they arrived at the Convent of the Minories, 
 they learnt that Eoline, the blind girl, had gone to 
 fulfil her usual evening duty, by carrying small cakes 
 and flowers from the nunnery farm to the poor bed- 
 ridden people of the Houndsditch cottages. Upon 
 these errands of charity she was usually accompanied 
 by her brother, as she called him, Willy, the Cripple 
 
A LE330N ITT PKOKUNCIATIOH. 119 
 
 of the Bridge-gate tower. Now, Eoline was fair — 
 fair 88 blooming May, and the Cripple had ejei to see 
 and feel that fairness ; but Eoline was blind, born 
 blind, and could not see her friend's deformities ; she 
 saw but his kindness through the eyes within her 
 heart, and that to her was beautiful. Oft would she 
 say, as they strolled along together, " I wonder, to 
 those who have what you call sight, what the difference 
 can be betw.en ugliness and beauty ?" 
 
 "The difference between myself and you," thi? 
 Cripple would reply ; " the difference between a devil 
 and an angel !" 
 
 " Hush !" said Eoline, trembUng ; " know you t je 
 meaning of the words you utter ? No, "WiUy, no. 
 The wicked spirits, they tell me, are all deformity, 
 because they are wicked; you are all goodness, at 
 least to me ; you, therefore, cannot be deformed, 
 whatever our ugly nuns may say — I call tJiem ugly 
 because they are always unkind to me, and quarrel 
 with each other — so you see I know, WiUy, what 
 ugliness reaUy is, although I have no eyes ; do I not ?" 
 
 " Poor child I" said the Cripple, " you wiU never 
 know what real ugliness is, for you will never see me." 
 
 " I see you often," was her innocent reply, " often 
 and often. Tou never sing but I see you in my ears ; 
 and oh, you are so lovely !" 
 
 "Oh, oh! ha, ha! he, he !" laughed the 
 
 Cripple, at hearing himself thus flattered. 
 
 " Oh, do not do that !" ejaculated the blind girl, 
 placing her hands upon her ears ; " you frighten me 
 when you do that. It seems as if another being were 
 standing by, a wicked one, scoffing at me for my poor 
 blind folly, in saying the foolish things I do. But I 
 am blind, "Willy, blind — and it seems to me that all 
 wisdom lies in the eyes, not in the brain ; so do not 
 sc )ff at me for want of wisdom — I was born blind." 
 
 The poor Cripple felt that he would cut out his 
 tongue rather than again utter that discordant laugh ; 
 and although he knew he had to fight against all- 
 
120 EBWABD OSBOBirE. 
 
 powerful natuje, yet he determined to combat till ke 
 conquered — such are the wild achievements love will 
 make mankind attempt. 
 
 Mora and the Bridge-shooter left the cross for 
 Eoline with the portress at the convent gate, and as 
 the night was fast setting in, they moved quickly 
 forward to enter the city by the postern gate ; they 
 strolled through Tower-street, now gaily lighted up, 
 then into Escheppe (Eastcheap), gayer still, which 
 brought them soon to Fish-street, now a scene of 
 perfect magnificence. Tbe standing watch were 
 taking their stations, all habited in bright bamess, 
 looking like burnished men of silver, from the rtflec- 
 tion of the bonfires, roaring at the corner of every 
 street. At every door, that is, of the richer citizens, 
 was placed a table, well supplied with sweet bread 
 and goodly drinks, the worthy owners inviting their 
 neighbours, and strangers passing by, to come and sit 
 awhile in unconstrained familiarity, to make merry, 
 and praise God for the benefits he had bestowed upon 
 them. The great event of the evening, however, was 
 the procession of "The Maeching Watou," and a 
 magnificent procession it was. It passed from the 
 little Conduit at Paule's Gate to "West Cheape, then 
 by the Stocks through Cornhill, by Leadenhall to 
 Aldgate, then back down Fenchurch-street, by Grasse 
 Church, about Grasse-Church Conduit, and up 
 Grasse-Church Street into CornhiU, and thence into 
 West Cheape again. 
 
 Many were the tables placed without the doors, at 
 which the Bridge«3hooter and his fair companion were 
 compelled to take their seats, now beside some 
 princely merchant's dame, now by a wandering friar 
 or a beggar ; for on St. John's eve all were supposed 
 to be friends and equals, and none, without offence, 
 could refuse the invitation proffered. 
 
 When Flora and her new lover had completely 
 tired themselves out, by seeing the procession pass at 
 least half a dozen times, by running down little by- 
 
A SCSKE OF HOBBOB. 121 
 
 streets and alleys, in the geographical knowledge of 
 which Billy-the-hridge-shooter had for some years 
 been very great, and then catching the marching w atch 
 in a new spot, they took one more glance at the two 
 principal streets, Fish Street and Tbames Street, and 
 then returned towards their home upon the Bridge. 
 The gaieties and decorations here were not to be 
 despised, although this was no road by which the 
 watch would pass. Many a well-stored table stood 
 before the op3n door of more than one dwelling there. 
 At one of these were seated Master Checklocke, and 
 his two loving friends, Catchemayde and Silkworm. 
 Cromwell's good ale had done its work so well, that 
 DOW they not only swore they loved each other, but 
 were in love with all the world ; this they endeavoured 
 to prove, by insisting upon kissing Flora Gray, but, 
 being a little" the worse for liquor, the Bridge-shooter 
 good-humouredly managed to receive all their 
 embraces, instead of the maiden, and then left them 
 in a furious quarrel about whose wife she really 
 should be. Flora and her swain, as they entered the 
 door, louked back, and saw the three friends embracing 
 at once, and then fall over the table into the middle 
 of the road. 
 
 Edward Osborne had already returned home ; they 
 acquainted him with the witch's prophecy, that he 
 would have a strange visitor tbe next day, and then 
 all retired to rest. 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 A SCENE OF HOEEOB. 
 
 She weened never have come in such a trap, 
 " Alas," quoth she, " that ever this should hap. 
 For weaned I never by possibility 
 That such a monster of mai-vaille might be ; 
 It is against the process of nature." — Qeaitose. 
 
 Thb war against the monastic orders had now set in 
 with overwhelming fury ; many monasteries had 
 already been suppressed ; commiEsioners had been 
 
122 BBWAED OBBOBNK. 
 
 appointed to take possession of these, and to prepare 
 measures for the seizure of others. The enquirers 
 into the lives and habits of the monks and nuns, 
 were let loose over the whole land, and hunted down 
 their victims in couples. 
 
 As a fair sample of the kind of persons engaged 
 upon this religious iavestigation, as it was called, we 
 may take Harry Horton and his coadjutor, who turned 
 out to be no other than the brother of the Blear-eyed 
 Bully. This man had, for a long time before, been 
 employed as one of Henry's foreign spies, and it was 
 iu returning from his labours in ferreting out some of 
 the designs of the potentates abroad, that he had dis- 
 covered his dead brother, after the execution at 
 Billingsgate. It was impossible for Horton to have 
 been linked to one more congeuial to his own feelings. 
 They possessed the like dispositions for cunning 
 villany, an equal disregard for every virtuous or 
 honourable sentiment, added to a total absence of all 
 feeling for the sufferings of others. There was 
 another point upon which they were perfectly agreed, 
 and that was an unalterable hatred to Edward Osborne. 
 Horton's new ally was called Beltham Spikely, and it 
 was he who had scowled so blackly upon the Bridge- 
 shooter on St. John's Eve. He had completely 
 disguised his visage by allowing his whiskers, beard, 
 and long moustache to grow, which they did most 
 luxuriantly. This was more a whim on his part than 
 a necessary precaution te avoid detection, for such a 
 triHe as torturing within an inch of death a youth 
 humble as Osborne, was not likely to be regarded in 
 any very serious light by those in power, and who 
 at present were in want of all the assistance they 
 could gain from unprincipled tools. To tempt the 
 heads of the various houses to resign quietly their 
 lands and wealth, promises of protection and rewards 
 were lavished upon all, but these promises were never 
 intended to be fulfilled, and even protection to the 
 aged was but seldom accordei. All monks under 
 
i. sosNi: OF noBBOB. 128 
 
 twenty-four years of age were absolved from their 
 vows, and, no provision being made for their sup- 
 port, they were sent adrift at once upon the world, to 
 beg, or steal, or starve, as the cnance might be. 
 The elder portion were allowed to make choice of 
 freedom, or, if they preferred the monastic life, they 
 were drafted off in small numbers into other houses, 
 that might for the season be still allowed a short 
 existence. The most helpless of the religious orders 
 were the poor nuns, unused to work, unfriended 
 by the world, because the world was now being 
 taught that the nuns were but ao many vicious 
 impostors. They were turned out from their former 
 homes to wander where they would, with no further 
 provision " hut a single common gown a-piece." 
 
 Another cause of great suffering, was that arising 
 from the general poor, who had formerly been relieved 
 at the gates of the various monasteries and convents. 
 Finding these sources of obtainiug their daily bread 
 suddenly cut off, the streets in every town, the roads 
 in every direction, became thronged with these wan- 
 dering starving beggars. Terrible scenes frequently 
 took place midst riot and even bloodshed, when some 
 wealthy house, more notorious than others for its re- 
 putation of vile practices, was thrown open to the 
 eyes of the world, and all the hidden deceits laid bare, 
 the miraculous-working images brought out into the 
 main road, and after being made to go through their 
 ingeniously-contrived motions, amidst the laughter and 
 ridicule of the very people who, but a short time before, 
 had viewed their workings with amazement and with 
 awe, they were broken up and burnt. The more the 
 crowd found they had been so long deceived, the 
 greater was the resentment felt against the juggling 
 contrivers of the cheat ; and in some instances the 
 priests paid the forfeit of their crimes by being mur- 
 dered on the spot. 
 
 The nunnery which now came under the especial 
 guardianship of Horton and his companion, was the 
 
124 EDWABD OSBORNE. 
 
 Convent of the Minoriea. The nuns of St. Clair had 
 long held a reputation for great beauty, and their 
 chapel was always thronged, in consequence of the 
 music being performed in a manner far superior at 
 their religious house to that at most others. One of 
 the principal causes of this reputation in music, arose 
 from the beauty of the voices of the Cripple of the 
 Bridge-gate tower and that of Eoline, " The blind 
 maid of St. Clair," as she was usually called. The 
 Cripple, from being truly ugly and deformed, was re- 
 garded as a privileged being at the convent, and, 
 although a man, was allowed the full range, not only 
 of the farm attached, but also of the interior of the 
 nunnery. He was a great favourite with the inmates, 
 because he used to bring them all the news of the ex- 
 ternal world, and then would sing his sweetest songs 
 to amuse them for whole evenings together. The poor 
 Cripple would never have dared to own, even to him- 
 self, that he loved, had he not fancied he had found in 
 Eoline's blindness an excuse for venturing to give way 
 to the sweetest of all passions. He knew the fascina- 
 tion of his voice, and he also knew that Eoline could 
 hear; a joy extreme was his whenever she owned she 
 loved to hear it. Her two most powerful senses were 
 those of hearing and of touch. Now, it so happened, 
 that the Cripple's hand was almost feminine, and when 
 it came in contact with her own, its tender pressure 
 thrilled to her heart ; as did his voice when he sang. 
 Thus, then, the blind and lame became sworn lovers. 
 She was beautiful, but then she had no eyes to read 
 the admiration her charms created. He was ugly, but 
 she saw it not ; and that very ugliness was her safe- 
 guard against his being tenrpted from his truth to her, 
 for all who saw him, loathedl^him. 
 
 Before we enter upon the strange occurrences 
 which were soon to take place within the Convent of 
 the Minories, we must cast a glance backwards, as far 
 as that day upon which the saintly Father Brassinjaw 
 was trotting along the road, mounted upon his little 
 
A BCBME or UOBBOB. 125 
 
 fat, long-eared mule. It may be remembered he was 
 joiirneying to the lonely cottage in which Horton had 
 for a time taken up his abode ; and he trotted along 
 with a breast boiling over with saintly indignation 
 against both Horton and the lovely Alyce, for their 
 daring to keep from their confessor so great a secret 
 as the one they endeavoured to hide. So well did 
 Brassinjaw play his cards, that Horton was completely 
 taken off his guard, for he believed the priest knew 
 much more of the truth than he really did ; for, in 
 fact, he knew nothing, but he guessed a good deal. 
 Horton soon found, that unless he allowed Father 
 Brassinjaw a good half of the spoil he intended to 
 gather, he should have to relinquish the whole, and 
 must himself be brought to a ftarful reckoning. He 
 agreed to all the father's pretty bold demands, which 
 he made, as he said, to show that such duplicity as that 
 of Horton was not to go unpunished by the Church's 
 sense of justice. Horton succumbed the more readily 
 as he required the services of Brassinjaw to visit the 
 Blear-eyed Bully, and endeavour to find out whether 
 he would die without betraying his accomplices. It 
 was settled with regard to Sir Filbut, that they should 
 fleece him as thoroughly as possible, and that Alyce, 
 for reasons which Horton kept to himself, should not 
 be allowed to guess that Brassinjaw ever for a moment 
 suspected her. 
 
 After the execution of the Bully, Horton came in 
 contact with the Bully's second self, his twin brother ; 
 it was arranged that they would all three act in con- 
 cert. Spikely not only served the king as a spy, but 
 robbed him as a emnggler. He had a vessel of his 
 own, in which he ever was passing backwards and for- 
 wards from and to the Continent, orders being given 
 that his boat was not to be too closely watched, enabling 
 him to export from this kingdom vast quantities of 
 that strictly-prohibited article, the staple of our land 
 — wool. The method employed to deceive the of&cers 
 of the customs, was to pack the wool in beer casks, 
 
126 EDWAED OSBOHNB. 
 
 nnd 80 carelessly was the duty of examination pep- 
 formed, that a little yeast being smeared about the 
 bunghole, was deemed precaution quite sufiS.cient to 
 prevent detection. 
 
 Sir Klbut Fussy was tempted to pay a large sum for 
 this vessel to convey him and Alyce, and all his valu- 
 ables, to Italy ; and as it was not known when the 
 fortunate hour might arrive, it was settled that all Sir 
 Filbut's goods and chattels should be shipped by 
 degrees, and then all things kept ia readiness, so that 
 the moment Sir Filbut stept his foot aboard, the sails 
 might be set, and thus the deeply -plotted villany con- 
 summated. 
 
 Brassinjaw agreed to the attempt to drive Osborne 
 out of his mind by fright, and it was his own scheme 
 that Spikely, being so like his dead brother, should buy 
 his clothes from the executioner, and pass for the 
 ghost of the Bully. The reader may remember the 
 scene in the chapel of St. Thomas of the Bridge, and 
 the supernatural disappearance, as Osborne at the time 
 believed, of the ghost, as it descended the stairs to the 
 crypt below, and which Brassinjaw had declared he 
 never saw, although he ascended at the very moment. 
 The more secure Horton and his companion believed 
 themselves to be, the less did they feel inclined to go 
 shares with Brassinjaw, and they were ever trying to 
 chouse him out of his proportion of the profits. 
 
 Horton had proved himself such an adept at finding 
 out the vices of the poor monks and nuns, who fell 
 beneath his hands, that Cromwell bestowed on him 
 almost unlimited power over all but the lives of the 
 poor creatures intended to be sacrificed. He and his 
 companion now took the affairs of the Nunnery of the 
 Minories into their most serious consideration; and 
 having extorted from the sisterhood all they could by 
 threats or promises, they still felt convinced that 
 more secrets lay hidden within the bosoms of many of 
 the nuns, and that if they could but make them speak 
 oilt, there would be, at least glorious amusement, if 
 
A SCENE or HOKHOE. 127 
 
 not great gain for themselves in a worldly point of view. 
 A diabolical idea entered the head of Morton, which 
 made Spikely roar with laughter, and bo taken were 
 they both with the glorious thought, that they hurried 
 off at once to put it into execution. The Abbess was 
 away from home when they arrived ; for this they were 
 rather glad, so putting on a look of mock gravity, they 
 summoned the nuns before them, and for a time, car- 
 ried on the examination in as serious a tone, as their 
 inward determination for mischief would allow them to 
 assume. Presently the grand scheme was to be car- 
 ried out, the wine cellars were thrown open, the wine 
 brought forth, and the poor nuns compelled to drink 
 until they became mad from intoxication. Some 
 laughed, some sang, others danced about. Some, who 
 were less stupified by the effects of the wine they had 
 drunk, fell down in fits of weeping upon the floor. 
 The scene was becoming too dreadful to describe, when 
 the Abbess returned, leading by the hand the blind 
 girl, Eoline. 
 
 "Ah, ah! my beauty!" exclaimed Horton, as he 
 saw for the first time the lovelv Eoline, "come hither, 
 my bright-eyed fair one," — he knew not that she was 
 blind, for although usually her eyes were gently closed 
 yet, when alarmed, the lids uprose, and then those eyes 
 were beautiful to look at, though sightless — "come 
 hither, and sit upon my knee," said he, " and drink 
 confusion to yon old hag, the Lady Abbess." 
 
 " Confusion to the Lady Abbess !" exclaimed some 
 of the nuns, who had been compelled to say these 
 words a dozen times before. 
 
 "Horror!" ejaculated the Abbess. "Eoline, to 
 jour cell, to your cell, or fly the place altogether " 
 
 " Indeed, but she does not 1" roared out Horton, 
 " she shall be my own particular angel — I've 
 suddenly fallen in love with her." So saying he 
 rose, as if to approach Eoline. 
 
 " Touch her not !" exclaimed the Abbess ; " if 
 you lay but a finger on her, I will utter words, that, 
 
128 EDWABD OBBOBiri!. 
 
 monster as j"ou are, shall make your hand to wither 
 and fall powerless." 
 
 " I'm too much up to your miracles, my old hag, 
 to heed words, although uttered by a holy Lady 
 Abbess. One kiss I will hare, if but to put your 
 vaunted juggling to the test." 
 
 The Abbess seized his outstretched arm, and 
 hurriedly whispered into his ear a few words. He 
 stood for a second motionless, his lips moved silently, 
 as if his memory was at work, and at last he ex- 
 claimed — " If what you say is true, and I believe it 
 is so, you have given up a secret which to me is 
 worth her weight in gold. Tou are right — right — 
 she is safe from me, and mind, that on your life, you 
 keep her safe from others. Keep the secret still, 
 until I have determined what course you must 
 pursue." 
 
 The two monsters left the nunnery ; the moment 
 they were gone, the few nuns who had fled from fear, 
 upon the approach of Horton and his myrmidon, and 
 had taken shelter in the farm belonging to the 
 convent, returned, and with kindly care took charge 
 of the poor creatures, who were still under the 
 influence of the intoxicating draughts they had been 
 compelled to swallow. 
 
 The Abbess sat musing for a few minutes, then 
 started up as if a sudden determination had seized 
 upon her mind. Late as was the hour of night, she 
 dispatched messengers in various directions to find 
 out Father Brassinjaw; they were commanded to 
 bring him straightway to her, as she must consult 
 with him on an affair of the deepest import. One 
 of the servants of the farm was also sent to com- 
 mand the Cripple of the Bridge-gate-tower not to lose 
 a moment, but to hasten to the convent. 
 
 The scenes that had just taken place had thrown 
 the whole establishment into the wudest excitement. 
 
 " Child," said the Abbess to the blind girl, " blen 
 thy want of sight! better, far better be without 
 
X EO£K£ 07 HOBBOB. 129 
 
 eyes, than having eyes, be forced to look upon tlie 
 Bights I have this night witnessed. I would confess 
 thee to-night, child. I have deep reasons for the act. 
 Follow me to the chapel, and at the altar's foot, mind 
 that you answer truly every question I shall put." 
 
 The Abbess having whispered some ordess io 
 those about her, left the hall ; she bore in her hand 
 a lamp ; this was the only light within the chapel. 
 The Abbess placed the lamp upon the altar, then 
 kneeling down, murmured a long prayer. This 
 ended, she confessed the blind girl, Eoline, whose 
 answers appeared to give great comfort to the mind 
 of the Abbess, who, at the conclusion of a long 
 string of interrogatories, kissed her forehead, saying, 
 " All may yet be well, at least for thee ; would that 
 my passions were as calm, as pure as thine !" 
 
 Father Brassinjaw now hurried into the chapel, and, 
 for a wonder at so late an hour, was sober. He was 
 soon made suquainted with all that had liappened, 
 and, notwithstanding the sanctity of the spot, he let 
 loose his feelings, and called down a good round curse 
 upon the head of Harry Horton, for daring to violate 
 a region he regarded as peculiarly his own. The 
 Abbess, leaving Eoline praying at the altar, retired 
 with the reverend hypocrite to a distant part of the 
 chapel, to consult with him on her intended project. 
 They debated the subject warmly, but in the end the 
 saintly Father Brassinjaw fell entirely into the views 
 of the Abbess, who, ringing her little silver bell, 
 summoned the inmates of the sacred pile to prayer. 
 Eoline was ordered to retire, and do whatever she 
 was bidden. Those whose duty it was immediately 
 commenced lighting up the chapel, which, in an 
 incredibly short space of time, changed from that of 
 gloom to'brightest splendour. The candles upon the 
 altar, ranging from the length of a few inches to that 
 of eeveral feet, were all ignited, and gave a peculiar 
 beauty to the midnight scene ; not a lamp was left 
 imlighted. The incense sent forth its peculiar holy 
 9 
 
130 ESWABS OSBOBVl. 
 
 vapour tbroughout the sacred aisles, and all the 
 appliances of the gorgeous style of worship connected 
 with the Boman Catholic Church were called into 
 requisition. Father Brassinjaw put on his sacred 
 robes, and bad just perftrnud his first genuflection 
 before the altar, ■when "Willy the Cripple of the 
 Bridge-gate-tower entered the holy precincts. He waa 
 about to take his usual place as a singer, when he 
 was astonished at being beckoned by the Abbess to 
 approach her, and still more so when he heard her 
 thus address him. " Be not surprispd at this unusual 
 call, or rather, let not surprise (for surprised you 
 must be) so blind up the free will of your brain, 
 that you repent to-morrow of the act yoa are called 
 upon to perform to-night, t)iat is, if your inclinatioa 
 jump with the chance that this life's strange adven' 
 tures now present you. Long have I known, that 
 notwithstanding your hopelessness in such a case, 
 that you have loved!" The Cripple was indeed 
 nstonished, for though he cculd not disguise the 
 truth from himself, he had studiously done so, as he 
 thought, from the eyes of the scofSng world, but he 
 was still more astonished as the Abbess proceeded in 
 her address, "The object of your love," she said, 
 "is Eulioe!" Here all presfait,. except the speaker 
 and the priest, appeared as surprised as did th6 poor 
 Cripple ; but when she added, " Will you consent to 
 marry her ?" he knew not whether he lived or was 
 in another world, or whether all he saw and heard 
 waa the strangely-born offspring of a dream. He 
 rubbed his eyes, his ears ; he looked around iu wild 
 amaze ; then falling upon his kneea exclaimed> " 0)i ! 
 holy, holy saints, have pity, have pity upon a wretch, 
 and free him from the witchcraft that now surrounds 
 him I Speak, speak to my soul, and tell me what this 
 means." 
 
 The Abbess, taking him by the band, said cala.ly, 
 "It means. nor more nor less than what my words 
 import. Are you willing, from your own free agency. 
 
A 80£K£ 01' HOBBOB. 131 
 
 nnbidden, unconstrained, to take to wife the blind 
 girl, Boline?" 
 
 "How can sucb a deformsd, de^radad thing as X 
 Bay yes ? And yet were I but like to other men, and 
 she could lore me, nor racks, nor tortures, nor seeing 
 of death itself, should make my lips say no!" 
 
 "I knew as much," replied the Abbess ; then again 
 Bouoding her little bell, all the servants of the 
 nunnery farm entered tbe chapel, and, amidst several 
 nuns, the Cripple beheld the fair star of all his 
 heart's most secret hopes, enter the chapel. She was 
 now attired in white, and over her head, reaching to 
 the ground, hung down a superb veil. She answered 
 as nrarmly to the questions put to her as he had done, 
 regarding her free acceptance of the Cripple for her 
 husband. Upon this the Abbess laid great stress, and 
 called all present to witness that no force had been 
 imployed. Not an act that could render the marriage 
 lawful and indissoluble was omitted ; every oue 
 present either signed their names, or made their 
 crosses, as witnesses to the holy contract ; and thus 
 to the heart's joy, but surprise unfathomable of both, 
 did the Cripple of the Bridge-gate-tower and tlio 
 lovely blind girl, Eoline, find themselves suddenly 
 man and wife. 
 
 " For reasons well known to ourself, and oar holy 
 Father Brassinjaw," said the Abbess, " it is requisite 
 this marriage, for a season, be kept a profound 
 secret." 
 
 The Cripple was rather relieved than anioyed at 
 hearing this; for, so completely by surprise had be 
 been taken, that although he had a wife, he had no 
 idea of where he was to take her, or how he was to 
 provide for her. The only boon he craved, and that 
 he did secretly of the Abbess, was for permission to 
 divulge the truth to one friend — and that friend was 
 B Iward Osborne. This permission being granted, the 
 assemblage dispersed. Father Brassinjaw remained 
 for some time in secret conference with the 
 
132 EBWABD OBBOBUB. 
 
 Abbess upon their future plans ; and the Cripple, 
 taking a kind adieu of his sweet young wife, Btrolled 
 towards the Bridge. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 DIATH or BIB riLBTTT XtTSST. 
 
 Behold my bloody woimd^i deep and ^de. 
 
 CHAtrOES. 
 
 Hewet arrived safely in Italy. He wandered from 
 place to place, inquiring wherever he bad heard Sir 
 Filbut FuBsy had friend or relation, about the parties 
 he was seeking, but he could learn nothing likely to 
 tbrow a light upon the strange elopement. It is true, 
 he heard in Milan that Sir Filout had written to 
 announce his intended jonmpy; but be had not 
 arrived, nor had any of his acquaintance lately heard 
 from him or of him. As Queen Jane was now ill, 
 and the King having determined that no coronation 
 should take place, the os^tensible purpose for which 
 the merchant Lad travelled so far was useless, and 
 Master Hewet received orders to return with all 
 dispatch to England. The \essel arrived in the 
 Channel, and landed him on the Sussex coast, for it 
 was Master Hewet's wish to pay a mercantile visit to 
 a town that lay hard by. Having accomplished the 
 end he had in view, he started on his homeward 
 journey, riding post, and attended by a country guide. 
 
 The guide proved a loquacious clown, whose tongue 
 ran on much uster than bis horses. " I make bold to 
 guess your honour be from foreign parts?" observed 
 the guide. 
 
 Hewet nodded a sl'ght assent. 
 
 " Ah ! they be strange places, I have heered. The 
 rrenchmen, they ea.j, can live on nothin, and the 
 Italians eat tbeir wittles by the yard. Why don' 
 they live on beef and puddin as we do? It's our 
 
BEATH «? SIR FII,BtTT riTSST. 188 
 
 beef and puddin tbat makes us thrash 'cm as we 
 always does." 
 
 Master Hewet, finding he must listen to his guide, 
 whether he wished it or not, endeavoured, by a 
 leading question or two, to elicit, it' poasible, a little 
 of the flying news of the day. 
 
 "News!" said the guide, "oh, hoiy! there be 
 plenty of news, only it's all old ; that is, it's the 
 same thing over and. over again. We know that if 
 we are told that Queen Anne's an angel to day, we 
 shall hc^ar that she's a devil to-morrow ; and if the 
 King's got a new wife this week, he'll have a newer 
 one next. I wish he'd take a fancy to my old 
 woman, for I'm plaguy tired on her !" 
 
 " But," said Hewet, " is there nothing stirring in 
 these parts ?" 
 
 " Stirrin!" replied the guide, " oh, hoiy ! thera be 
 plenty a stirrin hereabouts. There have been two 
 chaps down here stirrin up the old nuns like new 
 'uns. One was called Master Spike, I thinks, and a 
 sharp chap he was ; the other — but he was a precious 
 bad 'un amongst the nuns, I heered— was called 
 Master Harry Horton." 
 
 "Horton?" said Hewet. 
 
 " Oh, hoiy ! Horton, that was the worst 'una 
 name ; but they're gone to Lunnun town, and a good 
 riddance to bad rubbish, says I." 
 
 The road through which they journeyed being fully 
 exposed to the burning sun, became intolerably oppres- 
 sive. The guide, perceiving that the merchant could 
 not bear the heat so well as he could, said, " If you'd 
 take a fool's advice, just jump down here, get over that 
 stile, and walk through the wood. I'll take the horsiis 
 round to the other side, two miles off ; you'll find it a 
 lavely shady grove to stroll through, and you'll come 
 out as cool and fresh as a diisy. I see you are well 
 armed, not that there's much to be afeared on. I 
 hiv'nt heered of a robbery there for a good many 
 days past, and I don't think any one .has been killed 
 there for these six months." 
 
184 EBWABS OSBOBITE!. 
 
 Although this high praide regarding the 8&&ty of 
 the road through the wood, might not be quite satis- 
 factory to some, _\et the merchant felt bo oppressed 
 and overcome by the heat, that he at once followed ihe 
 guide's advice ; and receiving very minute directions 
 with respect to the way he was to go, and also a large 
 whistle, that the guide declared could be heard at least 
 five mi'es off (this was in case he should be attacked) 
 Master Hewet crossed the stile and entered the wood ; 
 for some way he could hear tlie guide singing a coun- 
 try ditty, in an accent as broad as his own shoulder.^ : 
 the rustic's ditty ran something after this fashion : — 
 Tho' merry wag beards in the stately liall, 
 > Tet merry wag tails on the rustic preen ; , . ., 
 
 Tho' maids of the green wear nor coif, nor eaul. 
 
 And dames of the hall sport their sillcen sheen 
 
 Pray which be the happier life of tho two ? 
 
 Why, fool ! can't you tell I ?— then why should I }oii ? 
 
 Fol de rol, de rol, lol de rol, fol de jol Jol [ 
 
 'Tis useless to try, mon, to mark out ths, beat, . . . -~ 
 
 For Q-od matfs u3 happy, a dog as b cat, . ■ 
 'Tis like to him blessing— and him that is bleit, • 
 The pleasure's the same — depend upon that. 
 So which be the happier life of the two ? 
 Why, fool ! can't you tell I ? — then why should I you ? 
 
 Fol de rol, de rol, lol de rolj fol de roUol ! 
 
 As their roads lay almost at right angies t» each 
 other, the distance between them at every step increas- 
 ing, the sound of the countryman's voice in the same 
 proportion diminished ; it became fainter and fainter, 
 and as Collins would have said, had be then lived, was 
 " by distance made more sweet." The mercbaut found 
 the coolness of the shade refreshing in a powerful 
 degree ; not a leaf rustled in the air, not even a bird's 
 sweet note was heard to change the monotony of the 
 silence which reigned around. The trees closed in so 
 thickly over the narrow path, that night appeared 
 suddenly to have usurped the hours of day— some- 
 times a spot, somotimes a streak of light, would st* al 
 through here atid there, and then a wide green open 
 space appear, but still no sound. Dhe merchant had 
 
BEATH OF SIR riLBUT FUSST. 133 
 
 again eatcred the pathway, on the other side of one of 
 those open spaces, and was minding his space, for the 
 stillness became oppressively monotonous. 
 
 Hewet, althougn no coward, had by degrees brought 
 his mind into so nervous a state, that he had nearly 
 sunk upon the earth, as a sound resembling a groan 
 suddenly struck upon his ear; he ipaused, and held hia 
 breath; he had almost convinced himself that it was 
 but the effect of imagination, when he heard the groan 
 repeated, and now so audibly, that no longer doubt 
 remained; He drew his sword, and standing on his 
 guard, listened to discover the direction whence the 
 sound proceeded.' Ere long a deep-drawn sigh too 
 plainly pointed out the spot ; it was one he had just 
 passed. He retraced his way for a few paces, which 
 brought him again to the edge of the light open space. 
 A 'faint voice now endeavoured to call for nelp, and 
 pushing aside some underwood, the merchant dis- 
 covered the body of a man; he drew it forth, and 
 kneeling down, raised up the dying man's^head upon 
 his arm, :when, what was his horror, to discover the 
 features of the blighter of all his hopes. Sir Filbut's 
 eyea met.hi3. 
 
 A thousand feelings hurried across the mind of 
 Hewetj at one moment he had raised his sword to 
 take the little life that yet remained. Should he leave 
 him there to rot like a dog, as a just punishment for 
 the wrongs he had inflicted ? As he gazed upon him, 
 the eyes of the wounded man opened, and he strove to 
 speak. So weak was he from loss of blood, that his 
 lips moved several timea without uttering a sound; 
 at last he said, as a smile passed over his teatures, 
 " She->-^he— is innocent !" and then sank back again 
 exhausted. 
 
 The merchant for a moment felt his heart rise into 
 his very throat — hs seemed choking. " Oh, Heaven !" at 
 last he exclaimed, " make but that appear, and I will 
 willingly lay down my life where now you lie ; speak 
 —speak— for mercy sake speakthose words once more." 
 
186 EtWAEi OSBOftSE. 
 
 Sir Filbut did not move, and Hewet believed that 
 all was ended ; yet, one effort might be made ; lie 
 placed the whistle to his lips, the shrill sound of which 
 had scarcely died away, when it was answered by 
 another, and in a few minutes Hewet saw his country 
 guide hurrying towards him, attended by three or 
 four other country clowns. 
 
 They did not appear at all astonished at what they 
 saw ; their only surprise was, that their quarter-staves 
 were not required to protect the merchant. A few 
 branches were soon laid across each other, and a 
 quantity of grass placed upon them, and the 
 wounded knight in this manner was borne out of the 
 wood. 
 
 The merchant's anxiety was so great, fearing that 
 he would die ere he had made that clear, which was 
 at present hid in the deepest mystery, that he tempted 
 the men, by promises of high reward, to continue 
 their road as quickly as possible towards London, 
 where proper assistance could be obtained. 
 
 Edward Osborne had been apprised, that on that 
 day he might probably see his good master return 
 home, so he made up his mind that the merchant's 
 coming would be the ful61ment of the witch's pro- 
 phecy ; but in this he was mistaken, for a veiy different 
 visitor called upon him at the house upon the Bridge. 
 
 Mora and the Bridge-shooter being both at the front 
 window, and seeing a splendid retinue approaching,' 
 put their heads still further forward, but the Bridge- 
 shooter popped his own in, and drew Plopa from the 
 window too, for he recognised in the leader of the 
 party the handsome youth who had noticed Flora, and 
 kissed his hand to her ; and the poor Bridge-shooter's 
 consternation was great, when he saw the handsome 
 youth draw up at the door, alight, and enter hia 
 master's house. 
 
 The man in the shop, believing Edward Osborne to 
 be in the first floor, showed the stranger into the very 
 room in which Plora and William were ; to attempt 
 
StATH Oi BtE fllifitfT ftrSST. 187 
 
 escape was uaelesa, ao tbe Bridge-shooter stood looking 
 vastly silly, and poor Flora blushed enormously. 
 
 "what!" said the youth, "is it indeed you, my 
 pretty maid ? Why, I have been dreaming about you 
 all night ; but it was not to seek ;ou, I am now here, 
 but one Edward Osborne." 
 
 At this moment Edward entered : " That is Master 
 Edward," said Tlora, agaiu blushing, and with 
 AVilliam was about to retire. 
 
 " Nay, stay !" said the youth ; " the more who hear 
 what I now say to Edward Osborne, the more I shall 
 be pleased." He then went towards Edward, and 
 franRly taking him by the hand, said, " Sir, I owe you 
 a debt," Edward stared with surprise, " a debt at this 
 moment I am unable to pay, but one I wish to ac- 
 knowledge: Edward Osborne, I owe you my life! 
 Do you not remember saving a youth, who wns drown- 
 ing up by Chelsea ? — I am he. Do not thiuk me 
 ungrateful that I have not been to thank you before, 
 but I knew not until yesterday the name of my pre- 
 server. Those who were with me, when they saw 
 that I was safe, sought you, but in vain ; you were 
 gone, no one knew whither. After all other enquiries 
 had failed, as a mere jest, we visited a certain cunning 
 woman at Houndsditch, and would you, or any one 
 believe it, by her magic art, she instantly told me your 
 name, and where you could be found." To the three 
 whom he addresseil, this did not seem very wonderful ; 
 but he continued, " Henceforth I shall nerer doubt 
 witchcraft again. I come, not only in my own name, 
 but in that of my father also, to tell you, that through- 
 out your life, if either of us can be of service to you, 
 command, and you shall not find us wanting. I am 
 called George Talbot — my father is the Esrl of 
 Shrewsbury." 
 
 Edward Osborne said a hundred pretty things fitted 
 to the occasion, and, as usual, whenever swimming 
 Wii3 mentioned, he always gave the whole credit of hia 
 own accomplishment to his bumble friend, the worthy 
 
138 KDWAaD OSBOElfE. 
 
 Bridffe-s'iooter. Upon this, William had a re il Earl'a 
 son make him by the hand, wlio repeated to him the 
 same promise ho had made to Osborne. He placed a 
 very valuable ring upon the finger of Edward, as he 
 once more took him by the hand at parting; then 
 turning to the Brid^re-ahooterr he said, smiling, and 
 glancing towards Flora, " The frown you gave me 
 when last you met^ told me pretty plainly in what 
 quarter i/our heart lies ; so, remembtr, when you two 
 marry, I will give nway the bride. Farewell, and 
 believe me, the promises a Talbot makes he keeps !" 
 
 Osborne attended the youth to the door, and after 
 another smile a^d another shake of the hand, G-eorge 
 Talbot, with his gay companions, passed across the 
 Bridge. 
 
 " The Earl of Shrewsbury," said Osborne musing ; 
 " he is high in the favour of the king, a great soldier, 
 and of a most noble line. You see, William, vvhat 
 fine friends your instructions have brought me." 
 
 " And what a -handsome young man ho is,'* said 
 Flora; '' and what a sweet smile be has; and — "" - 
 " And he said he'd-giv^e you away ; that's more thtna 
 I'd do," said the Bridge-shooter, " only let ua once be 
 nxarried." 
 
 " Are all things in readiness for our good master, if 
 itie return to-night ? " inquired Edward. 
 
 " Ohijes, Master Edward," repUed Flora. "Heigho, 
 beigho ! would that we had but more comfort to givtt 
 him when he comes; but his house is desolate. . Hark ! 
 what sound is that ? " - 
 
 Flora and the Bridge-shQoter ran to the window, 
 an4 looking towards the entrance of the Bridge they 
 perceived a crowd approaching. As it came nearer, 
 they VI ere surprised to tee in the midst of it the good 
 merchant, Master Hewet. They all hurried to the 
 front door, and eurprised indeed they were, when the 
 countrymen who carried the wounded knight, brought 
 their burden into the merchant's shop. The crowd, 
 who had gathered a £ew particulars from the country- 
 
DEATH OF SIB PlliHtrr FTTSST. 139 
 
 fuide, vrere aware that tie litter bore a wounded man, 
 ut whom tbey knew not. 
 
 " I wottder not at your surprise," aaid Hewet to 
 those in his house, "at seeing me arrive thus 
 accompanied; but your astonishment will be increasel 
 a hundred fold when you look upon the features 
 of him who lies there, as I fear, d^ing. Wait not to 
 ask questions, but prepare a couch whereon he may 
 lie at ease." 
 
 " This way," said Osborue, opening the door of ti:e 
 room behind the shop, which, during the merchant's 
 absence, he had made his sleeping room. When the 
 dying man was lifted upon the couch, and tlie cloak 
 removed, Osborne's astonishment was indeed extreme. 
 The physician whom the merchant had summoned to 
 attend, as they came along, now examined the wounds : 
 they were five in nuaiber, and as he regarded them, 
 he shook his head in a manner -that augured but 
 little hope. Having dressed the wounds, and admia- 
 istered a restorative, the physician retired,- promising 
 to come again, but at the same time whispering to ihe 
 merchant that " ke believed it would be merely to look 
 upon a corse." 
 
 The merchant, as they sat watching the dying man, 
 in a low voice acquainted Osborne with the ciannt r 
 in which he had Ascovered th3 knight, and the bles.^ed 
 words, the only ones he had yet uttered, which told 
 of Alyce's innocence. 
 
 Sip Filbut moved uneasily upon his couch ; they ran 
 to him, when looking around him, he said, " Am I 
 indeed beneath this roof? It is but justice— justice 
 that I should die here. I have but a brief space left 
 to render all the reparation now within my power : 
 pray Heaven may grant me sufficient strength- to say 
 all I would have you know. But first, bear witness 
 that here I swear, before Heaven and man, that.Alyce 
 is innocent. My vanity, and the plottings of a fiend, 
 have wrought this misery. You remember I be day 
 that Alyce left this roof? I waited her coming with 
 
140 EDMTABl) OSBOEBU. 
 
 ill the mad vanity of a fool ; glie came, but instead of 
 her eyes beaming with love, as I had hoped, and 
 indeed expected, they were red with weeping. A look 
 of shame and indignation overspread her features as 
 she said, ' I have taken a bol 1 step, but one my lieart 
 tells me my injured pride will justify^ Tell me, tell 
 me,' she exclaimed bursting in>o tears, 'what have I 
 ever done to call from you this deadliest iasult an 
 honest wife can e'er receive — the words of love from 
 any but her husband P' ' Alyce,' I said, astounded ac 
 what I heard, 'you cannot, Alyce, pretend to bo 
 ignorant, after the letters you have received.' ' Letters,' 
 Bhe replied, ' I have received no letters but the one I 
 foimd in my room last night, and that I tore and 
 burnt, after drowning it ia tears of shame.' " 
 
 Here the merchant and Flora looked at each ot'ner, 
 for they rc-membered the fragments of the letter they 
 had found, and which seemed so thoroughly to have 
 proved her guilt. 
 
 " ' No letters !' I exclaimed, * why, Flora has given 
 you at least twenty.' " 
 
 "Oh, heavens!" exclaimed Flora. 
 
 " Do not interrupt me," said the knight. " I know 
 now that you had not done bo. I then explained to 
 her how Uorton, your apprentice, working upon my 
 vanity, had first told me that she had confessed to 
 Flora her love for me. I paid him heavily to buy up 
 Flora's silence, and to tempt hrr to give my letters 
 secretly to her mistress. He pretended to bring back 
 me.-sages of kindness and affection. All circumstancea 
 combined to lead mo on in my madness. One night, 
 during your absence, while singing beneath her 
 window, I saw a female form watchiug at the case- 
 ment — the window gently opened " 
 
 " Oh dear ! oh, dear! " exclaimed Flora ; " some of 
 the mischief, then, I did really cause. It was I who 
 opened the casement, to listen to a serenade offered, 
 as I thought, by her intended to Alyca Vaughaa 
 opposite." 
 
I>Ei.TH OS BIB FIIBTTT VVStY. 141 
 
 "I thought it was your mistreBs. Horbon had 
 told me she would expect me on that night. Oh ! how 
 I blush, not only for my yillany, but for my weakness 
 in thus being made the dupe of such a wretch ! But 
 what had most confirmed me, was Alyce's reception of 
 the costly diamond I sent her by him." 
 
 "He told us," interrupted the merchant, "he had 
 found it, imd prayed for my wife to wear it for that 
 one day, and that no doubt the next day he should 
 discover the right owner. The next day he said he 
 had done so, and received it back again, and we never 
 saw it more." 
 
 " So Alyce told me," said the knight ; " it was hit 
 scheme, the offer I made to teach her riding ; he told 
 me it was her idea. The thing that surprised me 
 most was, that belieTiug as I did that I poste-'ised the 
 affection of Alyce, jet, whenever we were alone, no 
 look, no word, ever escaped lier that you might not 
 have witnessed. He told me that was her whim ; she 
 would not allow a word of love but in my letters, and 
 that I mu'it put up with her fancies until we were safe 
 abroad. Pinding that I had been duped, I fell upon 
 my knees before Alyce, and sought her forgiveness. I 
 told her that a vessel lay in the river, in which I had 
 believed she was to fly with me to Italy ; that on 
 board that vessel Horton had conveyed all my wealth, 
 and that I would hasten thither, and from that hour 
 she should never moi'e be insulted by my presence. 
 
 "I left her, my heart bursting with feelings of 
 remorse for my conduct towards that angel aud 
 yourself, with vengeance against the villain Horton, 
 and shame for my own weak folly. I was on my way 
 to seek out Horton, and bring him to a dread account 
 before I fled this land for ever. 1 had not gone far, 
 when I was suddenly seized and dragged to a boat. I 
 was conveyed on board the very vessel I bad paid so 
 much to purchase. I was kept close prisoner in the 
 hold. The man who appeared to have command was 
 • giant in form, with eyes unnaturally protruding. 
 
142 EI>Wi.£I> OSBOBVS. 
 
 He returned to the shore, after giving orders to. eail 
 to the Continent, and when the cargo was delivered; 
 to return to a certain part of the Sussex coast, and 
 there, await his coming. After we were well at sra, 
 I was removed to a better prison. By what I could 
 gather, from words th'it reached me through the 
 partition of my cabin, I learnt that the crew wtre 
 smugglers, and that they believed my fate was to beia 
 watery grave. At last we returned in sight of the 
 Sus-ex coast. One dark night, despair giving mo 
 strength, I managed to force so much away from the 
 sides of the little window of my prison, that at last I 
 Fucceeded in droppiog into the rea and swam to shore. 
 The next day, I was on my way to denounce Horton, 
 when, near the spot in which you found me, I saw two 
 men in the distance, who perceiving me, muffled their 
 faces in their cloaks, and receded again into the wood. 
 I had only just entered the covered path, when I was 
 suddenly stabbed. I saw not those who inflicted the 
 wounds. I had fallen on my f jce — had fainted !" 
 
 Here Sir Tilbut appeareil completely exhausted, 
 but after a violent effort, he said, "Ere I sink .in 
 death, let ir.e be blessed by hearing from the . lips of 
 Alyce, that I die forgiven." 
 
 They now rxplained, that since tlie day he had seen 
 her last, she had never again returned. Tiiis .he 
 seemed scarcely to comprehend, for his mind began to 
 wander ; they endeavoured to discover what he knew 
 concerning tbe abduction of the child, but this was 
 hopeless ; be sank upon the pillow, ta in a dream he 
 murmured, " and let — thine eyes— change— night to 
 — da;," he then drew oce deep breath, and he was 
 dead. 
 
 " Bring yont'er fcreen,". said the merchant, " and 
 place it before the couch.!' 
 
 Flora and the Bridge-shooter, in doing this, revealed 
 to the eyes of Hewet the portrait of Lis beloved 
 Alyce, which Osborne had hid there, instead of 
 destroying it. The '.noment the merchant saw that 
 
DEATH OV SIB FILBTTT ITVBBT. 113 
 
 Bweet face, be rmbed towards it and kissed it madly. 
 But DOW, instead of the revelation made hj the 
 murdered knight clearing up the mystery concerning 
 Alyce and the child, that mystery seemed to becomo 
 more and profound. In proportion as the heart of the 
 merchant had been relieved by what he bad just heard, 
 the heavier grew the paiu of his bereavement. She 
 was innocent, but she was gone. What might not bo 
 
 her fate — her sufferings ? and his child too ! They 
 
 ^ve^e kst in a sea of conjectures, w hen a messenger 
 eame hurrying in, from the mother of the Bridge- 
 shooter to Edward Osborne, praying of him for his 
 lift) to hasten to the Convent of the Minories — to take 
 \vith him her son, or any trusty friend; but on his 
 his life not to neglect her bidding, for there ■nas one 
 w ho would require ail his assistance. 
 
 The old woman had kept to herself, that it was 
 the Cripple who stood in need of aid ; so her son, 
 thinking there miglit bo something of real moment 
 hidden beneath her words, prayed of the merchant 
 to accompany them — "For," as he said, "whoknoAva 
 but moiher at last may ! urn out a witch in reality ; 
 that cross and the blind girl meant something, you 
 may depend." 
 
 Hewet had other reasons for wishing to go to the 
 CoQvent; his was a wish to make an offering of 
 thanksgirlng, in the shape of a rich present at the 
 altar. 
 
 Flora, who wouldn't remain at home in the house 
 of death now it had become night, seized hold of tlie 
 Bridge-shooter's arm, and insisted upon going too. 
 
 Before they arrived there, a strange scene had be en 
 enacted.- Horton, armed, as he thought, w;ith fuU 
 authority, bad had the hardihood again to face the 
 insulted Abbess. 
 
 Horton had come to take away the blind girl 
 Eoline : — " Ton take her hence, ' you !" said the 
 Abbess ; " aUd pray who may you be, possessing such 
 mighty po.-.er? A slaye of the eourf, an oppressor 
 
114 BDWASO OBBOBVE. 
 
 of the weak, I know you to be ; but strong as you think 
 yourself, that poor blind child shall laugh your 
 threats to scorn." 
 
 " You ask me who I am — ^you know it well !" said 
 Horton. " You ask me my power over Eoline — ^jou 
 know that too. Who else has power, if I have 
 it not ?" 
 
 " He's here 1" replied the Abbess, as the Cripple 
 entered. 
 
 " He !" said Horton with a sneer, " why, 'tis the 
 Cripple of the Bridge — what power has he ?" 
 
 " The strongest of all !" replied the Abbess, " the 
 power of a husband ! Eoline is now the Cripple's wile. 
 You may frown and look big," she continued, " but 
 what I do, 1 do strongly. You may as well endeavour 
 to part the world in two, as part that man from his 
 lawful wife." 
 
 This scene was suddenly put a stap to, by the nuns 
 running in, shrieking in wild alarm, that the Convent 
 was on fire. AU was confusion and dismay, the bell 
 was- rung, the people from the farm came quickly to 
 their aid ; the night being dark, the flames t»ld those 
 far off the destruction that was going on; and Horton, 
 laughing at their distress, left them to their fates. 
 
 He had scarcely gone, when the merchant and those 
 of his household arrived. Here were some carrying 
 the rich furniture of the chapel, and placing it upon 
 the grass ; the nuns surrounded it, and falling upon 
 their knees, sung a prayer to Heaven to befriend them : 
 the scene was strange, but picturesque and awful, for 
 the flames kept rapidly gaining strength. 
 
 Eoline, who was clinging to the merchant Hevet, 
 Suddenly uttered a shriek, and said to him in accents 
 made sca'cely audible by horror — " There is one they 
 have forgotten yet, the mad girl in the vaults beneath ; 
 in Heaven's name attempt to save her ! The way is 
 intricnte and dark, but I can lead you there, for dark- 
 ness has no power over the blind ; come, for the love of 
 Heaven, eome !" She hurried along, holding the hand 
 
DEATH OT Sia FlLBUI rUSST. 145 
 
 of the merchant, and threaded their way through long 
 passaj^es heneath. The merchant could not help feeling 
 a thrill of horror at their situation ; if he let go the 
 poor girl's hand, or she were to faint, all hope must 
 vauiah; the p'ace was as dark as the grnve, and they 
 had wound iirst oneway then auother, s j that to retrace 
 bis steps unguided were impossible. 
 
 " "We are near the spot now," she said, as they 
 reached a door, which, to her horror, she found was 
 locked. " Oh, all is lost I" she said j " the doer of 
 this passage is fastened ; unles'j you hare strength 
 to broak it down, the poor mad creature must be burnt 
 alive." 
 
 The irerchant exerted agaia and again all hia 
 strength, but in vain ; a last effort more violent from 
 desp.'iir, and the shattered door flew in a hundred 
 pieces before them. Eoline onr-e more took his hand 
 and on they went anew. " Tis her.; !" she said, unbolt- 
 ing a door ; " her'a is a silent madness ; she never 
 speaks ; feel for her where she li s ; take her in your 
 arms, she will not resist." 
 
 The merchant entered the cell, and feeling his way 
 round by the walls, had nearly made the circuit of the 
 place, when h'S foot was stayed by something lying 
 on the ground ; he stooped, and found it was a humau 
 b.nng. 
 
 "Quick, quick, bring her forth!" said Eoline; 
 " take her in your arms, and I will, by your cloak, lead 
 you hence : we must be quick! on, on I" 
 
 They hurried forvirard, for the merchant had confi- 
 dence in the power of his guide. As they approached 
 tha longed-for egress from this dismal place, the noise 
 and confusion without became more distiact ; at last 
 they saw the opening at the epd of the passage : one 
 moment more and they were safe. 
 
 The Cripple, who thought at that time of no one but 
 his Eoline, flew to her, and danced about as though he 
 had been mad. 
 
 The merchant had gone forward to deposit hia charge 
 10 
 
146 lisw^si) GRBoame. 
 
 in safety, further from the burning ConTCnt. Pre- 
 sently all turned to where he stood, for with a frantic 
 cry he called to all around. " Oh, Heavens !" he ex- 
 claimed, " see, here ! eee, here ! it is an an^el that 
 1 am pressing to my heart. It is my Alyce-^it is my 
 wife!" 
 
 CHAPTEE Xin. 
 
 TnE ABBESS OF ST. CI.AIB. 
 Nor of her daughter not a irord spake she. 
 
 CHA17CEB- 
 
 Ii was no time for explanation ; nor, indeed, did tl>e 
 merchant for an instant think of aught but of his own 
 happiness in once more pressing hia dear Alyce to his 
 heart. How she came to be in such a strange place 
 as tbe cell of the Convent, or why she had been only 
 known as the mad girl, at that time never crossed his 
 mind ; he only saw, he only felt, that hia beloved wife 
 was again restored to hia heart, and that was all-in-all 
 to him. As crowds of apprentices, and others, had 
 arrived from the city, an attempt to extinguish the 
 flames was commenced. Buckets and tubs, handed 
 from one to the other by a whole line of apprentices, 
 reaching &om the Convent to a neighbounng pond, 
 soon served to bring sufficient water to combat, and at 
 last to overcome the ) aging flames. 
 
 When the Convent had assumed the appearance of a 
 blackened ruin, and fears of further danger had van- 
 ished, all present began to reflect more coolly upon 
 what was next to be done, in the way of providing 
 accommodation for the houseless nuns for the night. 
 The Abbess and her flock made the best shift they 
 could at tbe farm. It was settled that the Cripple 
 should conduct his beautiful blind wife to the cottage 
 of the Bridge-shooter's mother, where she should for 
 the present take up Iter regular abode. 
 
THE ABBESS OV ST. OLAIK. ' 147 
 
 A litter, borile by two horses, was soon provided, in 
 which Alyce was placed, aud with Osborne'ott one side, 
 and the merchant- ou the other, Ilewet holding hia 
 wife's hand in his own, they took their way towards the 
 Bridge. Flora and the Bridge-shooter had hurried on 
 before to make all ready for the reception of the mer- 
 chant's wife. As the litter was passing through the 
 dark postern gate of the city, the ho.-ses had nearly 
 ridden over a man who came on hurrying from the 
 opposite direction ; he appeared hastening towards th3 
 Convent. So completely had his fright, caused by the 
 horses, thrown him off Ins guard, that he uttered a 
 dreadful oath, in a violent tone of voice,- at the sound 
 ■of which the whole party recognised him as beitig the 
 saintly Father Brassinjaw. At the same timoa slight 
 shriek came from the litter, and Alyce murmured, 
 "Oh, save me! save me!" Hewet thought no more 
 of the priest, *ho had hurried by, but pressed his wife's 
 hand fervently to his lips, as if to tell her, by that kiss, 
 how safe she was with those about her. Theae words 
 were the first Alyce had yet uttered, and immediately 
 they had died upon her lips, she appeared to sink again 
 into her former hopeless 6tate of imbecility. When 
 they arrived at the merchant's house, a little incident 
 oeciirred, which cau-icd the blood in Hewet's heart to 
 swell it almost to bursting ; this was, as he was enter- 
 ing the room, bearing his wife in his arms, his eye 
 fell upon her picture, whieli Flora and the Bridge- 
 shooter had restored to its former position. A thoMsand 
 feelings rushed upon his mind at once ; tha order he 
 had given for its destruction— the unhallowed thoughts 
 with which he had hastened to far-off lands — and thea 
 came the bitterest ru-flectiba of aU, that now, although 
 his wife was restored to hiiiK pure and innocent, where 
 was bis child ? Alas ! not there to welcome the retura 
 of its poor, afflicted mother. So completely had all 
 memory vanished from the itaind of Alyce, that when 
 "they seated her in her own Eccusfomed spot, she 
 looked around so vacantly, that it^ was tetidetit allhei 
 
148 ESWASD OBBOBlTE' 
 
 eyes bebeld brought back no recollections of the past. 
 She regarded her husband with the same indifference 
 as she looked upon Edward or on Hora. There was a 
 slight smile for a single moment passed over ber pale 
 but lovely features, when Juno, her favourite dog, 
 came bounding in, and flying upon her lap, licked her 
 hands in kindness, then barking loudly, as though to 
 wake her from her trance, flew wildly here and there, 
 then rolled himself upon his back, and gazed up in her 
 face, as praying to be noticed. Shortly afterwards 
 Alyce was conveyed to her sleeping apartment, and 
 scarcely had her head sunk upoa the pillow, ere she 
 was lost in a profound slumber. The merchant, who 
 had been seated watching by the side of her couch, 
 now offered up to Heaven a sincere thanksgiving for 
 the restoration of his beloved wife, and a prayer, 
 equally fervent, that his child might soon be dis- 
 covered, and once more bless his arms. Having ful- 
 filled these duties, he joined the other inmates of his 
 dwelling, who were busily conversing upon the strange- 
 ness of all the incidents of that day. But how to 
 account for the merchant's wife being found in such a 
 place as a cell in the Convent of the Minories, and in 
 such a pitiable condition as that in which she had been 
 discovered, passed all their ingenuity to imagine. " No 
 doubt," said Hre merchant, " all will be explained by 
 the superior of the Convent, and, indeed, it must and 
 shall be. Strange things are being brought to light 
 concemiDg the evil practices of nearly every religious 
 house in the land ; and if there be aught here of vUlany 
 that has been employed against my Alyce, my life 
 and wealth shall both be sacrificed but I vrill briogthe 
 guilty to severest punishment. But it were useless now 
 to conjecture ; in the morning I will to the nunnery, 
 when all shall be made clear." They had all risen for 
 the purpose of retiring to rest, when they were startled 
 by hearing a violent cry of horror — so suddenly, so 
 unexpectedly, the frightful ehriek struck upon the 
 ear, that iot a moment they stood as if spell-bound. 
 
TBI ABBXeiB OH ST. OLAIB. 149 
 
 They all turned towards the room in which Aljca 
 lay ; but the souad had not proceeded from that 
 direction. 
 
 Before we enter upon the cause of their alarm, we 
 must follow the foosteps of the saintly Pather Brass- 
 injaw, who, the reader will recollect, passed the mer- 
 chant and his party as they were entering the city by 
 the postern gate. He was then hurrying from the 
 Cardinal's Hat, upon the Bridge, where he had but 
 just ensconced himself comfortablji behind a flagon of 
 JRomney sack, and was listening to a delightful dis- 
 pute between the three loving friends, Catchemyade, 
 Checklocke, aud Silkworm, concerning which of the 
 three was of the most importance, the bowyer, the 
 shaft-head maker, or the stringer? "Why, the 
 bowyer, of course," said Catchemayde, standing up as 
 usual for his own craft ; " a bow, mark me, is like a 
 human body, and, if so, I pray thee what would be 
 the use of the head or the sinews, if one lacketh the 
 back-bone?" Catchemayde here looked wondrous 
 wise, as if he had accomplished a figure of speech of 
 uncommon beauty, and nad started a proposition of 
 unanswerable logic. 
 
 " But thy back-bone, as thou callest the bow-staif," 
 replied Silkworm, " would avail thee nought, but for 
 the strings, or sinews, as I call them, to bend it to 
 thy wUl." 
 
 "Nor either do much service," said Checklocke, 
 " but for the sharp head to direct the aim ; and my 
 heads are sharp enough to strike conviction into the 
 thickesit sku'.l in Christendom. I'll warrant them to 
 penetrate an inch britad at eight hundred feet." 
 
 " If shot from one of my bows," replied Catche- 
 mayde. 
 
 "And that bow strung by me," retorted Silkworm. 
 
 " And the arrow-shaft boiled, pared, and feathered 
 by your humble servant," said a sharp-nosed little 
 man, an arrow-maker. " It's my opinion, neighbours," 
 he continued, "that more defends upon the straight- 
 
150 ESWABS OSBOBXS. :: -~s 
 
 ness of the arrow-sbafl; and the goose's feather, than 
 all your handy-works together. An arrow of an ounce 
 weight, well mounted with two equal feathers, plucked 
 from the white wing of a gander of two years old, ^d 
 one from a goose that's brown or gray, to mark the 
 proper placing of the arrow, will — ^will — will " 
 
 " Wilt thou hold thy peace ?" interrupted Father 
 Brassinjaw. "Cease this senselesa jargon of thy 
 trades, shake hands in amity, for if but one of ye lend 
 not the others aid, believe me, we shall see no more 
 victories like Cressy, Agincourt, or Foietiers. All 
 England's greatness owe we to the bow and arrow ; 
 and to whom, I pray ye, do we owe the arrow or the 
 bow ? Why, to you four combined, do we not ? So 
 come, shake hands, and I'U join ye in the drmJeing of 
 another bowl." 
 
 This well-timed flattery produced an instantaneous 
 effect, and a thumping bowl was about to be ordered, 
 when mine host entering, announced that the sky had 
 become suddenly illumined by a raging conflagralaou 
 somewhere by the Minories. 
 
 " The Minories !" exclaimed Father Brassinjaw, 
 and rising, hurried away to learn the truth ; and being 
 told that the Abbess was in safety at the farm, ho 
 was soon in the presence of the superior of the nuns 
 of St. Clair. " Sad work, this, holy sister," he said, 
 puffing and blowing, and in a tone made almost. in- 
 audible from want of breath ; " but deeply as I was 
 buried in my devotions on the Bridge, I lost not a 
 moment in flying to your assistance, and now with my 
 prayers " 
 
 " Prayers !" fjaculated the Abbess, with an ex- 
 pression of utter contempt, and with a look as black 
 as ni^t. ' " Prayers — fhy prayers, indeed !" 
 
 " What means my gentle Savage P" inquired Brass- 
 injaw. 
 
 The Father did not place his words thus as a jest, or 
 insult — the Abbess's name was really Savage. Eliza- 
 beth Savage was tiie last superior of the nuns of St. 
 
THB ABBKBS OX' ST. OIii.IB. 151 
 
 Clair, &b ths Content of the MiuoresBea— hence our 
 Minories. It was this same Elizabeth Savage, who at 
 tbe general suppression of the monasteries in 1539, 
 surrendered the house of the " Poor Clares," as they 
 were cdled, into the hands of Henry the Eighth, who 
 was to allow her a small pension, which, we believe, 
 like most others of the sort, was never paid. 
 
 "Not only Savage am I by name," she replied, 
 " but savage thou shalt find me in my nature. And 
 this is what I mean — you have deceived me— the mad 
 girl in the cell " 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaimed Brassinjaw, "I had 
 forgotten her ; the saints forbid that she be buried in 
 the ruius 1 Speak quickly, is she safe ?" 
 
 "Safer than we are," replied the Abbess ; " and all 
 through you deceiving ma. Why not have told me 
 who and what she was ?" 
 
 " 4-nd how know you her name, or state ?" said 
 Brassinjaw, somewhat alarmed. 
 
 " I know them both from one that cannot be de- 
 ceived — her husband." 
 
 " Hewet I" exclaimed the Saintly Pather. 
 
 " He has been here, and found his wife confined 
 as a lunatic in our cells beneath the Convent. You 
 must account for this ; I canoot, nor will I jeopardise 
 myself or my nuns iu screening you. Ton have raised 
 up a pretty enemy, in truth." 
 
 " Then you mu^t raise a prettier friend to answer 
 it," replied Brassinjaw ; " I mean, young Horton." 
 
 " Horton !" exclaimed the Abbess. " A likely friend, 
 forsooth, we may look for in Harry Horton, tha 
 minion of our deadliest foe, the accursed CromweU." 
 
 "Sister," saiJ Brassinjaw, " it is useless to lose our 
 time in reviling each other. You have a strong brain, 
 stronger than mine, I know. I therefore at once 
 throw myself humbly on thy mercy. If you assist 
 him not, by your superior wisdom, poor Father Brass- 
 injaw is lost for ever." 
 
 "If you would have me advise yon in this ^uroe- 
 
152 ESWi-BS 03B0KNX. 
 
 ful sJrait," she said, " speak for once openly and with 
 truth. Firstly, answtr me, what made you bring the 
 woman here ?" 
 " The hope of gain," he replied, unhesitatingly. 
 " Your answer carries truth with it in every word," 
 said the Abbees ; " but how did you seek to accom- 
 plish the end in view P I cannot promise hope, unless 
 your confession be full and ample." 
 . " It shall be," said Father Brassinjaw, who felt that 
 it would be a difficult task to rescue him from the 
 dilemma into which circumstances had thrown him, 
 unless aided by the good service of the Abbess of St. 
 Clair. From what he no* disc'oaed, it appeared he 
 had received from Sir Fiibut Fussy several large sums 
 of money for the revelation of confessions which 
 Alyce, as the reader may guess, had never made. 
 And at his instigation Sir Fiibut had written the 
 letter, which was afterwards found by Flora, torn and 
 burnt; and vthich Brassinjaw agreed to deliver, 
 without, however, intending to fulfil his promise. 
 His plan was to destroy the letter, and then trump 
 up a tale, to account for Alyce's non-compliance with 
 its ardtnt prayer. He repaired to the dwelling of 
 Alyce; and returning to the expectant Sir Fiibut, 
 delivered a m^st impassioned reply, promising that 
 Alyce would be at the spot appointed. To this it was 
 Brassinjaw's intention to go instead, as if sent by 
 Alyce, with an excuee for the unavoidable disappoint- 
 ment. Thus they parted ; the one to make arrange- 
 ments fur his intended flight, the other to count his 
 gains, and laugh at the credulity of his wealthy dupe. 
 When at his lodging, the priest bethought himself 
 of a little amusement, in reading over the undelivered 
 letter of Sir Fiibut ; and recollecting that he had 
 placed it betneen xha leaves of his breviary, that he 
 usually carried under his arm, he took ic up, but 
 although be examined it leaf by leaf, no letter could 
 he find. The letter had fallen from the book upon 
 the flogr of Alyce's apartment, and, as th^ rea^ ia 
 
THE ABBXSa OE ST. dAin. 153 
 
 aware, was there found by her. When tho app-iuted 
 hour had arrived, he started to the trjsting place, 
 when what was his surprise to see in the diotanca 
 Alyce weeping, and at her leet Sir Pilbat Fu-sy. 
 Almost at the same instant the knight arose, and 
 hurried from the place; and Brassinjaw, believing 
 himself duped by Alyce, approached her, and gave 
 vent to BO many holy denunciations, and appalling 
 anathemas against her for her deceit, that the poor sim- 
 ple-minded creature fell at his feet in a deadly swoou. 
 " I thought," said Brassinjaw to the Abbess, " this 
 fainting was but one of your sex's often-repeated 
 tricks, so I waited patiently her own pleasure to 
 recover; and when she did, I renewed my maledic- 
 tions. She protested lier innocenoe. But I still 
 believed myself deceived ; and, as a last resource, to 
 drive her to divulge all, I enjoined her our severest 
 penance. Your Convent being close at hand, I led 
 ner hither ; you had been absent for some weeks. I 
 placed her, unseen, in the secret apparition cell, 
 telling her that if she kept back but a single word, 
 the fiend would ere long appear before her eyes. I 
 left her there for some hours alone iu utter darkness ; 
 when I thought her mind was wrought up by terror 
 to the proper pitch, I then, by the magic lantern's 
 aid, first caused a speck of light to appear upon the 
 wall of the cell. I listened, and could hear her teeth 
 chattering; with fear. ' Oh, save me ! save me !' she 
 exclaimed ; she uttered one fearful cry, and fell as if 
 dead upon the floor. A stupor appeared to have 
 seized upon every fibre of her brain ; kindness, nor 
 threats, could force her to utter a single word, ex- 
 cepting 'Save me, save me!' And this she over 
 repeats upon hearing my voice. Eoline alone knew 
 of her being here, until your return, and fully believes 
 that it was some poor demented thing that I had 
 found wandering about homeless and friendless. 
 You now know all. Advise, and I wilj follow your 
 advice, be it what it may," 
 
1S4 EBWJlBI) 0BB0B5B. 
 
 " Had you told me all tbia before," said tbe Abbess, 
 " how much anxiety you might have saved yourself. 
 I see no difficulty in the case ; keep your own 
 c lunsel, know nothiDg of what has transpired, and 
 le^re the rest to me. But remember, my house is in 
 ruins, and must be rebuilt ; you may guess my mean- 
 ing. Your attempt at deceiving me must and shall 
 be paid for. Sir Filbut's gold will shine as brightly 
 in my chapel as in yours." 
 
 Father Brassinjaw vowed by every saiut he could 
 bring to memory, how liberal he intended to be ; and 
 finding his fears greatly diminished by tbe promised 
 assistance of the Abbess, be took his leave, and feeling 
 in want of a little- stimulant to support his weary 
 Fpirit, he determined to solace himself for one hour 
 more in the lower room of the Cardinal's Hat, where 
 for the. present we must leave him, and return to 
 Harry Horton^ Upon quitting the burning Convent, 
 Horton joined bis companion in iniquity, Beltham 
 Spikely, to whom he related how completely he had 
 been foiled by the scheming Abbess of St, Clair. 
 " All I pray the fiends to grant," said Horton, "is 
 that she and all her crew may be burnt to cinders ere 
 the morning. The only difficulty I had to surmount 
 to reach wealth and distinction, was the proof of that 
 girl's existence or of her certain death ; and now to 
 have found her thus unexpectedly, and then to have 
 the whole game torn from my hands, and given to 
 that, ddgitiaded being, the Cripple of the Bridge, is 
 maddening. But I will thwart them yet. Although 
 the estates are lost to me for ever, I still possess 
 documents without which she can never prove her 
 title, and those shall be this night destroyed. At 
 least I'll be revenged, if not enriched." 
 
 " Where are they ?" enquired Spikeljr. 
 
 " Still in the merchant's house, sewn in the sacking 
 of my bed. Not wanting them befor?, and having 
 had enough of other affairs to tliiok upon of late, f 
 had in truth forgotten them eutirely* - But as the- 
 
THE ABBESS OS 87, CSA.IB. 155 
 
 aigbt it dftrk, and tba merchant abroad, I can ooce 
 more safely mount to my old dormitory from the 
 sterling of the Bridge, and, unknown to any one, 
 bring away not merely those papers, but the rich 
 diamond and the letters of the fool" 
 
 " Why do you tremble ?" exclaimed Spikely, as bo 
 felt Horton's hand convulsively seize upon his arm, 
 as if to steady hiiiisplf, 
 
 " Have we not both cause to tremble f " was 
 Horton's reply, uttered almost in a whisper j " have 
 we not both cause to tremble after this morning's work ? 
 How could he have escaped from the vessel? But 
 fttte had doomed him to fall ; and that was wKy we. 
 met him so unexpectedly in the woud. But I wish 
 his blood had not been spilt by us." 
 
 " By you, you mean," said Spikely, coolly. " I had 
 no hand in his death. But ft-ar nothing ; thanks to 
 my precaution in rifling the body of every valuabla 
 upon it, suspicion will fall upon your common cut- 
 throats, who, it is well known, would kill a dozen 
 men for a dozen gold nobles. Depend upon it, when 
 the body slia'l be. found, which oiay not be yet for 
 many a day, it will end exactly as I have foretold." 
 
 " Heaven grant it may I" said Horton, attempting 
 to cross himself. " It is the first blood I have ever 
 shed, and at certain moments my eyes seem swim< 
 ming in it, and I feel like a " 
 
 " Coward," said Spikely, with a sneer. 
 
 " Cowai'd, I am none," replied Horton ; " and that, 
 even you may one day learn, if you chafe me thus, 
 Let us in here," he continued, as they were passing 
 a wine shop ; " the cold has seized upon my heart." 
 They entered, and Horton took two whole glasses of 
 strong spirits, which for a time seemed to renew the 
 powers of both mind and body. " How's the tide 
 now ?" he inquired of the helper. 
 
 " It's at the flood," was the reply. 
 
 "Then let us take boat directly," said Horton to 
 his companion ; " we can safi ly remain beneath tho 
 
156 BSWABD OSBOBNJS. 
 
 Bridge at this part of the tide, and need not enter 
 the Cardinal's Hat. I'd rather not be seen near tbe 
 place at all to-night." 
 
 The night was very dark, wbich favourrd Ilorfon's 
 plan. When they bad entered beneath the Fixtti 
 arch, they tied the boat to a ring iu the pier, and 
 having found the well-known secreted rope, which 
 still remained in its old place, Horton, with all the 
 dexterity attainable by long practice, mounted 
 speedily towards the little window of his former 
 sleeping room. He was soon within the apartment, 
 and having provided himself with a dark lantern, he 
 gazed aronnd. All seemed just as he had left it. 
 " Spikely is right," he eaid, " I am a coward, or why 
 should I tremble now ? I know net why, and yet 
 my nerves are all quivering. Let me be quick ; 
 where is my knife ?" He drew from its scabbard a 
 blade which answered the purposes of knife or 
 dagger, which slipping from his band, fell and stuck 
 upright in the floor ; by accident his foot kicked 
 sharply against it, when the blade snapped io two, 
 leaving a portion stilt in the ground ; as he stooped 
 to seize the handle, he liad nearly fallen, for the 
 steel was covered with blood. "I — I — '11 tear the 
 sacking open," he eiaid ; " that dagger must be used 
 no more, the Thames shall bury it for ever from man's 
 sight." He flung it from the window, then hurriedly 
 approaching the bed, he threw off the coverlid, when 
 his eyes sremed blasted by the horrid spectre ho 
 there beheld — it was the dead body of the very roan 
 be had that morning slain ! The cry of horror that 
 he now uttered was the one which had so startled the 
 merchant and those above. Horton knew not where 
 he was, his brain seemed suddenly on fire, he flew to 
 the casement, and seizing the rope, flung h'mselt 
 headlong forth, his body dashed against the pier, and 
 he fell stuuned into the boat. Spikely compre- 
 hended in an instant that some untoward circumstance 
 had taken place, so slijiping the rope from tbe ring, 
 
Has AAfiESS OF si, OI.AIB. 157 
 
 he pulled with all hia migUt through the Bridge 
 towards Westminster. So severe had been the fall, 
 that it was some time ere Horton recovered sufficiently 
 to relate what he had Been. 
 
 When the merchant and those with him had 
 recovered from the surprise into which Horton's cry 
 for a moment liad thrown them, thev felt convinced 
 that the sound had proceeded from the chamber into 
 which the Bridge-shooter had had the body of the 
 knight removed, on account of the expected return 
 of the merchant and his beloved Alyce. The Bridge- 
 shooter, taking up a lamp, and followed by the 
 merchant and O^lborne, hastened to the room of 
 death. Here they, for some time, were at a loss to 
 explain what they had heard, until, perceiving that 
 the coverlid had been removed from off the body, 
 which tbe Bridge-shooter declared he had himself 
 carefully placed over it, they were convinced that 
 some mortal hand had been employed ; and of this 
 they were soon made certain, by discovering the dark 
 lantern which Horton in hia fright had let fall. 
 The window, too, was open; so that they at once 
 made up their minds that another attempt to rob the 
 house had been meditateil, and that, in all proba- 
 bility, the unexpected finding of the murdered knight 
 had 80 alarmed the thief, that being taken off hia 
 guard, he had uttered the ejaculation they had beard, 
 and consequently felt it necessary for his own safety 
 to make a precipitate retreat. The window was soon 
 strongly secured, and the whole dwelling having been 
 strictly searched, even Flora retired to rest with a 
 tolerable feeling of safety. 
 
 The investigation which took place concerning the 
 death of Sir Pilbut fussy, ended exactly as had been 
 predicted by Spikely. The absence of every valuable 
 from the body of Sir Filbut was deemed proof con- 
 clusive that he had met with hia death at the hands 
 of common robbers. The Abbess had, also, proved a 
 correct prophetess, for tbe tale she told met witb 
 
158 EfiWABP OSBOESB. 
 
 perfect credence from the merchant, the only persott 
 who had a right, or ft It any inclination, to enter upon 
 the subject. Indeed, bo plausibly had the Abbess 
 framed her tale, that the merchant not only thanked 
 her in words for Iut care of his afflicted wife, but 
 bestowed a large sum towards the rebuilding of the 
 part of the Conveut which had been destroyed. The 
 mind of Alyce, which appeared to be paralyzed, 
 showed no symptoms of recovery : her whole day was 
 ever passed in siU-nce. The only slight alteration 
 which took place in the expression of her eyes was 
 upon the approach of her dog, . who never seemed 
 happy but when lying "at his mistress's feet. 
 
 Horton, finding it would be impossible to dissolve 
 the marriage between Eoline and the Cripple of the 
 Bridge, consented to desist from further persecution, 
 upon condition that the Abbess still kept fast his 
 secret. This she undertook to do ; Horton promising 
 to protect her and her nuns against the potfr^rs that 
 were now rising against them. 
 
 Having brought this epoch -of our tale to a conclu- 
 sion, we must here give our pen a rest, and for a few 
 years bid farewell to all our friends on Oin LosnoN 
 
 BBIDSEi 
 
 CHAPTEE XIY- 
 
 ST. BAETKOIOMEW'S JAIB. 
 
 With tnothers's pity in her breast cnclosciJ, 
 She goeth, as she were ha'.f oui o{ her mi^id. 
 
 To every plaise where she hath^ snppo'e i 
 By lifceUhood her little child to find. 
 
 CilAUfEB. 
 
 T^ETEB had the sun been kao.vn to shine more 
 Ijrightlyj nor the sky to look clearer than it did 
 towards the latter end of August, 1639; The 24th 
 of August Was near, and, we should like to know; wh( 
 
SI. BARTTIOLOMEW'S PAIK. ]S9 
 
 was there then livinp; in London not aware that thiat 
 day was the one dedicateJ to St. Bartholomew? 
 Now, it 80 happened, that some good four hundred 
 years before our tale began, a certain Xiug Henry the 
 rirst, of England, had a jester, named Eahere. 
 Bahere thinking he could do something hetter for 
 himself than to be laughed at all his life, turned 
 monk, and built a most magnificent priory with other 
 people's money. The King gave him the ground, 
 which at that time was a most unpromising spot on 
 one side of Smithfield; and we find' that, ere long, 
 this penuiieE'S monk managed to -raise a structure 
 which, for grandeur and richec, could be surpassed but 
 by few in the land. This magnificent edifice he 
 dedica'ed to St. Bartholomew. Every privilege the 
 King could bestow upon this Priory, he did bestow, 
 and many indeed were the privilege s a crowned head 
 then possessed. AH taxes were remitted, for monits 
 in their days disliked paying taxes quite as much as 
 the laity does in our onn. 
 
 Another peculiarity about the mouki of old was, 
 that whilst there was a chance of getting anything 
 more,-.they were never satisfied wiih what they had ; 
 so the Prior of St. Bartholomew, being perfectly 
 aware that the greater number of prraor.s he could 
 get to visit the Monastery on St. Bartholomew's dar, 
 the more would his shrine be loaded by pffeiinga, hit 
 upon the expedient of asking from tlie King the per- 
 mission to establish a EAIB in and about hia holy 
 dwellng. The grant was obtained from Henry the 
 Second, and thus was established the well-knewn 
 Bartho'omcw, or, as it is vulgarly called, Bartlemy 
 Fair, which continued to be bolden for niore than 
 seven hundred years ; indeed, until within these last 
 few years. 
 
 A lair in the olden time was a very different thing 
 to that which the present generation has witnessed. 
 The two main objects of this fair, after the one of 
 bringing crowds to the shrine of St. Bartholomew, 
 
160 edWaed osboknb. 
 
 'were for the colleclion and disposal of woollen elotlis 
 and cattle. The first grant was for three days — the 
 eve of the Saint's day, the day itself, and ths morrow ; 
 but the worthy traders and showmen found so much 
 profit, and toe citizens so much amusement, and 
 pleasant opportuuities for spending their monoy, that 
 the three days were soon extended to fourteen. 
 
 As nearly all the clothworkers and drapers of the 
 kingdom congregated at Bartlemy Fair, it was but 
 natural that honest Master William Hewet would 
 not be found wanting ; and we find the largest stall 
 or standing in the Churchyard of the Priory, adorned 
 not only by that worthy name, but al^'o by the 
 identical sign of the Golden Fleecfe and the Bag of 
 Wool, which had been brought from the merchant's 
 house on the Bridge, and fixed over his sta'l. 
 
 So extensive bad Bartlemy Fair become at this 
 period of which we are writing, that it stood in no 
 less than four parishes — Christ Church, Great St. 
 Bartholomew, Little St. Bartholomew, and St. 
 Sepulchre's. Busy indeed were all the traders of 
 London, as well as tbose of the Bridge, removing 
 their most tempting commodities to their stalls in 
 Smithfield. Several times, during t!ie day we are 
 speaking of, had the Bridge been completely choked 
 up by the numberless shows, each professing, by 
 external decoration, that that one was the greatest 
 wonder in the whole world. 
 
 A little incident occurred exactly opposite the mer- 
 chant's dwelling, which raised the Bridge-shooter's 
 indignation ; but being alone in charge of the house, 
 he could not leave it to interfere. As one of the 
 most splendidly-adorned caravans was passing the 
 Golden Fleece, on which was written in letters of 
 gold, " The greatest wonders in the world ! The real 
 Wood Monster and the Infant Venus," a violent 
 screaming as of a girl suffering &om blows could be 
 distinctly heard, issuing from tlie said caravan ; and 
 these words were uttered by the woman who might 
 
ST. BABIHOLOUSW'S FAIB. 101 
 
 be supposed to be inflicting the cbastisement : — " I'll 
 teach you, you blue-eyed minx, to look out of the 
 window : who do you think will pay to see your ugly 
 face if you show it for nothing r ' Then came more 
 abuse, more blows, and more screaming, as the cara- 
 van passed on its way towards the fair. 
 
 All this happenea on the day previous to the eve 
 of St. Bartholomew's day. Just before twelve o'clock 
 at night, crowds of the lower orders hastened towards 
 Cloth Fair, Smithfield, and proclaimed the opening 
 of the fair. 
 
 The proclamation being ended, the fair began in 
 right earnest. Every conceivable voice that the inge- 
 nuity of man, woman, or child could invent was 
 brought into requisition. Q-ongs, cymbals, trumpets, 
 drums, whistles, rattles, bawlings, cryings, scream- 
 ings, laughings, shoutings, all burst forth. The 
 whole space of Smithfield was surrounded, first by a 
 row of small stalls filled with thousands of various 
 articles ; here a line of jewellers' stalls, there a row 
 of those appropriated to toys for children. 
 
 At the backs of these smaller stalls stood the grand 
 exhibitions and shows, their fronts towards the opeu 
 space of Smithfield cattle market. Many of the 
 shows would, in these our days, produce an odd 
 effect — for instance, a representation of the " Old 
 Creation of the World new Eevived, containing the 
 creation of Adam and Eve ; the intrigues of Lucifer 
 in the garden of Eden ; King Herod's cruelty, his 
 merCa spemrs laden with children ; Bich Dives in hell, 
 aiid Lazarus in Abraham's bosom ;" mixed up with 
 " figures dancing jigs, sarabands, antics and country 
 dances, with Spendall and Punchinello." A live hare 
 beating a tabour while standing on his hinder legs, 
 was a favourite exhibition, and remained so for many 
 hundreds of years ; as did the same thing we see at 
 this day in the streets, namely, a man throwing up 
 three or four balls, and as many knives, and catching 
 tbem in all manner of directions, 
 11 
 
162 KDITABD OSBOBirS. 
 
 Edward Osborne and bis master were too busily 
 employed in tbe close-yard of the -Priory, attending 
 to their numerous country connection, who came now 
 to lay in their stock of goods for the ensuing year, to 
 ta^e much notice of the fooleries of tbe outward fair. 
 Not 60 riora Gh:ay and tbe Bridge-sbootertr -Ereiy 
 moment thgjr cioald Eparewas devoted to tbe delights 
 of Bartlemy Fair; and as the only pleasure the 
 afflicted Alyce seemed to feel was that of wandeinng 
 about, Flora made tbe amusement of her mistress a 
 sort of innocent excuse for being out in tbe fair from 
 morning till night. One day, towards tbe close of 
 tbe fair, they were stopped by a crowd, dragging along 
 some one towards tbe Court, to answer for an alleged 
 impropriety of conduct, and whom should this turn 
 out to be but our friend, tbe Cripple of the Bridge- 
 gate Tower. The Bridge-shooter, seeing him in 
 custody, could not think of leaving a friend in such a 
 plight ; so quitting Alyce and Flora, he accompanied 
 tbe Cripple to the Court. It appeared that the com- 
 plainant was the manager of the exhibition of the 
 " Beal 'Wood Monsteb and the lyrxsv Venus ;" 
 and as the Wood Monster, it was said, had the night 
 before over-eaten himself, at his evening repast of 
 sawdust and the bark of trees (the real truth was, 
 the man had been dead drunk), he could not appear 
 before the public. In order that his audience should 
 have a monster of some sort, he had applied to the 
 Cripple of tbe Bridge to come and act for a day or 
 two at an enormous salary ; but this offer had so 
 insulted the Ciripple, that he at once broke tbe head 
 of the complainant, and would, in all likelihood, have 
 murdered him outright, bad tbe crowd not interfered. 
 
 After tbe Bridge-shooter had left Flora, she led her 
 mistress towards the very show c^ the Monster and 
 the Venus. Here Aljce gazed with childish delight 
 at the gay dresses of the paraders in &Qat of the 
 show, and Flora was debating in her own mind 
 which exhibition she should patronise first, that which 
 
ST. BABTHOIOMEW'S FAIR. 168 
 
 gave her mistress such pleasure, or the next one, into 
 which crowds were flocking. 
 
 At this moment, Edward Odhomo happened to 
 pass, ftnd stopped for an instant tu gaze with sorrow 
 upon his dear mistress, who was (juite absorbed with 
 the gay sights she beheld. She took no notice of 
 Edward, but exclaimed, " There, there," and pointed 
 towards a maa who now advanced to the front of the 
 Monster show. This man was splendidly dressed in 
 green velvet and gold ; and oa liia head he wore a 
 richly trimmed hat, with a superb and lofty plume of 
 feathers ; his face was tolerably handsome, wnat wit!i 
 the paint upon his cheeks, and thj neatly trimmed 
 beard, and elegant moustache. He was just about to 
 address the crowd, when a down, jumping upon his 
 shoulders, popped his hand before his mouth — this 
 caused a roar of laughter, and as it told so admirably 
 with the audience, it was repeated several times ; the 
 last time the clown jumped up, he tumbled over the 
 head of the gentleman in green, and in so doing, 
 caught hold of hia beard and moustache, and pulled 
 them off; then ran about, pursued by the gentleman, 
 who ordered the clown to be placed in the stocks 
 r.t the end of the platform, and then began to 
 re-adjust his beard, &c., amidst the laughter of the 
 people. 
 
 While he was doing this, young Osborne said to 
 Flora, " It's very strange, but that face, without the 
 beard, reminds me strongly of one I have seen before, 
 but where, or when, of under what circumstances, I 
 cannot bring to mind ; but I am certain we have met 
 before." The gentleman in green and gold, having 
 replaced his moustache, began to address the com- 
 pany. The moment the moustache and beard wer,i 
 on, the resemblancd which had appeared to Osb.>rne, 
 vanished; so, advising Flo-a to go to the exhibition 
 before them, he pursued his way to rejoin his master 
 at his stall in the Priory Churchyard. 
 
 The man in green said, " My right worshipful and 
 
IGi xowabb osBOKiri. 
 
 dearly-beloved firienda, on most oecasioui, vhea I 
 come forward to proclaim a disappointment, I do it 
 vith exquisite pain ; but now I do so with unutter- 
 able delight, because the disappointment will be no 
 disappointment, but a wonderful gain to jou. You 
 are doubtless fully aware of the unlooked-for misfor- 
 tune that has befallen the greatest wonder in the 
 world — the " Eeal "Wood Monster ?" But I see you 
 are, so I will touch u^ion that painful subject no fur- 
 ther, but tell you what I have done for you. I have 
 engaged the " Great Diddle 'em Downy ! ! !" Never, 
 during the present fair, had been heard such a shout 
 of applause and laughter as the man in green drew a 
 canvass curtain, and sure enough, there « as the far- 
 famed " Diddle 'em Downy," seated upon his tra- 
 velling jackass. 
 
 This Diddle 'em Downy was, in truth, no other than 
 our old acquaintance Knowy, the flying newsman. 
 1 1 may be remembered that poor Enowy had, when 
 we last saw him, entered upon the " scandal trade," 
 which, like most scandal merchants, he found, for a 
 time, a very lucrative employment ; but by degrees 
 becoming bolder and bolder, be began to take liber- 
 ties with those who not only had the will, but the 
 power to resent his insults. Happening one unlucky 
 day to touch upon the irregularities of bis Grace 
 the King, Knowy found himself whipped within half 
 an inch of his life, at the cart's tail, and the pleasing 
 intimation given to him, that if he meddled with 
 scandal again, he would discover a cravat round his 
 neck, that he would find rather difficult to untie ; so 
 be determined to alter his course of life, nnd thence- 
 forth became a celebrated comic singer. He hud been 
 fortunate enough to make a hit, with the first song 
 he wrote and eimg, which was called " London Hogue- 
 ries, or the life and adventures of Diddle 'em Downy." 
 
 So widely had the fame of " Diddle 'em Downy," 
 flown, that the arrival in fiartlemy Fair of the cele« 
 brated singer was bailed with acclamation. He knew 
 
ST. basiholomsw'b tAia. 1C5 
 
 that a little eccentricity always has a powerful effect 
 on the public, so he invariably travelled upon an ass ; 
 wore a coat of a fashion quite his ovvu, profusely 
 ornamented with imitation gold and jewels; but the 
 greatest point of attraction was his blue wig, with a 
 pink tail ! This was, doubtless, intended as a satire 
 upon the introduction of wigs; for this article of 
 adornment, which, in the time of the Charleses bo- 
 came universal, was unknown in England until the 
 reign of Henry the Eighth. The man in green and 
 gold walked proudly backwards and forwards, bawling 
 out, in a voice that seemed to be passing from a 
 throat lined with sand-paper — " Just going to bfpii ! 
 just going to begin ! all in! all in! all in!" — The 
 band of musicians vanished through a slit in the can- 
 vass— the man in green and gold heading his troop of 
 actors, passed through another slit — the clown was 
 the last, and pretendiog to cry bitterly, swore to the 
 people that he was now utterly ruinated, for his 
 master had found a greater fool than himself. 
 
 It was not to bo expected that Flora Gray s'lould 
 resist the temptation of taking her mistress into such 
 a delightful show. As they entered there were two 
 money-takers, one on each side of the opming— a 
 woman sat in one box. a man in the other ; there 
 being less crowd at the man's side than at the 
 opposite, they here paid their money for two of the 
 highest priced seats, and soon found themselves com- 
 fortably sented, to witness the wonderful p-rfirmance 
 of Diddle 'em Downy, and the niore classical repre- 
 Bentation of the rising of Venus from the sea, and 
 her adornment by the three Graces. 
 
 At last Diddle 'em Downy appeared, and it were 
 useless to attempt a description of Duwny's 
 excc Ihnce. It is true, that we could say, how at the 
 end of every verse he twist id his celebrated wig into 
 a new position ; but what position ? Any one could 
 twist a wig, but no one could twist a wig as Downy 
 did. We hftve searched, in vain, lUrougS every MS. 
 
166 SBWABD OSBOBNE. 
 
 in the British Museum for this celebrated BO&g ; and 
 all we know is merely traditional, and that each verse 
 exprfsaed a peculiar roguery, and ended with these 
 emphatic words-^ 
 
 II » » « te they black, white, tsar, or browny, 
 
 And tho' they got up with the lark in the mom. 
 
 Yet none could be up to Diddle 'em Downy," 
 
 and then, as was usual with ancient lyrio poetry, the 
 words were repeated again and again — 
 
 " Diddle 'em Downy, Diddle 'em Downy — ' 
 None could be up to Diddle 'em Downy." 
 
 Three times was the song called for, and three 
 times did Downy vary the Eogueries, until the 
 hearers began to think that the world was made of 
 nothing else. 
 
 After a pause slow sweet music was heard. All 
 the p'atform, or stage, Appeared in mist, but this 
 gradually cleared away, a»d discovered the represen. 
 tation of a calm sunlit sea. Presently, and this part 
 was very ingeniously contrived, dolphins and sea gods 
 rose from the wave:", aud swam about to the great 
 so'ace and delight of the aadieuce. So beautiful was 
 all this preparation, that the beholders naturaUy es- 
 pected the appearance of Venus to out-do all they 
 had yet Been ; and so it did ; for now a splendid shell 
 began to rise, all glittering with gold, silver, and 
 pearls, in which stood the youthful Venus, attended 
 by the Grace.'. 
 
 The girl who personated the Goddess of Beauty, 
 was famed for the splendour of her hair, so in order to 
 show that off to the greatest advantage, she first 
 appeared with it in loose riuglets, bo luxuriant iu 
 their growth, that they completely covered her whole 
 figure, lower than her waist. 
 
 Poor Alyce gazed at this scene with almost uncon- 
 ««ious interest; her eyes were rivetted upon the 
 beautiful vision. As tae music played a soft and 
 dulcet measure, the Graces throwmg themselves into 
 most picturesque and elegant attitudes, begaa to part 
 
BI. BABiaOLOMEW'S fAIB. 167 
 
 the g9l(j[en tresses to display the heautiful face of 
 Venus. Flora was so taken up ia watching the 
 countenance of ber mistress, whom she had never yet 
 seen to evince such fixed attention upon any one 
 thing, forgot for a moment all about the show ; when 
 suddenly Alyce uttered a shriek that paralyzed every 
 heart, and fell to the ground in a death-like swoon. 
 
 AU vras consternation— the audience roaa in alarm 
 —the curtain wasclosed suddenly ; sopiercinghadbeen 
 the shriek of Alyce, that other ladies in their fright 
 began to s ream too, and some even fainted. The 
 more brutal part of the assembly began to swear at 
 having their enjoyment interrupted, and said it was 
 " only Hewet's mad wife at one of her freaks." 
 
 Ai Alyce was being conveyed out, the woman from 
 the money-box came to offer assistance, but the 
 instant she met Plora's eyes, she started back, and, 
 after a. moment's hesitation, vanished through the 
 crowd. When they were in the open air, Flora 
 espied the Bridgo-shooter searching for her ; him she 
 sent off to acquaint the merchant with what had 
 taken place, and to beg of him to hasten to the 
 Bridge. Alyce was soon conveyed home, where the 
 merchant, with Edward and the Bridge-shooter, had 
 already arrived. 
 
 Alyce sat very still for a time, aa if endeavouring 
 to collect some wandering thoughts ; then she looked 
 minutely at the features of every one present, 
 examining them again and again ; then she passed her 
 fair hand, in the manner of a blind person, gently 
 over the face of her husband, as if to ascertain 
 whether he were a vision, or a ssrporeal being, saying, 
 " "William, I have found her, I have found her !" 
 
 " Good Heavens !" exclaimed Mora, " it may — it 
 must be so, Master. I believe that she has seen her 
 child," and Flora then explained to Master Hewet 
 all that had passed at the fair ; that being so intent 
 upon watching her mistress, she had scarcely looked 
 at the stage, but what confirmed, her in her belief 
 
168 ESWABS OSBOBKB. 
 
 was, the woman whom she had seen at the doorway, 
 and whom she now felt certain was the same who had 
 stolen away the child. 
 
 Not a moment was to be lost. The Bridge-shooter, 
 mth Alice Yaughan, from the opposite dwelling, who 
 had ever been most kind in her attentions to Alyce 
 Hewet since her dreadful affliction, were left with 
 the merchant's wife, while Hewet, with Flora and 
 Edward Osborne, for Edward now said that he too 
 had his suspicions that the mountebank in green and 
 gold would prove to be one of the vrretches who had 
 formerly attempted his murder, started again for tbe 
 fair. As they went along tbey obtained the requisite 
 authority to enable them to search the show for the 
 lost cbild, and thus armed, they hastened to the booth. 
 
 When they arrived there, "Diddle 'em Downy," 
 was once more in the middle of bis song, but seeing 
 officers of justice coming on to the stage, for reasons 
 best known to Downy, he imagined that they could 
 want no one but himself, so jumped into the middle 
 of the pit, and escaped by the front of the show. 
 When the woman wearing the dress as described 
 by Elora was produced, great was her disappointment 
 to find a person in no respect but the dress resembling 
 the one who had taken the child. This she declared 
 was not the woman she had before eeen so recently, 
 but in answer to this, everybody belonging to the 
 booth swore that no other had taken money at the 
 door that day, and indeed no other ever had. The 
 girl, too, that was now brought forward as the youth- 
 ful Venus was but very scantily entitled to bear the 
 name ; she was a rather plain bandy-legged girl, and 
 much older than Anne could have been. The poor 
 merchant's heart sank within his breast as he turned 
 away. Edward Osborne was doomed, also, to dis- 
 appointment, for the man in green and gold, when 
 he had remored his moustache and beard, was very, 
 very unlike what he had fancied him to be, when, at 
 he supposed, he had last seen him. 
 
8T. BAainOLOMBW's FAIB. 169 
 
 Tiiey all returned in a most dejec'ed state. The 
 only one who seemed to feel happier at the events of 
 the day was Al.vce. A wonderful change had tukea 
 place in her mind ; which, although still unsettled and 
 wandering, was less frequently entirely lost. There 
 was evidently something in her own thoughts which 
 brought a degree of comfort to her, and even the 
 merchant could not banish the hope that still she 
 might be restored to reason. It could not be denied 
 that she now recognised every one who approached 
 her ; but could not be made to understand why they 
 kept her child from her; formerly she had never 
 named it, now she would scarcely speak of anything 
 else. Once after a long silence she took them all by 
 surprise, by saying, " How wonderfully she is grown 
 — and how beautiful she is — I wish she would come 
 home." 
 
 The merchant gave up all hope of ever again seeing 
 his child. Not so Flora ; nothing, she declared, 
 " should ever make her doubt her own eyes ; that was 
 the woman, she was certain ; only, as they were conju- 
 rors, perhaps they had changed her for a time, but she 
 should find her out yet — and her dear little Anne too, 
 or there was no truth in dreams, or in cards neither." 
 
 The nest day was the last of the fair, but Diddle 
 'em Downy having absconded from fear, and the lack 
 of beauty in the Venus being blown, and for other 
 reasons, easily to be guessed at, the monster show 
 packed up all its goods and chattels, and that very 
 day left the ground. 
 
 The merchant had been more than usually fortunate ; 
 what with sales and orders, this had proved the 
 
 Greatest year he had ever Imown ; so while he is 
 usily counting up bis gaioa, and preparing fur the 
 next day's removal of the few reaiaining goods, not 
 forgetting the celebrated sign of the Golden Fleece 
 and Bag of Wool, we will introduce the reader to a 
 uew scene. 
 
170 ESWABB OSBOBirS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE MEETISra AT IIBOtTBKi:. 
 
 O feigned woman ! all that tuay eonfotmd 
 
 Virtue and innocence, through thy malice 
 
 Is bred in thee, as nest of every vice.— CaAtrdES. 
 
 " i WISH Iho devil had you, or you had longer leg* ; 
 tramp on, I say ! Iramp, tramp !" This gentle exhor- 
 tation was addresBod to a poor child of some ten or 
 twelve years of age, who waa laggitig behind a woman 
 shabbily attired. 
 
 "Mother," said the girl, " I caq't, indeed I can't 
 walk faster, unless you let me havemy shoes ; my feet 
 are bleeding now, and the stones are so sharp I can 
 scarcely stand." 
 
 " Just now," replied the woman, " you said your 
 shoes hurt you ; you're always full of one fancy or the 
 other: there, take 'em," she said, "and trampon quickly, 
 orl'U— — •• 
 
 " I will, I will 1" replied the girl, rubbing the tears 
 from her eyes with the back of one hand, as she bur-, 
 riedly pulled on the shoes with the other, " I will try 
 to do everything you wish, if you will but be kinder 
 t3 me ." 
 
 " Kinder indeed ! a pretty deal I have to be kinder 
 to yiu for," exclaimed the woman; "why, you've 
 caused me more trouble, than all the six husbands I 
 have had put together. One's generally trouble enough 
 for a woman ; but all mine, excepting the last, were 
 what husbands ought to be, early croakers, and died 
 oiF like gentlemen ; no waiting to be told to go, I 
 buried three in one year ;" then speaking to herself, 
 she said, " Bel's a tough 'un, but I shall see him out 
 yet ; it won't be long before he calls here, at the half* 
 way-house to the other world." As she said this, she 
 turned her bead significantly towards a large venerable 
 looking pile — it was the Hospital of St. Giles's in the 
 
THE M££TINa AT TTBOUfiNE. 171 
 
 Fields, when tlie condemned always took their last 
 drink, on their way to execution at lybourne. 
 
 The woman and the girl pursued their way until 
 they arrived at a Bpot, fatal to many of their friends, 
 the far-famed Tybourne Tree. Here stood, amongst 
 others, one enormous tree, and near it the three-sided 
 gallows. The woman loolnng up at it, said—" I could 
 iiil those three sides with jewels, that would haug there 
 and be real ornaments to itj and perhaps I may yet, 
 who knows ?" . It was aa odd locality for such people 
 to fix their camp in, but at some distance up the road, 
 might be perceived through the trees, an old worn out 
 caravan or two, that had seen better days, and had 
 evidently been most attractive-looking articles at fairs, 
 many years before. 
 
 " I'm glad we're at home," said the woman, as they 
 approached a very old man, who was sitting upon the 
 steps of one of the vans enjoying the rays of the set- 
 ting sun, who, starting at her voice, looked up, evidently 
 astonished at seeing her. 
 
 " What in the name of all the saints has brought 
 you here to-day?" ho said; to which the worn in 
 replied — 
 
 " Bather enquire in the name of all the devils, for 
 there's no gooa in our visit, I can tell you ! it's all 
 tdong with that girl there." 
 
 The girl looked at the woman imploringly, as if, 
 although unconscious of having done anything wrong, 
 she feared a severe chastisement. 
 
 " Don't stand looking like a fool," said the woman 
 to the girl, " I'm too tired to beat you now : take off 
 your shoes, there's no need of wearing expensive arti- ^ 
 cles when there's nothing to be got by it, and then to 
 your shed, and mind you go to sleep, for sleepers can 
 do well enough without eating. The girl left them, 
 and doing as she was told, crept into the little gipsy 
 sort of tent, wl ere she began to cry and bewail her 
 wretched fate. 
 
 " But what's gone wrong ?" said the old man ; " I 
 
172 BBWABS OSBOBMI. 
 
 had not louked for you until to-morrow night at 
 soonest. 
 
 " Plenty has gone wrong, but don't bother now," 
 r p'ied the woman. 
 
 •' There is more wrong yet, fur yonder I see one 
 coming, who never, to my knowledge, left his platter 
 while there waa anything to be scraped off it." 
 
 And presently Downy was seen approaching, riding 
 upon his jackass. He related the caui^e of his flight, 
 for which be got heartily laughed at, and the woman 
 exclaimed, " Why, Downy, you are a greater co» ard 
 than you are a rogue, and that's sayiag something. 
 Why, man, it was not for you the search was made, 
 but better birds ; but they moulted tbeir plumage, and 
 the hawks were all at fau'.t." 
 
 Diddle 'em Downy did not exactly understand the 
 meaning of her words, but felt that; he had not ouly 
 disgraced his name by being done, but had by his pre- 
 cipitate retreat lost a good day's engagement. It was 
 too late now to grumble, and he was ashamed to go 
 back, so he sat down and partook plentifully of the 
 refreshments offered. They conversed for a time most 
 affably upon tiie chances of success at the coming 
 Uxbridge fair; and the woman, having plied Diddle 
 'em Downy plentifully nith strong drinks, tried all her 
 power of fascination and persuasion, to tempt him to 
 break his engagement with their rival, with whom he 
 was to perform at Uxb ridge ; but Downy, for reancns 
 best known to himself, positively refused every offer 
 the woman tendered, and having got all he wanted 
 he fell asleep ; and the old man and bis daughter arose 
 and left him where he lay, and retired into the van. 
 
 It was some time before Downy awoke. When he 
 did get upon his legs, he shook himself once or twice, 
 and perceiving that his friends had deserted him, he 
 determined to take advantage of the cool of the night, 
 and pursue his journey towards TTxbridge. 
 
 He bad not been gone long before the woman, com- 
 ing from the van, said, as she descepded the eteps — 
 
THE MEETING AT TTBODENE. 178 
 
 " Father, keep a look out till I return ; I grow more 
 anxious every minute. I'll walk and meet him — the 
 Clipper's not the punctual chap he used to be ; he's 
 either got drunk, or there's more mischief in the 
 wind." And she sauntered tflong towards London. 
 
 As her form vanished in the imperfect light of the 
 moon, the girl crept from her tent, and having 
 anxiously watched the woman's departure, approached 
 the van, and ascending to the door, knocked gently, 
 and whispered, " Grandfather, mother's gone." The 
 door opened, and the old man appearing, said half 
 kindly, half pettishly, "Child, child, you'll get me into 
 sad trouble oue of these days." 
 
 " Oh, grandfather," replied the girl, " you are the 
 only being on earth now, who is kind to me ; and I am 
 so hungry, mother has not given me a morsel to-day." 
 
 " Tour mother says," replied the old man, " that if 
 she overfeeds you sne shall make you fat, and spoil 
 your beauty." 
 
 " I often pray to heaven that I could myself spoil 
 what you call my beauty, for then I think mother 
 would turn me adrift.'* 
 
 The old man turned into the caravan, and brought 
 out some little dainty bits he had kept aside purposely 
 for her, unknown to any one. " There, child, you see 
 I had not forgotten you ; come up and sit on the top 
 step, and then we shall see more easily when your 
 mother is returning." 
 
 The girl sitting down beside the old man, for a 
 moment forgot all her troubles and seemedquite ha|.>py, 
 
 The old man watched the child with great attention, 
 and sighing, said to himself, " Poor thing, were t not 
 BO oLi, so leeble, so dependent, you should not want 
 
 a friend to save you ; but were I to they would 
 
 murder me — no, no." 
 
 The girl having speedily finished her meal, looked 
 up in the old man's face with anxiety, andsuid, "Why 
 are you so serious, grandfather P you are seldom thui 
 vhen we are alone." 
 
171 EB'VrAllI) 0SBOB17S. 
 
 The old man, ai-ousing bim!<elf from bis thoughtful 
 mood, replied, "Ob, child, I fear thera'a plenty of 
 C3U30 for our being serious — do you know what has 
 happened P" 
 
 " All I know," said the girl, " i», that to-day just 
 aa I v.-a3 being showla dressed io all my finery, as 
 Venus, there was a frightful screaming iu our booth, 
 and such a confusion created, that the curtain was 
 closed, and every one was running about in alarm. 
 Presently, mother came harrying up to me ; she vras 
 biting her lips and looking as white as ashes, and 
 taking; hold of my clothes began lo pull them off j she 
 told Sarah, the tight rope girl, to put them on; and 
 then she herself changed dresses with Biopsy Sal ; and 
 Bay, the Clipper, too, was at the same time slipping 
 off his.b:autiml green and gold dress, and as mother 
 dragged me out the backway, I saw him putting the 
 green and gold on ugly Tom. We hurried away on 
 our road here, and that's all I know about it, grMid- 
 father — but there must b^ something wrong." 
 
 " There has been very little right, child, since the 
 night you were brought to us. You have forgotten 
 that time, I suppose ?" 
 
 " No, no, no !" said the girl, beginning to cry 
 bitterly, "I shall never, never, forget it. And oh, 
 mother did beat me so, the other day ; she boat me 
 till she thought she had killed me, only because, as we 
 were omiug from £ochester, I peeped from the win- 
 dow of the van, to try and see the house in which, 
 when I was a very little child, I was so happy. Oh, 
 grandfather, how cruel it was of that fine lady on the 
 Bridge to turn me away, when she found her own 
 child. She always told me I was her own, and 1 
 . loved her as my life, and she used to say she loved me ; 
 and then there was the gentleman I called my father, 
 I loyed him too ; and then there was EJward — oh, I 
 shall die, grandfather, I shall die if I think of it." 
 
 The poor girl cast her head in despair upoa the 
 besom of the old man, and wept as though h^ young 
 
THE MEETINa AT TTBOITBNE. 175 
 
 heart were bursting. The old man wept too, and was 
 working himself up to have courage to tell the child 
 all he knew, when he saw his daughter returning. A 
 word was enough to stop the child's tears, and make 
 her fly to her retreat heoeath the shed, or rather the 
 old coTfiring of a tilt cart, that foroied her tent, the old 
 manait the same time retiring 'nith equal precipitation 
 into the van. 
 
 The Woman came on in no v^ry good humour ; she 
 mumbled, and grumbled, and growled, and then 
 approached the girl's tent, into which she peeped ; biit 
 the child waa so far schooled in dissimulation, that the 
 sleep she feigned quite satisfied the woman that she 
 was safe and at rest. Presently she heard a sort of 
 ploughman's whistle in the distance, and soon after- 
 wards a countryman caT.e jogging along the road ; of 
 him she asked if, as he had come that war, he had 
 seen a man answering the description she gave him. 
 
 " What shou'd I want to see a mon for ?" sai J the 
 countiytman ; " I seed no mon, not hoiy !'' and again 
 beginning to whistle a rustic air, be moved on. He 
 had scarcely goue a dozen paces, ere he turned round, 
 and bursting into a loud Jaugh, called out, " What, 
 Nan, girl — not know your Clipper ? — then I must be 
 well disguised, i'faith." 
 
 " Is it really you, Kay ?" said the woman ; " but I'd 
 swear it was by that laugh. I think you would joke 
 if you were gomg to be hanged, as old Sir Thomas 
 More did when he had his head cut off— but why this 
 disguise ?" 
 
 " Why P I should think you could guess. It wasn't 
 likely I should wish to be recognised by young 
 Osborne as one of his dear fiiends of the marsh, was 
 itf" 
 
 Just as he had uttered these words, a portion of the 
 woollen covering of the gipsy tent, under which the 
 girly lay, was slowly raised. 
 
 Between the spot where they stood and the girl's 
 tent, lay the trunk of a large tree ; they both sat down 
 
176 edwakb ossosnb. 
 
 upon the ground, and rested their backs against it. 
 The child listeoed anxiously, for she had caught the 
 name of Onbome, and her heart was throbbing vith 
 the thoughts of days now gone. 
 
 " Now, tell me," said the woman, " how matters 
 have gone since the morning ?" 
 
 "Well,youknow," said Eay, "you were, as youalways 
 are,Tightto atittle. You should have beena queen, Nan, 
 for damn me, if any rascally ministers, or bambuozlins 
 ambassadors, would have thrown dust in your eyes." 
 Not half en hour elapsed, before, sure enough, all 
 the liewets were upon us. I had popped on this in- 
 nocent disguise, that if they did come, as you sa'd they 
 would, I might look 'em boldly in the face, and see 
 myself which way the cat might jump. In came 
 !M^ster Hewet and Osborne, and their principal wit- 
 ness, that minx Mora Gray. I've marked her, for her 
 share in the business, I can tell her. Oh, you would 
 have split your sides, had you seen the falling of tlieir 
 chops, when bandy-legged Sarah, the rope girl, stood 
 forth as Venus. That was a glorious nit of yours ; 
 but I must own I did not feel very much flattered, 
 when Osborne, as he looked at ugly Torn, in my green 
 and gold, seemed to have great doubts whether that 
 ugly rascal was not myself. Flora was the only one 
 not easily to be done ; with half an eye she saw that 
 Slopsy Sal was not my beautiful Nan ; and the go 
 wouldn't have ended as it did, had not all our troop, 
 man, woman, and child, sworn her out of countenance : 
 for better safety, I ordered the show to be struck at 
 once — it will be here soon. But, Nan, although what 
 is past may be a joke, what's to come may not be one. 
 I have seen him to-dar, that I would I had ntver seen. 
 I have seen your husband." 
 
 " Spikely !" exclaimed the woman, " did he see 
 you?" 
 
 " No, and I hope he never may. It's my belief that 
 if he did not so thoroughly hate Hcwet himself, and 
 could fix the stealing of the child entirely on you, 
 
THB M.nT!TING AT TTBOUENB. 177 
 
 without conressiag his own share as the planner of the 
 scheme, he'd blow the whole affair to revaage him elf 
 on you. They tell me it was the child's real mother 
 who screamed out ao lustily, and had nearly ruined us 
 all, but they believe her mad, so it may blow over, and 
 we hear no more about it." 
 
 " "We must have been mad ourselves, I think," said 
 the woman, " to go so near the lion's den ; but who 
 would have guessed that tlie girl Anne Hewet could 
 have been recognised — a mother's eyes alone could 
 have had tha s&irpncss to penetrate xuch a blinding 
 mist as we had thrown round h^r : but we must show 
 her no more ; her beauty must be turned to a differtnt 
 account ; my uncle, the Bmu,'gler from Antwerp, ia in 
 the river ; he shall take her abroad ; she'll be worth 
 her wVight in gold there, and we be safe by her 
 absence." 
 
 The distant jingling of bells wh'ch announced the 
 approach of tiie cjrts and vans containing tha re- 
 mainder of the troop and all th.ir worldly treasures put 
 a stop to their farther di-course. 
 
 Instead of pitching th-ir tents for the nig'it where 
 they then were, it was thought advisable, in conse- 
 quence of information brought by TJg'y Tom, that they 
 should, as speedily as p ssiblc, move as far as t'ley 
 could from the vieiuiry of L mdon. All was now 
 bustle an:l pr.-paration for the comtinuance of their 
 midnight journey. 
 
 " Come, Venui', jump up," w;id TTgly Tom, giving 
 the tent a kick wiih his foot to wake her, "get up, 
 or you'll perhaps have your beauty spoilt, by get' ing 
 one of the ribs of the tilt stuck in your eye." 
 
 " And serve her right too," said one of the Graces, 
 who always thought she herself ought to have been the 
 Venus. 
 
 "Up with it," said Eay the Clipper, to the men 
 
 who were holding the tilt ready to lltt it, the moment 
 
 the girl was from underneith, " up with it, and if she 
 
 will keep her eves s'.ufc, damn me, but I'll open 'em 
 
 12 
 
1-78 EDWAED OSBOBNE. 
 
 with a cut or two of this whip !" The men lifted the 
 tilt, when to their amazement they found the girl 
 was gone ! 
 
 " What," exclaimed Nan, " gone, impossible ! — ^I 
 saw lier lying there not an hour ago, sound asleep. 
 Anne ! Anne !" she called out, " hither instantly, or 
 111 flay you aliye, if you come any of your tricks ou 
 tee." 
 
 They all listened, and a generisl hunt began, for 
 they thought she must be close at hand — but nowhere 
 could' they find her. "Wider and wider became the 
 circuit of I heir search. 
 
 Sjjikely's wife became more and more a'armed, as 
 the darkneas increased ; every lantern they could 
 uiuster was brought into use. Every tree and bush 
 was examined, but all to no purpose. One by one 
 thry all returned with the fame announcement of iil- 
 Euccess ; the last that came in was the old man, who 
 told them a rambling story about his having, he was 
 sure, seeu a ghost— he said, " he had 6tra}ed on aud 
 on, until he found himself standing exactly in the 
 centre of the three-sided gallows at Tybouriie Tree — 
 it VI as there that Le had seen a figure flit by, aud 
 vanish into the road that led to Edgware." 
 
 " Fool !" exclaimed his daughter, " you sVould have 
 lold us that at once — ghost indeed, it was the girl 
 herself. Jlay, mount and after her ! if she escapes — 
 but you know her value." 
 
 The Clipper and Ugly Tom took the two best 
 horses of their siud, and mounting them, hurried 
 away as fust as euch steeds could carry them, diago- 
 nally across the country, so that by coming out some 
 way up the Edgwarc-road, they might cut off her 
 escape. Having at last reached the main way, they 
 placed themselves on either side of the road, and then 
 slowly and quietly as they could, crept along towards 
 Tyboume, expecting every moment to meet the surr 
 prised and afirighted fugitive. . 
 
 Careful as they were, their search, however, proved 
 
THB MEErilfO AT TXBOURNE. 179 
 
 uDBuceesBful. When they had coaie down the road 
 as far as Tybourno Tree they again halted, uncertain 
 what to do, neither of them liking to face the tigress, 
 Nan — "I wish the fiends had swallowed the girl," 
 said Kay, savagely, " before she had found her way 
 among us ; I was erer against it." 
 
 "Against what?" enquired Ugly Tom; "there's 
 always been some mystery hanging about that girl, 
 that makes one more than half suspect she's not Nan's 
 child at all. Come Bay, speak out; isn't she the 
 merchant's daughter P Come, teU us who and what 
 she is ?"' 
 
 " Ask Nan yourself," replied the Clipper. 
 
 "Yes!" said the other, "aad be answered by her 
 teeth instead of her tongue. Not I, i'faith." 
 
 They stood beneath the tree for a few minutes, and 
 then, with reluctant steps, made their way to their 
 companions. 
 
 Nan and the Clipper went some distance from the 
 rest, and argued the best course to pursue. As the 
 girl knew their iutention to visit "Oxbridge Fair, it 
 was settled, that they #iould immediately alter their 
 route, and push on to St. Albans in the way to 
 Dunstable, and so on by short journeys, exhibiting a 
 day here, and a day there, fill up the time until the 
 great fair at Bedford. The instant {he plan was 
 determined upon, the whole camp, as it might be 
 called, broke up, and forming the line, began to retrace 
 their way to Ty bourne Tree, round which they passed, 
 and turning round sharply to the left, entered Edg- 
 ware Soad, where we will now leave them to pursue 
 their treary way. 
 
180 ESWAAD OBBOBin. 
 
 OHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 rATH£S BBASSINJAW IK THIS CjL&Z. 
 
 Joy of this world for time Trill not abide ; 
 From daj to night it changeth u the tide. 
 
 OHAtrcEB. 
 
 Exactly at the time we are writing of, there were 
 two men, the one in London, the other in "West- 
 minster, whose minds were equally torn to shreds by 
 perplexities and doubts, as to what would be the best-, 
 that is the most agreeable manner in which they 
 should each employ his future lile ; both were now 
 their own masters ; both had the world before them ; 
 both had a peculiar love for self— the one was King 
 Henry the Eighth, the other the saintly Father 
 Brassinjaw. 
 
 Henry was at this time confined to his palace by 
 growing infirmities, which gave him ample time, but 
 not much temper, for reflection. Brassmjaw, in like 
 manner, bad equal time, and quite as little temper, 
 for reflection, by being confined in the cage on London 
 Bridge. This cage was a sort of sentry-box-shaped 
 building, and being eloTated upon several stone steps, 
 the passer-by had a good view of the prisoners within, 
 and the prisoners witbia had a good bantering from 
 the people without. 
 
 Henry was reclining upon a low couch, supported 
 by cushions of amber satin, listening to his favourite, 
 Cromwell, as he descanted upon two of the most 
 pleasing subjects that ever fell upon the ear of Henry 
 the Eighth— Monet and Maebiage. 
 
 With respect to the first of these, he was relating 
 with what success bis two commissioners, Spikely and 
 Horton, had assisted in despoiling the shrine of 
 Thomas a Becket at Canterbury ; two immense coffers 
 
FATHEE.BRAS8INJAW IN THE OAOE. 181 
 
 had been fill§d with gold and jewels, each of them so 
 heavy that it took no less than eight strong men to 
 lift. 
 
 The King chuckled as he thought of the treasure the 
 two coffera from Canterbury would place at his imme- 
 diate command ; and when Oromwell drew forth a list 
 of suppressed Abbeys, and other religious houses, and 
 stated in detail that no less than sis hundred and 
 forty-four convents, ninety colleges, two thousand 
 three hundred and seventy-four chantries and free 
 chapels, with one hundred and ten hospitals, were 
 now annexed to the crown, his delight knew no 
 bounds. It was at this moment the King dropped 
 a hint to Cromwell, that he saw no reason why, one 
 day or other, his trusty and well-beloved Privy-seal 
 should not become the Earl of E-isez. 
 
 The King had now been a widower for nearly two 
 years. Queen Jane having died twelve days after 
 the birth of her son Edward, in October 1537. It 
 had been his own fault, that he had thus long 
 remained single, but the difficulty was to fix upon a 
 judicious choice. Ever since the death of Jane, the 
 Protestant party had been decidedly losing ground. 
 
 Gardiner, Bishop of "Winchester, had wheedled 
 himself into the good graces of the King ; and being the 
 most zealous of" Papists, was subsequently the sworn 
 enemy of Cromwell. Both were equally deep, both 
 equally unscrupulous, as to the means empioyed to 
 render their party triumphant. Each knowing how 
 great was the influence a wife possessed over their 
 master, as long as he liked her, they were both 
 anxious that he should again marry ; the one sought 
 for a Eoman Catholic Princi ss, the other a Princess 
 of the reformed religion ; and it was to this subject, 
 of vital importance to himself, that Cromwell now led 
 the conversation. 
 
 It was at this opportunity that Cromwell told the 
 King he had just received the miniature of one of the 
 greatest beauHea in the world, the lovely Anne of 
 
182 EBWAED OSBOEITE, 
 
 Cleves, sister of the reigning Dake of Cleves, & Pro- 
 testant, and that ber " educatinn, sobriety, and morals 
 were excellent." Then drawing forth the miniatnrt?, 
 by Lucas, the court painter of Ckve?, be preECuted 
 it to the enraptured eyes of his Grace. 
 
 Henry» who could fall in love in five minutep, at 
 once looked upon the fair face of Anne, as that of his 
 future wife. But to be perfectly secure upon th j 
 point of her beauty, it was settled, that Hans Holbein 
 should stari immediately to the court of the Duke- of 
 Cleves, and return with a correct portrait of the 
 beautiful Anne. 
 
 Cromwell hugged himself at the success of his new 
 scheme, but this well-laid plan proved to be the rocky 
 strand upon which his whole venture was wrecked nnd 
 lost, for when the King saw Anne of Cltves, vihich 
 he did in secret, she was so unlike the portraits ha 
 had received, that he at once took a loathing to her. 
 Cromwell, as may be supposed, received the whole 
 weight of his indignation: the favourite attempted 
 to excuse the act, by reminding Henry that he had 
 himself desired his minister to find him a " fine large 
 woman." "Tes," said the King, "a fine large 
 woman, but I did not tell you to bring me a Flanders 
 mare." 
 
 "We will now return to Father Brassinjaw. It 
 appeared that poor Brassinjaw had been degraded 
 from his office in the chapel upon the Bridge, for 
 having been discovered picking out the real diamond 
 eyes from one of the images; and having uttered 
 some rather offensive expressions against the most 
 religious Henry, he had been surprised to discover 
 himself suddenly left for hours in the public cage. 
 
 "Once a priest, always a priest," said he to him- 
 self ;, " but of what u-e is it, if we can no longer get 
 anything by it ? I've a great mind to be revenged by 
 changing my creed altogether ; but what creed shall 
 I take to ? that's a ticklish qm stion." 
 
 And he set himself to the solution of this ticklislr 
 
rATHEtl BBASSIKJAW IN THE CAGE. 183 
 
 question. Cliance enableil him to decide, for tbe 
 public crier came to announce that tbe late landlord 
 of the Cardinal's Hat, there upon the Bridge, having 
 been hanged, the whole concern, including the good- 
 will of that " highly respectable house," was to be 
 Bo\i " ly i?ie candle." 
 
 The moment Brassinjaw heard the announcement 
 he exclaimed, " The prophecy shall be fulfilled 1 It was 
 always foretold that one day I should possess a 
 Cardinal's Hat, and now, cost what it will, that 
 Cardinal's Hat shall cover this virtuous head ; it shall 
 be mine. Yes," he continued, in a tone of great 
 determination, "yes, I will relinquish the SpihiiitaIj, 
 for a SjpiniTrous calling. I will become a publican 
 
 and " he was just going to add "sinner," but 
 
 seeming to feel that he would be understood without 
 expressing it, he said no more. 
 
 When he was permitted to leave the cage, Brassin- 
 jaw at once hurried towards the Cardinal's Hat, to 
 examine more minutely into his intended purchase. 
 
 Not a nook or corner did he leave unexamined. 
 There were some odd things connected with this 
 house, which, to any but one who had had such a 
 thorough schooling in the mysteries oi deception aiid 
 iindorhand proceedings as Father Brassinjaw, might 
 have been overlooked, or passed by heedlessly. There 
 was not a single room, in the partitions of which 
 there were not holes, through which those in tlie next 
 apartment might ea>ily witness all that passed. 
 
 Brassinjaw, observing thi;", and being alone at the 
 time, commenced to examine every panel of the wain- 
 scot, and found that more than one were made to slip 
 aside, and leave an opening large enough for a man 
 to pass, and secretly enter, room after room, all over 
 the dwelling. Observing a trap-door near one of the 
 tables, he took hold of the ring, and raising it, had 
 nearly tumbled headlong through, from alarm, at 
 finding it opened f^ver the waters, which were at 
 that moment dasLirg rradlj down tbe falls beneath 
 
184 £l>WABD 03E0BS£. 
 
 the Bridge. Examining the trap-door, to see whether 
 it was strong enough to be left over euch a dangerous 
 outlet, he found the hinges constructed in such a 
 manner that would allow them to bend equally well 
 both ways, so that, but for a couple of iron bolts pro- 
 truding from the opposite side of the opening, the 
 trap would, when lowered, fall downwards, upon 
 further examination, he discovered that these bolts 
 too were moveable, and could be pushed back, 
 although they were held forward by a spring. 
 
 Having once caught the idea, he began to think that 
 if these bolis were made to move, there was, doubtless, 
 some method by which their movement might be 
 accomplished, without going beneath, and f3rcing 
 them back with the hand. And having pulled up a 
 floor plank, he discovered two ropes attached to the 
 bolts, which, passing beneath the floor, entered the 
 adjoining room. He carefully replaced the board, 
 and iu the next apartment he found an empty cup> 
 board, at the bottom of which were two round 
 apertures, thi ough which the ropes had evidently at 
 one time passed. In the back of this cupboard he 
 also perceived chinks and holes, so disposed, that a 
 person shut in the cupboard could observe everything 
 that passed in the other room. 
 
 All these discoveries, far from alarming Brassinjaw, 
 made him more determined than ever to become the 
 possessor of the Cardinal's Hat. 
 
 Having once made up his mind to revolutionize his 
 mode of living, he thought the first thing to be done 
 was to change his outward man. 
 
 "First, I'll to the tailor," said Brassinjaw ; "my 
 present habiliments are but ilisuited to the tapster's 
 t:ade, though his aud mine are not so widely differ- 
 ing as silly people think ; the business of both of us 
 is to intoxicate the mind, and make men fools." The 
 more he worked up his own mind to the change he 
 intended to rrake, tne more did he try to believe that 
 his new calling was the hose;i:er of the two ; aud 
 
FATHEE BftASSlUJAW IN THE OAGS. 186 
 
 ct rtaiuly as he had exercised liia tniscalled holy power, 
 perhaps, the publican would prove the leaser sinner. 
 
 As Master Thomas Stow, of Aldgate, was a tailor 
 of no mean repute, our saintly father hied him 
 thither, where he found the old man, spectacles on 
 nose, his boy beside him, both hard at work ; and, as 
 before, the elder Stow soundly scolding the younger, 
 for thinking more of old musty tomes, than he ever 
 did of jackets, jerkins, slops, or hose. 
 
 The cau''e of Horton's visit had not more surprised 
 the old tailor, than did the announcement made by 
 Brassinjaw, that lie " lacked a comely suit of newest 
 put," and, odd enough for aa intended publican, he 
 df sire J it might be made of " some right sober colour." 
 — we fear it would be the only part about him that 
 would rt-main sober, if once he took possession of the 
 Cardinal's Ha*-. 
 
 The old tailor tuok oif his spectacles, wiped them, 
 and then put them on again, and looking full in the 
 face of Brassinjaw, he exclaimed with surprise, 
 " Why, holy father, I should have as much expected 
 to have seen Saint Thomas a Becket himself, rest hia 
 holy bones, walk in upon such an errand, aa Father 
 Brassinjaw." 
 
 "And I should have as soon expected," replied 
 Brassinjaw, " to have seen so wise a tailor, as Master 
 Stowia known to be, swallow his own goose to cure an 
 indigestion, as to have heard him call that rascally 
 rebel, a Becket, a saint ! Why, know you not, man, 
 that our most religious King, in his great wisdom, 
 has found out, what any other fool — I mean any fool, 
 might have done for the last fcur hundred years, that 
 a Becket was but a counterfeit saint. And now, 
 Master Stow, know that if you would keep your ears 
 to yourself, you had better keep you tongue so too, 
 and never call ^ Becket saint again." 
 
 " I never thought him one P* exclaimed the old 
 tailor, falling in a moment into the humour of the 
 times, " I never thought him one, and it always went 
 
1S€ EDWASS OSBOBNE 
 
 agaiast my etomach, as I let the lie slip off my ton<nie 
 when I said he was. But now, Father Brassinjaw 
 
 "Father! father me no more!" said Brassinjaw: 
 ^ when I put on thy new doublet, I put off the old 
 priest So father me no more." 
 
 " But prithee, what in the name of the saints has 
 wrought this wondrous change in thee?" enquired 
 the old tailor. 
 
 " The times, man, the times ! the badnes3 of the 
 timesi" replied Braasinjaw, sticking out hia two arms 
 quite straight, until he looked like a fat letter T. 
 
 As the old tailor began to measure him, he con- 
 tinued — "All trades, Master Stow, have their ups an'l 
 downs ; no firm ever lasted for ever, howsoever care- 
 fully it might have been conducted — let the sleeves 
 be large and puffed — perhaps we, of our craft, ought 
 not to complam, for we earned on a roaring trade fur 
 some hundreds of years — there was no lack of pick- 
 ings, Master Stow, there was no lack of pickings — 
 let my money-pouch be wide and deep — and now. 
 Master Stow," he said, as he found the old tailor 
 upon both his knees, measuring his legs, " tell me, 
 man, what think you will best become my style of 
 figure— the olden slops, and tight-drawn hose, or a 
 neat pair of the new-fangled trousers I" 
 
 "With such a calf as thine," replied the old 
 tailor, at the same time holding out about three 
 quarters of a yard of the measure, which he had just 
 taken from around Brassinjaw's leg, " with such a 
 calf as thine it were a sin, a downright sin, to hide a 
 morsel of your legs beneath those silly things calWd 
 trousers." 
 
 " Ay, well, then," replied Brassinjaw, " let it be the 
 slops and hose. And now, good Master Stov, what's 
 Btirring in the world ?" 
 
 "Stirring!" exclaimed the old tailor, suddenly 
 becoming quite excited ; " stirring I marry the vt hole 
 "world is Btirring methinks, thank'' to that villain 
 
FATHEH BBASSIirTAW IN THE OASS. 187 
 
 Cromwell — it's no use checking mo — lie is a villain, 
 and tbero is but one still greuter, and that is his 
 minion, Harry Horton— he told me I should one day 
 remetnb.r him, and I don't thiuk it likely I shall ever 
 forget him or his master either." 
 
 "But why this fury?" enquired Brassinjavr; 
 " what has Lord Cromwell done to thee ?" 
 
 "Done!" replied the other; he has «redone me. 
 Tou know my pretty hou-'e, and pretty garden, beliind 
 Throgmorton Street? that house abutted upon the 
 palings of Lord Cromwell's grounds. He thought a 
 tailor, I Buppose, too mean a neighbour to be so el.ise 
 to a dirty b'ackamith's son, so coveted a portion of 
 my land ; but I loved my garden as my Ufa, and swore 
 I'd never pnrt with it. Now, would you believe it, 
 or can you picture my surprise, when on reaching my 
 home the other night, I found that Lord Cromwell 
 had pulled down the pairs, had undermined the foun- 
 dations of my house, had placed it on huge rollers, 
 and having wheeled it some two-and-twenty feet, 
 there set it down again ; a wall was then built up, 
 and I was robbed of twenty and two feet of my own 
 garden ground !" 
 
 Strange as this circumstance may appear, it is no 
 more strana;e than true. 
 
 The tears quite came into the eyes of the old tailor, 
 as he recoun!ed his wrongs, which he laid entirely to 
 the spite of Horton, whom, he said, " he was sure 
 had put the fancy into Lord Oiomwell's mind." 
 
 "Oh! then," said Brassinjaw, "you too have a 
 small account to settle with Horton, have ye. I 
 have one heavier perhaps than yours, but leave it to 
 me, Master Stow, leave it to me, and I'll get payment, 
 with interest too, for both of us. I never let my 
 hawks fly until I am sure they can strike their game 
 — so be not in a hurry— but you shall be paid to your 
 heart's content; this I promise, and I'll keep my 
 word. And now, Master Stow, know ye any one 
 fleeply skilled in the mystery of barbery? Some 
 
18S EDTTAED OSBOltSE. 
 
 cunaing wigbt trho can make a nostrum that shall 
 cause cue's hair to grow both quick and thick ?" 
 
 The old tailor s.iid he could not answer for the 
 truth of what he had heard, but that it wns rt-ported 
 that, at that very moment, th-re was to be found in 
 the f»ir, the very man hia new customer required — 
 "Tes," he said, "it is reported so wonderful is the 
 power of this extraordinary pomade that an old lady 
 niiiitaking it for lip salve, rubbed it over her upper 
 lip, when, in less than three days, she had a pair 
 of moust^hios, of such prolific growth, that she hid 
 been obliged to shave twice a day ever since !" 
 Having said this, the old man looked at Brassi^aw 
 from under his spectaclrs, as much as to say — " Av tiat 
 do you think of that ?" 
 
 "That's my man!" exclaimed Brassinjaw, who 
 having impressed upon the old tailor's mind that not 
 a OQoment was to be lost in finishing his new habili- 
 ments, at once hurried oiF to the fair. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT VISIIOS. 
 
 in leas than in an hour 
 Shall all be drench' d, so hideous in the shower. 
 
 Chaucee. 
 
 The night on which the fair closed, turned out wet 
 and melancholy ; the wind whittled mournfully 
 beneath the arches of the Bridge, and the creaking 
 sign-boards, as they swung slowly backwards and for- 
 wards, sent forth a wailing sound that seemed like the 
 Vuices of weeping spirits, sighing o'er the dead. 
 
 While Plora was endeavouring to amuse her poor 
 mistress, by telling fairy tales, and chanting the 
 prettiest ditties of the day, the wind became louder 
 
A iiisi^ianT TisiioB. 189 
 
 and louder. At every blast, Alyce started — ^her 
 couDtenance beaming with hope, for nothing could 
 convince her but, that each sound she heard was the 
 voice of hep child. Every few minutes Flora was 
 compelled to open the casement and look out ; and 
 Aljrce would esdaim, " There, there ! I heard her 
 plainly. Ob ! do, do let htr come to me that I may 
 see her." 
 
 As the night advanced, the wind and rain increased, 
 and anxiously did Plora await the return of her mas- 
 ter, with Edward and the Bridge-shooter; for, until 
 the merchant came, she knew it were useless to endea- 
 vour to gut Alyce to retire to rest. Her complaint 
 had taken a perfectly new turn ; instead of remain- 
 ing for hours, nay days, without moving Or speaking, 
 she was now ever restless, e^er talking. 
 
 Tbe bell of Saint Paul had s'ruek ten — another 
 hour passed — the eleventh hour was beard, but stUl 
 the merchant came not. Elora, just as the clock was 
 striking the midnight hour, heard Master Hewet and 
 his companions entering tlie house. Alyce started, 
 and running towards the door of the apartment, would 
 not believe but that her husband had brought home 
 her child. 
 
 " To-morrow, to-morrow, dear Alyce," said the 
 merchant, to pacify her, but he could not disguise from 
 himself, how hopeless were his promises. He told 
 Flora, that from circumstances they had that day 
 heard, there was a chance of having their doubts 
 resolved. The sudden disappearance of the monster 
 show, a day (before the closing of tbe fair, looked 
 suspicious. Hewet had, he said, sent one of his most 
 trusty men, one who had known the child from her 
 birth, to follow the show from place to place, as, in all 
 probability, when the parties were away from London^ 
 and off their guard, they would again employ the child 
 as before. The mountebanks bad gone, it was said, 
 to Uxbridge, so his spy had that night started upon 
 their track. 
 
190 ZIWAED OSBOEITB. _ 
 
 As they were about to retire to reat, ihej allsbad- 
 dereJ at bearing a sound, the meaning of wbich thej 
 knew full well; it was that of some poor drowuing 
 wretch, struggling against the pitiless waters ot.tbe 
 cataracts beneath the Bridge — such accideats were 
 almost of daily occurrence ; they crossed themselves, 
 and mentally offering up a prayer for the soul of him, 
 who bad at that moment gone to another world, they 
 took their lamps, and retired to tdeir various chambers. 
 
 Edward had just entered his own dormitory, when 
 he remembered t hat he had not secured the outer door, 
 so o:ice more descending;, he placed his hand upon ti)e 
 bol', when he fancied be heard a moan ! He started ; 
 then looked around ; but tbiuking it must have been 
 merely the sighing of the wind, he proceeded to finish 
 hi.-) task, when the moan again struck upon his ear, 
 more sadly than before ; be could not imagine whence 
 the sound proceeded. He listened — all was still — 
 again be listened; when suddenly his doubts were 
 d'jubts no longer ; the person in distress, he now felt 
 sure, was lying njar ti-.e door — lie opened it— the rush 
 of the H ind nearly ex inguisbed his lamp. In anotbi r 
 moment, those above werefrightfullyakrmed at hear- 
 ing Edward calling aloud, as if it had gone mad ; they 
 hurried down, where they saw Osborne kneeling by 
 some helpless human being. 
 
 Henet flew to lend bis assistance, when who can 
 paint the scene wliith followed, for in another moment 
 the merchant was holding in his arms his own, his long 
 lost child ! 
 
 So suddenly, so unexpectedly had this happine^^s 
 bur^tt upon the merchant, that he gave hims'-'lf no time 
 for reflection, but at once hurried with his precious load 
 into the presence of his wife, exclaiming — "Alyc?, 
 Alyce, Ood be thanked, for he has heard our prayer, 
 she is here I" 
 
 Had Hewet thought for an instant of the over- 
 powering effect, that ^9uch an unprepared restoration 
 of the child might have had unsn his wi^e, he would 
 
A MIDytOST , V.ISITOE. 191 
 
 not have da; ed tbis veature ; but it was done, and he 
 now tiembled for tl e coafequmce. 
 
 So. Btraogely had Alyce been working upon her own 
 shattered mind, that when she embraced Ler chUd, she 
 did BO, certainly v\ith all the true feeling of a doting 
 mother, but wiihout any approach to that overwhelrn- 
 icg burst of joy and wonder, that might have been 
 luoked for in ordinary cases. 
 
 , "I told you, William," she said, " I told you, she 
 would return, often have I heard her gentle voice, 
 whispering into my ear iu the dead of night — ' Weep 
 not, mother, weep not" for me — for I am safe ; I will 
 return ; d d you not say so, Anne ? did you not whisper 
 those words of hope into your mother's ear ? But for 
 that hope, I had gone mad — I had gone mad." 
 
 The child was so ove;come with fatigue and suffer- 
 in;?, with fear, hope, wonder, joy, that for a time she 
 nt'ither saw nor heard what passed around her. All 
 s'e did was to cling round the neck of her mother, and 
 gobbing, repeat again and again — " Are you not my 
 mother 'i — xaj real, real, mother ? Oh, tell me you 
 are, or kill me — kill me !" 
 
 Flora did not hesitate for a moment to give way to 
 her feelings, bo supporting herself in the corner of 
 the room, she roared out lustily. 
 
 Bdvrard and the Bridge-shooter stood looking at 
 each other veiy stoically, as much as to say, " Will 
 you cry ? I won't, if you don't ?'' But in spite of all 
 their contorti^ms of visage, and sundry little gulps, a 
 vast deal mo;e of the heart's dew would h«ug cbout 
 their eyelids, than they were willing, or would Lave 
 allowed, to ba seen there. 
 
 Again and again did the child cling, first to the neck 
 of her mother, then to that of the merchant ; whea 
 presently, turning and seeing Plora standing with 
 open arms, she quite screamed with joy, and flew into 
 them ; their embrace was mutually loving and sincere-. 
 She laughed and cried both, as she embraced her child- 
 hood's ^aymate, Edward, but checked herself suddenly 
 
192 BOWiJa) OBBOBITE. 
 
 as she was going to beatow the same endearment upon 
 Flora's lorer, in whom she fancied she caw a perfect 
 stranger ; the Bridge-shooter the only remembered in 
 his rags and tatters. 
 
 Poor "William felt quite hurt that he should not be 
 recognipcd, so blubbered out — " Why, don't you know 
 me, Mistress Anne? and have you quite forgotten 
 poor ragged Billy-the-bridge-shooter ?" 
 
 " No, no ; indeed I have not!" said Anne, running 
 to him, " it was you who taught dear Edward how to 
 save my life — bless you, bless you !" 
 
 "William was so delighted, that he seized up the 
 child, and completely swung her round, as he kissed 
 her. When he put her down again, he said, " Mother 
 is a u itch — upon my life I'm afraid she is — she has 
 always said that little Anne, for that's what she calls 
 Mistress Anne, would start up when we least expected 
 it, and I'm sure v.e least expected it such an awfnl 
 night as this, I hope she may prove a witch in every- 
 thing ;" then whispering to Flora, ho said, " for she 
 tells me that our dear mistress there, will yet be wiser 
 than ever, now she has no holy father near her ; that's 
 wicked though, isn't it ?" 
 
 •' I'm not quite sure," replied Flora, in a lite whis- 
 per ; the truth was. Flora had become a little tainted 
 with the coming protestantism of the day, and there- 
 fore eyed the old-'ashioned priestcraft with a rather 
 doubting glance. 
 
 "When the first burst of joy and astonishment had 
 in a degree subsided, they began to turn their thoughts 
 to the arrangements for the night- It was at once set- 
 tled, that tmtil the morning, no questidns should be put 
 to littld Anne, as they still cdlleJ her, concerning what 
 had happened to her since her abducAion, three years 
 before. This was a sore trial to all, for all were 
 burning with curiosity. But the child's care-worn 
 look, and the state of her feet, which they now, 
 for the first time, perceived were partially bandaged 
 op in rags, and other parts bare, and torn by waiider- 
 
A MIDNIGHT VISITOR. 193 
 
 ing over the rougli and rugged roads, induced them to 
 conclude that the sooner sbe could be consigned to 
 sleep's soothing care the better. 
 
 As Anne was to pass that night with her mother, 
 the first for three long years, it was arranged that 
 Edwardshouldresign hisroom to the merchant, andhim- 
 self take up his quarters in Horton's former dormitory. 
 
 Horton's old room had, in a certain degree, changed 
 its appearance very much since he had last seen it ; in 
 fact, it had been made the magazine of warlike arms, 
 belonging to the peaceful garrison of Hewet's citadel 
 of the Golden Heece ! 
 
 The truth was, that ever since the Pope's bull of 
 excommunication against Henry had been promul- 
 gated, which bull bad been long before prepared, but 
 had been kept back in terroriim, until his Holiness 
 should be quite convinced that Henry was an incorri- 
 gible and disobedient son of Eome — warlike prepara- 
 tions had been going on throughout the King's 
 dominions. As many of our readers may have often 
 heard of excommunications, without perhaps being 
 aware of the charitable wording of such works, we 
 will give an extract, and leave it to to their own minds 
 to decide, whether such document was not more 
 beseeming the invention of a fiend, than becoming the 
 Christian feelings of Heaven's Viceregent, as the 
 Pope professed himelf to be. 
 
 The Bishop being clothed in white, and accompanied 
 by other priests belonging to the church, with uplifted 
 cross and candles burning, stood up in the pulpit, and 
 paid, " By the authority of Q-od the Father Almighty, 
 and of the blessed Virgin Mary and all the Saints, we 
 excommunicate, and anathematise and deliver over to 
 the devil all the aforesaid malefactors, that excom- 
 municated, anathematised, and delivered over to the 
 devil they may be : — Accursed he they in towns, in 
 fields, in. Iiighways, in foofpatlis, under roofs, out of 
 doors, and m all other places, standing, sitting, lying 
 down, rising up, walking, running, awake, asleep, eating, 
 
194 EDWABD OSBOENE. 
 
 drinking, and doing whatsoever other thing ; from all 
 illumination, and all other good things of the church 
 we dehor them ; to the devil we condemn them ; and in 
 the pains of hell-fire we extinguish their souls — unless 
 they truly repent and make satisJACTIOIT, even as this 
 caudle is extinguished." And so having said, to strike 
 the more terror, amidst the sounding of bells be put 
 out the light. 
 
 Although Henry the Eighth lived in an age which 
 bad become sufficiently enlightened to allow kings to 
 smile at such impotent blasphemy, there had been 
 times when such denunciations would bring the 
 mightiest potentates crouching bare-headed, bare- 
 footed, on tbeir hands and knees, to supplicate at 
 the foot of the Pope, his intercession with Heaven, 
 to remove such a curse. 
 
 Henry had the courage to set the Pope and all his 
 Bulls at defiance ; but as it was currently reported, and 
 believed too, that Charles V. Emperor of Germany, and 
 Francis I. King of France, bad determined,at the inter- 
 cession of the Pope, to head a league against this land, 
 the King, in order to raise a feeling of security in 
 the minds of the citizens of London, and give an 
 appearance of preparation to enemies abroad, had 
 commanded that all males between sixteen and sixty 
 years of age should be at once enrolled, and exercised 
 in the discipline of war. 
 
 This circumstance accounts for Horton's old room 
 being greatly changed in appearance ; for the walls 
 were everywhere hung with accoutrements of one 
 sort or another. 
 
 The merchant Hewet was a captain of archers ; and 
 Edward, with "Wiliiam-the-Bridge-shooter, two of his 
 men ; and very proud the two latter were, when they 
 appeared in public armed to their teeth. 
 
 Before Edward retired to his couch, he amused 
 himBeH>ff>r some time in examining the various arms. 
 He greatly admired his master's sword, which was 
 adorned after the Asiatic fashion, that is, damasquinie, 
 
A MIDNIGHT VIBITOE. lOo 
 
 or inlaid with gold — an adornment lately introdncei 
 into Europe by Beurenuto Cellini. In examining his 
 own dag, or tacke, or, in other words, a pistol — the 
 only difference between a pistol and a tacke was, that 
 the former had a knob at the end, whilst the butt of 
 the latter was out iu a slanting direction — in pre- 
 tending to go through the practice of loading these 
 fire-aruis, Edward discovered that one of the dags 
 was still charged. 
 
 " Well," said he, as he laid the weapon down on a 
 chest near hia bed, " it must remain so, I suppose, 
 until the morning, for if I fire it from the window, 
 it may alarm, not only our house, but the neigh- 
 bours too." 
 
 And turning his mind upon the strange reap- 
 pearance of hia former playmate, Anne, he prepared 
 to go to rest. 
 
 "Poor child!" he said, "what a miserable plight 
 was she in. Hers will be a marvellous tale, I suspect. 
 I'm longing for to-morrow." 
 
 Edward threw himself upon his couch, where he lay 
 for some time, turning over aud over in his mind all 
 the strange events of the last three years : as he be- 
 came more and more drowsy, the dreadful night of 
 the marsh came, in all the vivid colouriog of a dream, 
 before his mind's eye : he started wide awake, for he 
 had experienced that very peculiar sensation, not un- 
 common between waking and sleeping, of suddenly 
 faLliDg from a great height. The light of the moon 
 was beginning to shine, although faintly, in at the 
 little window. Feeling quite unnerved by the im- 
 pression his dreamy thoughts had made upon his 
 mind, he covered his head up with the bed-clothes, 
 and tried to compose his nerves in the forgetfulness 
 of sleep. Just when forgetfulness was exerting her 
 power over memory, he was startled by a strange 
 sort of creaking, wrenching noise ; he listened — and 
 raising the clothes from his head, he fe.t convinced 
 it came from that part of the room in which the 
 
196 SDWXRJ> OSBOBKB. 
 
 window was placed. He now recollected the former 
 attempt at robbery which had actually been made in 
 that very room ; he Blowly raised his head until be 
 could see the window ; the night was still hazy, but 
 ta£Scient light was in the heavens to render the 
 window very apparent: presently he saw a hand 
 holding a wrenchiog-tool rise up ; the tool was applied 
 to the casement, which had, ever since the former 
 attempt, been kept securely fastened. Osborne 
 blessed the chance which had left bim the loaded 
 weapon ; he seized it firmly in his grasp, and re- 
 mained quietly watching the progress the robber was 
 making, determined not to stir until he could take 
 his aim with certainty and effect : he was not long 
 kept in anxious suspense, for the thief appeared to 
 be so thoroughly a master of his trade, that in a very 
 few minutes the casement gave way, and turned back 
 upon its hinges. Osborne now terembled, not with 
 fear, but from a strange feeling that in another 
 minute, perhaps, he should have sent an erring 
 human being to his dread account ; a moment more 
 and he would have started up to alarm the robber, and 
 thus enable him to escape, but ere he could deter- 
 mine upon which course to pursue, the head of a man 
 was seen above the sill of the window ; bang went the 
 pistol ; one cry was heard ; and then the heavy dash 
 of some one falling into the flood beneath. 
 
 Edward sprang from his bed, intending to fly to 
 the casement, but was suddenly checked by striking 
 his foot against something sharp in the floor, wbic-k 
 cut his foot severely. Aa eoon as the first shock of 
 pain was past, he limped to the window ; but nothing 
 could he there discover, excepting the rope which 
 Horton so long before had placed there for his own 
 purposes. He drew that into the room ; then has- 
 tened to the door, intending to acquaint his master 
 with what had happened ; and whom, with the other 
 inmates of the dwelling, he doubted not must b^ 
 already alarmed, 
 
kma HEWEt's NAUKITITB. 197 
 
 Not hearing the least noiae in the house, he be- 
 lieved, which was the truth, that all but himself still 
 slept ; 80 he determined not to disturb them. He 
 again closed bis door — barred up the window in the 
 strongest way he could ; and having not only loaded 
 his own brace of dags, he loaded those belonging to 
 WUliam as well. He placed them in a row before 
 him on the bed ; then, resting his back against the 
 wall at the head of his couch, passed the remainder 
 of the night in watching. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 AUNE HEWET's NAEEATIVE. 
 
 At meate was she well yiangbt withal ; 
 She let no morsel from her lippes fall : 
 Ne wet her fingers in her sauci deep. 
 Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep, 
 That no drop ne fell upon her breast. 
 
 Chattceb. 
 
 Floba and the Bridge-shooter were up by times, and 
 never did two lovers — for they now no longer dis- 
 guised their affections from each other — go to work 
 with such happy hearts as they did while preparing 
 for the family breakfast. 
 
 "When Edward entered, he related what had passed 
 during the night, and showed them a sharp piece of 
 steel which he had discovered stuck deeply into the 
 floor of Horton's room, by which his foot had been 
 severely cut when he rushed to the casement after 
 firing. It was evidently the point of a knife or 
 dagger, and was stained with rust, or something that 
 looked more like blood. 
 
 Osborne was about to throw it into the river, when 
 William said it would do capitally for him to scratch 
 out the blots he was always making in his copy-books ; 
 
198 • EDWAED OSBOEN'E. 
 
 BO taking it from Edward, lie carefully placed it in his 
 pouch. 
 
 The merchant, accompanied by Alyce and her long 
 lost child, soon made their appearance ; and never, 
 perhaps, did a happier household sit down to a morn- 
 ing meal than did the Hewets that morning. This 
 wTis soon dispatched, for all were anxious to hear Anne 
 tell the story of her abduction and of her sufferings, — 
 and at the earnest entreaty of all her friends she 
 began : — 
 
 " Ah," she said, " how often used I to dream of this 
 dear room, and then awake with my eyes streaming 
 with tears : how I used to pray that I might one day, 
 only for one day, be here again as I used to be ; and 
 now to think that I am really, really here ! — or, 
 perhaps, I am dreaming now — oh. Heaven grant that 
 it be not a dream ! Oh, do speak," she said, " and 
 tell me it is not a dream ! — do say that you will 
 never give me to that wicked woman again, who used 
 to beat me so 1" 
 
 "It is no dream," replied the merchant. "But 
 what mean you by praying of me not again to give 
 you to that wicked woman ? Did you not know that 
 you had been stolen away ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! I was made to believe," replied Anne, 
 "that I was really the child of that cruel woman, 
 Nan." 
 
 " Nan !" exclaimed every one present, inquiringly. 
 
 " Tes," said the child, " Nan ; she was always called 
 Nan ; I never heard any other name." 
 
 "Tou remember," she continued, turning toward! 
 I'iora and Edward, " the woman who came here on 
 that dreadful day, three years ago P Oh, that day ! 
 — never, never, shall I forget that day !" Anne, 
 (hiiddering, cast a glance round the room, as if almost 
 expecting to see the wretch lurking in some corner, 
 ready to seize her — " That woman was Nan. Mhe told 
 you that she was to take me to my mother. Tou 
 recollect how joyously I left the house with her, for I 
 
AKNE HEWET'S NABBATITE. 199 
 
 thought she told me the truth. I sang and danced 
 along across the Bridge, the woman holding fast by 
 my hand. The moment we had quitted the Bridge, 
 she turned suddenly down to the Bank-side, and along 
 some miserable and dirty lanes. I began to cry with 
 fear ; she dragged me on violently, and, with horrid 
 oaths, declared she would murder me if I did not 
 instantly cease my howling. We went on and on, 
 through places I had never seen before, to one more 
 dark and horrible than any I had yet passed through 
 — it was called the black arch of the Clink." 
 
 " I know it well," exclaimed William, " and a viler 
 spot is not in this great kingdom." 
 
 "At that black arch," continued Anne Hewet, 
 " there are three miserable dwellings ; the entrance 
 to one of them was by a rugged ilight of stone steps ; 
 she dragged me up them on my back, for I had become 
 so frightened, that I screamed and struggled to get 
 away : but I was very little then, and she dragged me 
 up as easily as if I had been a feather, for Nan -was 
 wonderfully strong. When she had me securely in 
 the room above, she gave me a violent blow on the side 
 of the head, and said, ' Now, mark me, if you cease 
 not your bellowing, I'll strip your skin off as quickly 
 as I do these clothes :' saying this, she began to tear 
 off my things. 
 
 " ' Where, where is my mother ?' I screamed out. 
 ' Here,' she said, ' here — I am your mother — the only 
 mother that you will ever know.' ' No,' I said, ' you 
 are not my mother ; she's all goodness and kindness, 
 sbe — ' 'She has done with you,' she replied; 'and 
 now know the truth — you were never Dame Hewet's 
 child, but mine. I lent you to her when she had lost 
 her own ; but she has found her real daughter, and 
 has returned you upon my hands : so now you know 
 they have turned you off, you will learn to obey me, 
 
 as a child should do, or but you know the weight 
 
 of my hand already, so dread it and be silent.' 
 
 " The woman soon stripped off aU my good clothes, 
 
200 EDWASD OSBOBM, 
 
 and replaced them with complete rags ; then making a 
 fire, she burnt ever^^thing that had belonged to me. 
 As she sat over the fire, I crept into a dark corner, 
 and wept myself fast asleep. "When I awoke, I found 
 myself alone: the room was large and dark — all 
 seemed in death-like silence ; a few rays of the moon 
 stole in at the broken window, which caused such 
 strange forms on the walls and floor, that I screamed 
 with fear. I found the door ; it was fastened securely 
 on the outside. I went to the casement ; it was very 
 high from the ground — not a sound was to be heard. 
 I watched the moon ; it must have been for hours ; 
 at last that sank, and I was in total darkness. Pre- 
 sently I heard a footstep approaching; I cared not 
 who it might be, for it was so dreadful to be alone, 
 that even the presence of my cruel mother, as I was 
 now to believe that woman, seemed a blessing to be 
 coveted : the door opened, and !N'an came in. 
 
 " ' Has no one been ?' she said ; ' I expected them 
 long ere this.' Nan, lighting a lamp, took out some 
 food from a basket she had brought with her, and 
 placing it on the table gave me some, and desired me 
 to take it with me to my bed, and after eating it, to 
 go to sleep as speedily as I could. She pointed out a 
 place under the stairs, that led to an upper room, in 
 which was a little hay and straw — this was my bed. 
 
 In the middle of the night, Kay the Clipper, with 
 two others, came to the Clink. I watched them from 
 the dark place in which 1 lay beneath the stairs ; now 
 and then I caught some sound that was familiar to me. 
 I faeaxd your name, father, and Edward's ; and the 
 tallest of the men, who, from his remarks, seemed to 
 have a dreadful hatred to all in this house, was 
 delighted when Nan pointed to the spot whereia I lay. 
 At last they all ascended to the rooms above, and I, 
 worn out with grief, fell into a deep slumber. 
 
 " The men remained there for some days, but from 
 their anxious looks, and incessant watehiugs from the 
 casement, it seemed to me that they were fearful of 
 
ANNE dewet's nabeativb. 201 
 
 being surpriaed. There were always mysterious nods, 
 and winks, and signs going on between Nan and the 
 Clipper. On the last day I was in that dreadful 
 place, I heard above my head the whole four quarrel- 
 ling and fighting. Presently Eay rushed down the 
 stairs, his face covered with blood ; be was pursued by 
 the tall man, who, seizing him just as he bad reached 
 the door, hurled him headloog down the long steps. 
 The woman, who was screaming above, and evidently 
 endeavouring to overcome the other man, at last 
 rushed down, franti* and foaming with rage. ' Have 
 you murdered him ?' she exclaimed. ' 1 hope I have,' 
 was the tall man's reply ; and snapping his fingers at 
 Nan, he ascended to the upper floor. 
 
 " The woman bit her lips, until I saw the blood 
 come from them ; and, turning suddenly to where I 
 was crouching in fear, she seized me by the hand, and 
 said, ' Come, come with me — this day shall end my 
 slavery ; my heart is now fixed, fixed as a rocls — 
 and he shall find it hard as one, or I will tear it out 
 
 from my breast, and But come, come ; life or death 
 
 may hang upon my speed.' I felt relieved at the 
 chance of any change, and as I knew how useless it 
 would be to oppose her, I started up, and with her 
 hurried from the place. We entered beneath the 
 black arch, and found Bay seated upon a stone, 
 stanching the blood which flowed from a dreadful 
 wound in his head. ' Eay,' said the woman, ' I have 
 determined ; your plans now are mine ; this day's 
 work has settled all between us. But tarry not here ; 
 he will soon discover my intentions, and then woe to 
 us both if we are overtaken !' The rest of my story is 
 Boon told," said Anne. " Eay had just bought a show 
 that went from fair to fair. I was made to dance, to 
 sing, to do anything. At last the idea struck Eay, 
 that as a contrast to the monster he had engaged, I 
 should be exhibited as the youthful Venus." 
 
 " Then it was you we saw at the monster show ?" 
 bruke in Flora ; " and that was the wretch of a woman 
 
202 EDTVABD OSBOKJfE. 
 
 ■who stole you away ? I knew it wns — I knew it 
 
 was 
 
 I" 
 
 " And Eay," said Edward, " the Clipper, as you 
 call hira, was no doubt the monster I suspected nim 
 to be." 
 
 " And, oh, gracious !" said the Bridge-shooter, 
 " then it might have been you I heard screaming, 
 as the ran passed the house, in its way across the 
 Bridge." 
 
 And the merchant, striking the table with his 
 clenched hand, exclaimed, " If I but live, there is not 
 a wretch amongst them that sha!l not be hunted 
 down, and brought to justice: no, not one of them 
 shall escape my vengeance." 
 
 " Ob, yes," said Anne, clinging to her father's arm ; 
 " yes, yes, there's one — one who has ever been kind to 
 the poor chUd, when she thought she had no other 
 friend on earth." 
 
 "Kind to you?" said the merchant — "to jou, 
 Anne — to you, my poor child 1 Then God's blessing 
 light upon him ! — he shall never want again ; he shall 
 be rich — he shall be happy, if wealth can make him 
 so. Tell me who it was." 
 
 " I never heard his real name," replied Anne ; "but 
 I called him grandfather : he was Nan's father. 
 
 " And he was so kind to me," continued Anne ; 
 " often and often used he to starve himself, that I 
 might not be hungered. They used to treat him 
 much worse than tbey did me, for he was old and 
 worn out ; and even his daughter, at times, would 
 stiike him, and ask him why he did not die — oh, they 
 were very cruel to him ! Ani but for him, perhaps I 
 never would have again beheld my dearly loved home." 
 
 She then told them of all that had passed after her 
 mother had so alarmed the people in the show; all 
 about the changing of the dresses, which at that time 
 she had not been able at all to comprehend. Then she 
 described to them how she had listened to Nan and 
 the Clippc- as she peeped from beneath her tent, and 
 
ANKE HEWIT'b NAHEATITB. 203 
 
 had, frcm their lips, discovered all the truth. "And, 
 oh," she said, " I thought my heart would have be- 
 trayed me to them, it beat so loudly, as I heard them 
 own that I was not Nan's child, but yours. I had 
 often before thought of running away, and coming 
 here to throw myself on my knees, and pray to be 
 your servant, so that I might be near you all ; but 
 then, I knew that if that wicked woman were indeed 
 my mother, you could have no power to keep me from 
 her, and I should be used far worse when she got me 
 back again ; but now I had learnt the truth, my heart 
 bounded within my breast. I could not rest an 
 instant. I silently tore away part of the covering of 
 my tent, and creeping out, crawled along on my hands 
 and knees, as close as I could to the ground, feariug, 
 in the moonlight, I might be seen. When I believed 
 myself out of their sight, 1 arose to my feet, and flew 
 across the heath towards the Tybourne Tree; but 
 before I reached it I was once more obliged to hide, 
 for the jingling of our horses' bells told me the rest of 
 our troop were coming. When they had passed, so 
 sore had my feet become, that I was compelled to 
 crawl along; and when I thought of the distance I 
 must travel ere I should reach this spot, all hope died 
 within me. Looking back, my alarm was redoubled, 
 for I could see lights moving about in every direction : 
 my escape had evidently been discovered. In hope- 
 less despair I threw mjself upon the ground at the 
 toot of Tybourne Tree, and prayed to die before they 
 should approach and find me. Nearer and nearer 
 some of them came ; then all the lights seemed to 
 recede again towards the spot whence they had started 
 — all but one, and that one came on, and on, slowly, 
 but steadily towards the very spot en which I lay. I 
 thought at that moment I should have gone mad with 
 fright, when suddenly I heard my name called in a 
 feeble voice — ' Anne, Anne, if you hear me, answer ; I 
 would save you.' So suddenly had hope again re- 
 Tived, that, rising on my knees, I called as loudly as 
 
204 EbWAED OSEOENS. 
 
 I could, ' Grandfather, prandfatber, I am here — ^here !' 
 for it was my only friend, it was the poor old man who 
 had always been so kind to me. ' Heaven be thanked,' 
 he exclaimed, ' that it is I who have found you ! Had 
 Nan discovered you, I believe she would have beaten 
 you to death. The moment your flight was detected, 
 I guessed at once that you had ov^heard the very 
 conversation which I myself had been secretly listen- 
 ing to : feeling that now you knew the truth, there 
 was but one direction you were likely to pursue, I 
 started, as swiftly as my worn-out limbs would bear 
 me, straight into the road to London. But you must 
 not lose a moment ; yonder lies your way ; here is a 
 little money :' and the poor old man put a few pence 
 into my hand. ' Tip, child, up arid away,' he said, 
 assisting me to rise. I told him how impossible it was 
 for me to proceed further. ' Then you are lost,' he 
 said, 'for Nan will not give up the hunt so easily ; I 
 know her too well for that. Tet there is a hope stUl 
 — this tree.' It was Tybourne Tree, a hopeless tree to 
 most, bat to me it was my aU. With the assistance of 
 the kind old man, and exerting all the strength I had, 
 I at last succeeded in reaching the thickly-shading 
 branches. ' On your life,' said the old man, ' stir not 
 until davlight shall show you that we have left the 
 place. G-od bless you, child I and sometimes think of 
 your poor old friend ; and Heaven be thy guard this 
 night !' — saying which, he turned away, and I was left 
 alone. I had not been there any great length of time, 
 when two horsemen came from the Bdgeware Boad, 
 and stopping beneath the tree, revealed to me by their 
 voices that they were the Clipper and another of the 
 troop. Presently they moved on slowly towards our 
 camp, and I felt for a moment relieved and safe ; but 
 I was doomed to be again alarmed, for ere long I 
 heard the horses' bells, the heavy rumble of the 
 wheels, and soon was made sensible that our whole 
 company was journeying towards the place of my con- 
 cealment. The line of vans, and carts, and tramp^a 
 
ANNE HEWBT'S NABEATITB. 206 
 
 passed round close beneath the tree; I could hear 
 their Toicea, and, between the leaves, could just discern 
 the various parties as they passed. When I thought 
 they had all gone, there was one still loitering behind, 
 it was the old man ; I saw him turn his face up to- 
 wards where I lay concealed — I heard him whisper 
 another blessing — and then again move slowly on. 
 
 "I cannot describe to you all the feelings that 
 passed through my mind that night. And when at 
 last daylight began to appear I crept lower down, 
 and finding that no human being was near, I ventured 
 to descend to the earth. I tore off part of my dress, 
 and tied the pieces round my feet ; and remembering 
 that as we came along the road I had seen a lonely 
 public, I managed, in time, to reach it ; the pence the 
 old man had given me, procured for me food, and 
 permission to lie upon some straw in the loft of the 
 stable. Here I slept nearly the whole day — when 
 night again came on I once more began my journey ; 
 it seemed endless ; every step I took appeared to 
 steal away my nerves ; and oh, can I ever forget the 
 painful joy that burst upon my heart, as I first be- 
 held our dear Old London Bridge. So worn out had 
 I become, from anxiety and fear lest I might never 
 reach my home again, that when I stood before the 
 door, I could not raise my hand to knock, nor my 
 voice to cry for help. I felt sick and dizzy, all 
 strength deserted my limbs, and I fell at the threshold 
 of my longed-for home. The rest you know. Oh, 
 mother, father! I am so happy, that I feel I could 
 die with joy." 
 
 As she said this, she again threw her arms round 
 the neck of her parents, and hugged and kissed every 
 one present, the Bridge-shooter not excepted. 
 
 The merchant began to consider the best course to 
 pursue, in order, if possible, to bring justice home to 
 those who had been guilty of stealing the child. 
 From what Anne had said, both the merchant and 
 Qsborne no longer doubted but that the Clipper was 
 
203 EBWAEB OSEOHNB. 
 
 the man whom Edward had at first suspected him to 
 be — namely, one of the three wretches of the marsh ; 
 and it was settled that not a moment should be lost 
 in obtaining the necessary powers to bring Nau and 
 her paramour to punisbment. 
 
 The whole party- were here made to start up, for 
 through tbe open casement flew something that fell 
 clattering upon the table. 
 
 "Gracious! what's that?" exclaimed Flora; then 
 picking up the cause of her alarm, she said, " why, 
 bless ree, it's a stone, and round it is tied a paper, 
 and see, there's, writing upon it." 
 
 The merchant took it from Flora, and untying the 
 string, found the paper was directed to Edward ; the 
 writing was in a female hand, and thus it ran: — 
 " Tbe moment you have received this, hurry with all 
 spee^ -to the Southwark end . of the Bridge ; as you 
 quit the gateway, say, as if to yourself, ' who can have 
 sent it ?' the answer you will receive, will at once 
 convince you that nothing but good is intended : take 
 no notice of the speaker, be whom it may, but follow : I 
 dare not say more ; many lives depend upon your 
 speed." 
 
 The attempt on tbe marshes, at once returned to all 
 present, for that had been brought about by an 
 anonymous communication; so to be on the safe side, 
 it was at once determined not to notice this mys- 
 terious summons in any way. 
 
 Tbe merchant telling the Bridge-shooter to go to 
 the barber surgeon, that he might attend to Edward's 
 wound, descended to his shop. In due course the 
 barber arrived, dressed the cut, which he declared, 
 owing to his infallable balsam, would be perfectly 
 healed by the next day. 
 
 As all parties had gone about their various concerns, 
 it was unnoticed for a long, time that the Bridie- 
 shooter had not returned. Poor Flora was the first 
 to remark the circumstance, and by degrees become 
 quite alarmed, when presently she exclaimed, " Oh, 
 
ANNB HEWfil'B NABHATITB. 207 
 
 here he comes, and running like a King's hound — 
 what can it mean ?" 
 
 " "Where's our master ?" enquired 'William, as ho 
 entered the house, quite out of breath. 
 
 " In yonder room," said Mora ; " but what is tbe 
 matter ?" 
 
 The Bridge- shooter, as he hurried to the room 
 behind the shop, replied, " Something that may turn 
 to a serious matter, for us all." 
 
 When the Bridge-shooter entered the back room he 
 was glad to find Edward with the merchant, so closing 
 the door, that the men in the shop might not hear 
 what he said, " Master !" he exclaimed, " you have not 
 a moment to lose, you must fly." 
 
 " What mean you ?" ejaculated both the merchant 
 and Edward, at the same moment. 
 
 " I mean what I say. In two hours from this time 
 it may be too late. In a few words I can tell you all. 
 Tou must know that when I had been to Pole-squeeze, 
 the surgeon, my curiosity was such that I could not 
 resist going to the Southwark gate, just to see if an/ 
 auspicious-looking persons were lurking about; the 
 only soul I saw was a poor nun begging, as there is at 
 the corner of every street a d lane Jlo^f. But tbougli 
 there was nobody ehe, I thought I'd try what charm 
 there was in the words Edward was told to repeat 
 there, so I said, ' Who can have sent it ?' The words 
 were scarcely out of my mouth, before the old nun 
 walking past me said softly, ' The Cripple !' She said 
 no more, but at once moved off. I stood for a moment 
 doubtful what to do ; but thinking that if the sum- 
 mons really came from the Cripple, there was surely. 
 no harm intended, but perhaps much good, I boldly- 
 started off after her. I kept at a good distance, but I 
 saw that every corner she peeped slily round to see that 
 I was in her track. And now where, of all places in the 
 world, think you she led me to ?" William did not wait 
 for an answer to his query, but said — " the very spot 
 where Anne was taken, the black arch of the Ohnk !" 
 
208 EDWABD OSBOENE. 
 
 " Good Heavens !" said the merchant, " are those 
 wretches there again?" 
 
 " You shall hear," replied William, and then went 
 on. " Before we arrived there, I began to look sus- 
 piciously about, for I liked not the quarters we were 
 ID, and when she pushed open the door immediately 
 under the black arch, and entered, I made a dead stop, 
 and was about to let my heels save my throat, for I 
 feared some treachery. 'Do you not know me ?' said 
 the nun ; ' have you forgotten the Abbess of St. Clair?' 
 She threw back her hood, and then I saw it was she. 
 
 "'Eoline and her husband are here,' she said; 
 ' ascend ; you'll find them above ; you will be as wel- 
 come as Edward would have been.' I groped my 
 way up the ruined staircase, and there, sure enough, 
 in the room above the archway, 1 found the Cripple 
 of the Bridge seated on the floor, supporting his blmd 
 wife in his arms — she was ill, and appeared almost 
 dying — not a bit of furniture was in the wretched 
 place; no bed, no couch, not even a stool. '"Why 
 did not Edward come ?' said the Cripple, ' I would 
 have done as much for him.' I told him of your hurt, 
 and also of our doubting whether to notice the sum- 
 mons or not, for no name being written, we all feared 
 it was the scheming of an enemy, not the wishes of a 
 friend. I enquired why he was there. ' Better to be 
 here and starve, than burning in the flames of Smith- 
 field. I forgot, dear child,' he said, addressing Eoline, 
 who clung closer to him as he spoke of the fire, ' I 
 forgot thee, dear one ; but fear not, we are both safe 
 here, if Edward, or William, have courage to befriend 
 a heretic •' He then told me, what in a degree we 
 already know, that ever since his marriage with Eoline 
 Horton has been employing every artful scheme to 
 bring about his destruction, and now, as a last effort;, 
 he has accused him of heresy, and of what in these 
 days is worse, the denial of the king's supremacy..- 
 ' But for the poor Abbess of St. Clair,' said the 
 Cripple, ' I had ere this have died upon the rack, for 
 
iNNfe HEWET's NARBJlTIYB. 209 
 
 if onco there, Horton will never let me leave it but 
 through the gate of death. Were I dead, Eolina 
 would be completely in his power, and that is all he 
 aims at." 
 
 " The fiend !" exclaimed the merchant ; " were it 
 but for the sake of Eoline, I will save them both — to 
 her I owe the life of my own dear Alyce — but for 
 Eoline, the burning ruins of tlie Convent had been her 
 grave." 
 
 "Alas, master!" rejoined the Bridge-shooter, "I 
 fear me much, that all your power will be required to 
 save yourself; the man now serving Horton, was once 
 a dependant of the Abbess ; he owed her a deep debt 
 of gratitude, and knowing somewhat of the great 
 interest she takes in all that concerns the blind beauty 
 of theMinories, he secretly divulged to her the designs 
 of Herton, not only regarding the intended destruc- 
 tion of the Cripple, but also of a warrant of suspicion 
 is^sued against you and yours. In two hours Horton 
 himself, with his minions, will be here to search the 
 house for unlawful and heretical books." 
 
 " Horton !" exclaimed the merchant, " he dare not ap- 
 proach this roof; but I will beard the villain, and — " 
 
 " Not for worlds !" interrupted the Bridge-shooter : 
 " no, no ; in these times a word may undo a man, and 
 bring him to the flames. The Cripple, who seems to 
 kn- w more than he chooses to divulge, has advised, 
 and his advice, I am sure is best — particularly as it is 
 your plan to keep the restoration of your daughter for 
 a time a secret — that you should secretly leave this 
 p'ace, taking with you your wife and child. All is 
 prepared ; even the tide favours your flight ; beneath 
 the Bridge I have stationed a covered barge, but light 
 as a feather, with six right honest Suuthwark lads, 
 that I have known for many a day, and could trust 
 my life with — they will make the barge fly like an 
 arrow through the flood. That even the neighbours 
 may not he aware of your departure, I have thought 
 of a plan by which you may leave your house unseea 
 14 
 
^10 EDWAEB OSEOBNE. 
 
 by any. The next house, the Caro'inaFs Hat, will be 
 closed till noon : I have sent the old woman who has 
 the care of it, on a fortune-telling scheme to my old 
 mother ; and while she is gone I promised to act the 
 warder. I can open the trap-door on the roof— by 
 that you can enter, and then descending to tbe lower 
 room, by the flight of steps that is there, reach the 
 eterling, and embark safely and secretly." 
 
 Tie merchant paused for a moment ere he answered 
 this strunge, this unexpected proposition ; when sud- 
 denly starting up he exclaimed — "It shall be so, for 
 such a scheme will tally well with the plans I have 
 now determined on. Edward and you will guard all 
 here — and for the sake of Boline, to whom I owe so 
 much, I charge you neglect not to look to hrr imme- 
 diate welfare ; consult with the Cripple, and without 
 telling him whence comes the aid, spare not my re- 
 sources to sjve them." 
 
 As not a racmeiit was to be lost, the reader may 
 imagine the bustle and excitement wliich now took 
 place. When all was prepared, IFewet placed a heavy 
 purse of gold in Edward's hand, bidding him employ 
 it aa he might best judge, according to circumstances, 
 as they arose. 
 
 They ascended to the roof of their own dwelling, 
 and easily passing through that of the CarJinal's 
 Hat, soon found themselves in the lower room. The 
 Bridge-shooter liited the trap-door, the very same 
 through which Horlon had entered the place, in tlie 
 b( ginning of our tale, and carefully, with the aid of 
 tbe merchant, succeeded in placing the three females 
 safely beneath the canopy of the barge ; the merchant, 
 as he placed his foot upon the boat, whiapered some- 
 thing in the ear of Edward, and then entered the bark. 
 
 The six South wark lads, the moment the boat had 
 drifted from beneath the Bridge, lowered their oars 
 with one dash into the flood, and then like giants 
 straining every nerve, made the frail bark quiver aa 
 each Btroke bore them in triumph away. 
 
AXNE HEWEt's XATlEATlTE. 211 
 
 The moment the boat was gone, EdwarJ and the 
 Bridge-shooter returned to their own abode, and 
 immediately began to make arrangements for the 
 comfort of the Cripple and the blind Eoline. 
 
 " The first thing," said the Bridge-shooter, " that 
 the poor souls want, is a bed of some sort, for the 
 bard boards make but a sorry couch for a dying girl 
 to lie on, and Eoline, I fear me, is dying." 
 
 " True," replied Edward, " and the one that can be 
 beat spared, is that on which I last night slept, in 
 Horton's old room. Make it up in the shape of a 
 bale of cloth, and then no one will wonder at 
 your load." 
 
 Not many minutes had elapsed after this arrange- 
 ment, before the Bridge-shooter might have been 
 seen, carrying a huge bale from his master's shop, 
 and wending his way towards Southwark. 
 
 He had not been gone an hour before great excite- 
 ment was caused, in all that part of the Bridge where 
 Hewet resided, at seeing ofScers of the ecclesiastical 
 courts of enquiry take possession of the Golden 
 Fleece ; and Horton, the well-known and unscru- 
 pulous tool of Cromwell, come to ferret out heresy, 
 if such a wicked thing could there be found. 
 
 AVhen Horton entered, he acted as though he had 
 never seen Edward in all his life before. "Where is your 
 master ?" he inquired, in a tone of insolent authority. 
 
 Edward was for a moment almost thrown off his 
 guard, for he had not yet arranged any excuse that 
 was likely to be received as a good and sufficient 
 reason for the absence of his master — " Gone," he 
 said, " gone — I know my place too well, to be inqui- 
 sitive about the movements of the good merchant ; 
 lie may have gone, and very likely has, to Elanders, 
 for he has a high commission from the King to fulfil, 
 connected with his Grace's intended marriage with 
 the Princess Anne of Cleves." 
 
 "Indeed!" replied Horton; and then addressing 
 the officers who accompanieJ him — "Let not this 
 
212 EDT7ABS OSBOBlfE. 
 
 youBg man stir from the spot he is in, while I witk 
 the searchers commence our duties." 
 
 The cause of Horton procuring the warrants of 
 search may easily be guessed at, when we find that 
 the first room he entered was not with the o£&cials, 
 but alone ; it was his own old dormitory. The mo- 
 ment lie cast his eyes around it — " The furies seize 
 them, I am foiled I" he exclaimed, for be saw at once 
 that all he cared to find was gone ; it was the bed, in 
 which was secreted the costly diamond, and those 
 deeds that alone could bring Eoline her rights. 
 Hoping that it might still be found in some other 
 room, he flew over the whole house, the ways of 
 which he knew so well, but failing to discover the 
 lost treasure, he descended to the room in which 
 Edward sat, still guarded ; and changing his whole 
 behaviour in the hopes of discovering in what way the 
 old mattress had been disposed of, he ordered his men 
 to leave the place ; then turning to his former brother 
 apprentice, he said smilingly, "Edward, I suppose 
 you scarcely knew me when I first came in, for times 
 have wonderfully changed with me since last I en- 
 tered this abode ; and the most painful part of that 
 great change Ues in the necessity arising out of my 
 o£Scial duties, which compel me to appear harsh and 
 ungrateful to my oldest and dearest friends. I need 
 not tell you how happy I feel, at finding nothing of 
 a dangerous nature here ; I have but slightly searched, 
 for I knew it would be so ; but yet I was obliged to 
 appear to those about me, that even to such old 
 friends as our good master and yourself, I would 
 show no undue favour." 
 
 Edward felt so disgusted with what he knew to be 
 hypocrisy, that he disdained to make reply. 
 
 Horton, who felt this coldness, but not having yet 
 gained his end, would not show he did so, continued — 
 " Why, Edward, you are lame ; no serious accident, 
 I trust ?" 
 
 " A n:ere slight cut," replied Edward ; " I slept 
 
ANNJ3 hewet's naruativj). 213 
 
 lasb night ia your old room ; a tbief attempted to 
 enter by tile window." 
 
 " Last night ?" exclaimed Horton, with unfeigned 
 surprise. 
 
 " Tes," replied Edward ; " but he will not trouble 
 UB again, for I suspect I shot him through the brain, 
 and as I ran towards the little casement, I cut my 
 foot against something sharp, which, upon exami- 
 nation, turned out to be a piece of knife that was 
 sticking in the floor, and that seemed stained with 
 blood." 
 
 Horton turned away, as he felt his own blood flying 
 from his face, for at that instant every dreadful act 
 that had occurred in that room, flew on the wings of 
 conscience, like a dagger into his heart. 
 
 " I was fortunately well provided with arms, for 
 you see we have made that room our armoury." 
 
 " Tes," said Horton, recovering himself, " you have 
 greatly changed the place, even the old bed is gone ; 
 it was a great favourite of mine; I passed many a 
 happy night upon it ; where is it now ?" 
 
 This was a very awkward question for Edward to 
 answer; but before he could make a reply, the 
 Bridge-shooter entered. 
 
 " Have you left the bale as directed ?" enquired 
 Osborne, with a look of meaning, as he glauced to 
 wards Horton. 
 
 "Tos, Master Edward," replied William, "audit 
 arrived just in time." 
 
 Horton continued, not deigning to notice the 
 Bridge-shooter — " Tes I would not mind a trifle to 
 obtain that old memento of my happiest days:" here 
 he put ou a very sentimental look. 
 
 Edward, again giving "William a peculiar glance, 
 said, "Master Horton is enquiring after the bed that 
 used to be in his little room below." 
 
 " Oh !" said the Bridge-shooter, " that has been 
 burnt I don't know how long — indeed I can't tell 
 when. Tou see, that superstitious people don't fancy 
 
214 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 using a bed again on ■which a murdered body has been 
 placed, BO after Sir Filbut " 
 
 "Pshaw!" ejaculated Horton rising, but his lips 
 were white and quivering, notwithstanding his efforts 
 to appear unconcerned — " Pshaw ! if the thing be 
 burnt, why, there's an end of it; and I hardly Isnow 
 why I lost my breath in enquiring about it at all. 
 Osborne, when you communicate with our good 
 master, for I still love to call him such, tell him as 
 gently as you may of this my visit ; duty alone com- 
 pelled it, but if I can, for bis good sake, prevent a 
 further examination into the reports that now are 
 current against him, he may depend upon aU my 
 power to shield him." Saying this, Horton with his 
 crew departed from the Bridge. 
 
 We must now, for an instant, take a glance at the 
 black arch of the Clink, for here a strange incident 
 occurred, a few nights after the day of which we 
 have been writing. The reader has already been in- 
 formed that close to the black arch there stood three 
 old dilapidated dwellings ; in that over the archway, 
 the Cripple of the "Bridge-gate-tower, but now the 
 guardian of that tower and its ghastly heads no 
 longer, had taken refuge ; the other two, when he 
 first took up his abode in that locality, so dangerous 
 to the honest, so safe for the rogue, were empty. 
 The nigbt after he had arrived, as he sat watching 
 Eoline, as she lay in a feverish slumber, he thought 
 he heard the sound of voices in the street, or lane 
 below ; he peeped from the window, whence he perr 
 ceived a man and woman with a lantern ascending the 
 large flight of steps before mentioned ; they entered 
 the house, and all was still and dark. Two nights 
 after this, the moon had risen with unusual splendour, 
 and in consequence of the aid, stealthily but kindly 
 sent from Edward by the Bridge-shooter, Eoline had 
 so rallied that she with her darling husband was at 
 the casement. He was endeavouring to explain to 
 her the idea of moonlight. The poor Cripple was 
 
ANKE HEWET'S NAEBATITE. 215 
 
 just about to give up the hopeleaa task, whea sud- 
 denly he checked his speech, for Eoline, clinging fear- 
 fully to his arai, whispered, "Hush, hush! — there 
 are footsteps near." 
 
 The Cripple listened, but no sound could he dis- 
 tinguish. 
 
 " Yes, yes," she said, " there are, six — seven — eight 
 feet moving ; four of them fall heavier upon the earth 
 than do the others." 
 
 And presently tbey saw issuing from the arch 
 beneath them four men ; the one v?ho seemed the 
 leader of the party appeared to have his head covered 
 with thick bandages of some sort ; he was tall and 
 heavUy built; the other three bore between them 
 something that resembled the body of a man. Not a 
 word was spoken, but the tall man, who ever and 
 anon placed one hand to hia head as if suffering from 
 pain, pointed bis commandii with the other. 
 
 The tbree men raised their load upright, and it was 
 then evident to the Cripp'e that what they had 
 brought was a dead body . At the foot of the long 
 flight of steps stood a tail wooden post ; to th's they 
 tied the corse, in an upright position ; • the head 
 fell deathlike upon the shoulder ; and now the 
 Cripple could discern that from ar»und the dead 
 man's neck hung down the two ends of a rope, as 
 telling the fearful tale of murder by strangulation. 
 While the three men were thus employe.!, the fourth, 
 he with the bandaged head, was fumbling with an old 
 key in the rusty lock of the door of the house, oppo- 
 site to that of the steps. When the horrid work 
 performing by t'le trio was ended, the taU man ap- 
 proaching the dead body, gazed for a moment in i;s 
 face — then laughed aloud, and spitting at it, he with 
 the other wretches entered the third dwelling, and 
 all again was still. 
 
216 II}Wi.BS OSBORSK. 
 
 CHAPTBE XIX. 
 
 rilGHT or TEE CBIPPLE. 
 
 For though we sleep, or -wale, or roam, or ride, 
 Aye fleeteth the time — it will no man abide. 
 
 Chattcsb. 
 
 The horrid scene which the Cripple had just witnessed 
 made him feel that the danger of his own position was 
 greatly increased. He knew, that if the body were 
 found there by the authorities, a searching investiga- 
 tion might jierhaps take place, and his own conceal- 
 ment be betrayed. As he was thus musing, he heard 
 a footstep approaching beneath the blai-k arch. At 
 the same time he saw plainly that the four men were 
 watching from the windows of the bouse they had 
 entered. The person who issued from the archway 
 was the same woman whom he had seen with the 
 lantern ascending the steps in company with a man. 
 As he approached the body, she suddenly started ; 
 then looking closer — " Heavens and earth !" she said, 
 " 'tis the body of a man !" Then raising her lantern 
 towards the face, she uttered a shriek, and exclaimed 
 with anguish, " 'Tis he I 'tis he ! they have murdered 
 him 1" She started on hearing a shout of laughter 
 behind her; and turning, saw the four men : he with 
 the bandaged head exclaimed—" "We have murdered 
 him, your beautiful Bay, the Clipper ! Ha ! ha ! 
 Spikely never yet remained unrevenged. Bind her to 
 the same stake," he said, turning to the men; but 
 before they could reach her she had flown up the steps, 
 entered the house, and secured the door within. 
 Spikely's rage at her escape was ungovernable. He 
 flew at the door like a bull ; but it resisted all his 
 efforts. He then changed hia tone, and, told her 
 he meant her no harm ; and that all should be fcr- 
 given and forgotten. He listened, but received uo 
 
FLIGHl or THE CBIPPLE. 217 
 
 reply. The Cripple meanwhile saw the woman come 
 from the attic window, and creeping along the gutters, 
 pass over several ruinous houses ; and turning round 
 a corner, was hid from view. 
 
 When Spikely had lost all patience he vowed, that 
 rather than not reward her as she deserved, he'd fire 
 the whole place, and burn her like a rat. As he was 
 Baying this, a lad hurrying from beneath the arch, 
 said something in a low quick tone ; and, without a 
 moment's delay, the body was unfastened from the 
 post, and conveyed to the house whence they had come. 
 
 Scarcely a minute elapsed after they had disappeared 
 before the watch,mBking their round, came in sight. 
 
 The watch passed on ; and in a short time the men 
 again issued silently from the door ; and as silently 
 disappeared beneath the black arch. 
 
 The next morning the Bridge-shooter brought the 
 
 goer Cripple the cheering news that Edward Osborne 
 ad prepared every thing for their flight to the Ne- 
 therlands. It was settled that an hour before the 
 moon rose, Eoline should be carried by the Bridge- 
 shooter and the Cripple on the mattress as she lay, 
 and conveyed some distance on the road to Green- 
 wich, where a boat would be in readiness to bear 
 them all to the vessel. 
 
 As the hour approached for carr^iing the scheme 
 into execution, Edward and the Bridge-shooter were 
 surprised by the Lord Mayor appearing, mounted, in 
 full harness ; followed by some hundreds of armed 
 men. This warlike movement, which was one of not 
 infrequent occurrenae, was rendered necessary in con- 
 sequence of a report brought in by the watch. It 
 appeared that the "Bishop of Winchester's birds," 
 for that was the name by which the ruffians who took 
 sanctuary in the Clink or the Mint, were known, had 
 fixed upon that night to make a foray into the city, 
 for the purpose of robbery. 
 
 The one half of the Bridge being choked up with 
 ioldicrs, and the gates closed, Edward and the Bridge< 
 
218 EDWAED OaBOENE. 
 
 shooter were compelled to reach Southwark by s 
 different route ; so, hurrying through the city to Paul's 
 "Wharf, they there took boat, and proceeded towards 
 the opposite shore. 
 
 They soon effected a safe landing, and by the aid of 
 the Bridge-shooter's local knowledge, were in a few 
 minutes at the door beneath the black arch. 
 
 All had long been in readiness, and there beiug 
 every reason for immediate flight, they at once left the 
 place, and in a very short time, the Cripple, with his 
 Eoline and the Abbess, were on board the good mer- 
 chant's vessel. 
 
 While these incidents were taliing place, Master 
 Hewet, with Alyce and his newly-found daughter, and 
 Flora Gray, had arrived safely at Putney. Here, by 
 the assistance of old Cromwell, he was at once enabled 
 to settle in a most beautiful ^et^ea^, and t king the 
 name of Allen, the better to throw his enemies off the 
 scent, he began to lay out his plans for the future 
 happiness of those dependent upon him. Innocent as 
 he knew himself to have ever been regarding his 
 religious views, still, even the accusation of heresy, in 
 such times, was a thing not to be regarded with in- 
 difference ; it was, therefore, with infinite satisfaction 
 he heard Eilward Osborne's account of the interview 
 he had had «ith Horton. 
 
 And here our tale must pass over a period of eight 
 years, during which, the merchant enjoyed an un- 
 interrupted course of prosperity and happiness. These 
 eight years had been eventful ones to the history of 
 the country. Protestants and Papists had intrigued 
 for the destruction of each other ; and under the 
 tyranny of Henry, both had suffered so much, that 
 a Frenchman is said to have exclaimed, " Good God ! 
 how do people make a shift to live here, where Papists 
 are hanged and Anti-papists burnt 1" 
 
 Cromwell had been created Earl of Essex, and after 
 enjoying his dignity for a short time, had been 
 executed at Tower Hill in 1540. Horton and his 
 
BEASSINJAW IN A NfiW OHABAOIER. 219 
 
 coadjutor, Spikely, on the death of their powerful 
 patroo, had been obliged for safety to betake them- 
 selveB to a foreign land. 
 
 Henry had married his sixth wife, and had become 
 so enormously fat, that numerous attendants were 
 required to move him from room to room ; and death 
 baring at last come to him as it had to so many of his 
 victims, our next chapter opens with the rejoicings 
 on the coronation of his successor. 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 EBASSIITJAW IN A HEW CHAEACTEK. 
 
 And on the morrow when the day 'gau spring, 
 Of horse and harness, noise and clattering 
 There was iu the hosteMes all about. 
 And to the palace rode there many a rout 
 Of lord&s, upon steedfes and palfreys. 
 
 Chavceb. 
 
 Tes, Edward the Sixth, although a boy scarcely 
 past his ninth year of age, was now King of England. 
 
 The coronation being fixed for the twentieth of 
 Pebruary, it was arranged that on thenineteenth the 
 King should pass in grand procession from the Tower, 
 through the city of London, and sleep that night iu 
 his city of "Westminster, preparatory to his coronation 
 in Westminster Abbey on tlie following day. 
 
 Exactly at one of the clock, the booming of cannon 
 told the anxious expectants that the King had left 
 the Tower, and the populace set up a shout of delight 
 that rent the air : incense was waving in every direc- 
 tion, and scenting the breeze with holy perfume. 
 
 In order that his loving subjects might the better 
 view his person, the King rode a step or two in 
 advance of a sumptuous square canopy. His High- 
 ness was richly apparelled in a gown of cloth of silver, 
 all over embroidered with damask gold ; he wore a 
 girdle of white velvet, wrought with Venice silver and 
 precious stones, such as rubies and diamonds, with 
 
320 XSWABD pSBOBIfX. 
 
 true-love knots of pearls, and a doublet of white 
 Tel vet, embroidered with Venice silver, and garnisht-d 
 in like manner with precious stones and pearls ; his 
 cap and buskins were also of white velvet, and in like 
 manner adorned. His horse was caparisoned with 
 crimson satin, richly ornamented with pearls and da- 
 mask gold. His Highness's footmen, in rich coats, were 
 on either side of the canopy, which was borne \>y six 
 knights. Behind the King came Sir Anthony Brown, 
 Master of the Horee, leading a goodly courser of 
 honour, very richly trapped. 
 
 At the Conduit on Cornhill was a pageant, hung 
 and garnished with arms, whereon was put a proper 
 conduit, which continually ran with sweet wine. On 
 the same pageant were divers instruments and goodly 
 singing ; and two children pronounced to the King's 
 Highness two poetical speeches ; and then was sung 
 the following stanzas, the God Save the King of those 
 days : — 
 
 King Edvrard, King Edward, 
 
 0od save King Edward, 
 
 God save King Edward, 
 
 King Edward the Sixth — 
 
 To have the sword. 
 
 His subjects to defend. 
 His enemies to put down 
 According to right in every town. 
 
 And long to continue 
 
 In grace and virtue, 
 
 Unto God's pleasure. 
 
 His Commons to rejoice ! 
 Whom we ought to honour, to love, and dread, 
 
 As our most noble King, 
 And sovereign, Lord, 
 Next unto God, of England and Ireland the supreme head ; 
 
 Whom God hath chosen 
 
 By his mercy so good. 
 Good Lord in Heaven, to thee we sing. 
 Grant our noble King to reign and spring, 
 Erom age to age 
 
 Like Solomon the sage, 
 Whom God preserve in peace and werre, 
 And eafoly keep from all dangh-, 
 
BHASSIKJAW IN A IfEW CHARACTER. 221 
 
 T}ii8 song gave infinite deliglit to the public, who 
 shouted the last two lines in full chorus. 
 
 A little further on was to be seen "a double 
 scaffold hung with cloth of gold and silk, besides 
 rich arras, and an allegorical representation of the 
 young monarch himself, personified by a child 
 apparelled in rich cloth of gold, and a robe of crimson 
 patin, and seated upon a throne, which was upheld by 
 four other children, representing Begalitt, having a 
 sceptre in his hand; Justice, with a sword ; Thuth, 
 with a book ; and Mehct, with a " little curtain," or 
 pointless sword. 
 
 Eeqalitx, addressing the King, said, " Eule and 
 govern prudently " — and Justice observed, " And do 
 justice condignly " — which was followed by Meect, 
 saying, "But mix with mercy" — "that the truth 
 may stand surely," said Truth, " and your throne 
 may endure permanently." 
 
 But at the Cross in Cheap, or a little beyond, we 
 must halt for a moment, for it was here the king 
 received, perhaps, what appeared to him the plea- 
 santest token of his people's affection, namely, a 
 purfe with a thousand marks of gold in it, presented 
 by the mayor, attended by the recorder, the cham- 
 berlain, and the aldermen. 
 
 TLe King getting heartily tired of so many sights, 
 did not stop to look at the pageant of St. George and 
 the Dragon. 
 
 And the procession entered St. Paul's Churchyard, 
 and passed on to the Great Conduct in Pleet Street, 
 where a pageant was also set up, and children ap- 
 peared in the favourite characters of Truth, Faith, 
 and Justice. 
 
 The last show was at Temple Bar. The gates had 
 been painted in fanciful colours, and the battlements 
 hung, as usual, with rich cloths of arras. Fourteen 
 standards of flags were there, and eight trumpeters — 
 all Frenchmen, who blew their instruments in a 
 feshiou known only in their own country. Here the 
 
222 EBTVAED OSBOENE. 
 
 good citizens took a loving farewell of their king, and 
 the procession passed on to "Westminster without 
 further interruption. 
 
 An now we must return to the Cardinal's Hat, 
 where a glorious supper was, upon this auspicious 
 occasion, to be given by mine host, Brassinjaw, to a 
 select circle of his worshipful customers. 
 
 Tiie lower room of the tavern had been fancifully 
 decorated ; and all the decorationa were compli- 
 mentary to the new king. Father Brassinjaw was 
 also decked out for the occasion : a silken hood, or as 
 he called it, his " liripoop," hung behind ; a broad 
 collar of fine linen, scolloped round the edges, was 
 about Ills neck, and came down one-!hird way over 
 liis breast ; his pouch, of black velvet, had been made, 
 according to his orders,, both large and deep. At his 
 left side he wore a double sheath of diiggers; his 
 stocks were gartered beneath his knees, but would, 
 when puUed up, reach a good way above them. 
 
 Eight heartily did he receive his " dearly beloved 
 friends," as he called his twenty or thirty guests; and 
 when assembled they certainly formed a most motley 
 group. Here was the carpenter, with his hammer 
 and adze stuck in his girdle ; the dyer, with his hands 
 tinted with a mixture of every colour under the sun ; 
 then came the weav<T, arm-in-arm with the maker of 
 tapestry ; and a numerous lot of haberdashers. A few 
 military men were there too ; but the oddest party of 
 all were about half-a-dozen nondescript looking per- 
 sonages, who had formerly been Grey Friars ; their 
 dresses were formed of all kinds of material, colour 
 and stjle ; these had once been old cronies of Brass- 
 injaw's in happier times, and now were welcomed 
 here, as he asserted, out of " sheer charity ;" but the 
 tiuth was, they were comical fellows, and brought to 
 that house many a spendthrift customer, to hear their 
 droU tales, and roystering ditties. 
 
 The ban(][uet which he had prepared was rich in the 
 extreme, for it contained many delicacies which wero 
 
BKASSHfJAW m A NEW CITAHACTETl. 223 
 
 seldom seen but upon the tables of tlie great. Some 
 few of the articles might not be thought very delicate 
 in our days, but were actually esteemed as such by 
 our forefathers. 
 
 The signal being given, the guests hurried to their 
 seats, and just as BraFsinjaw had exclaimed, "Ua^ws- 
 tibiis non est disputandum ; so take what you will, my 
 masters, there is here ■withal something to suit all 
 tastes" — yes, just as he had finished this strange sort 
 of grace, a heavy clattering was heard upon the stairs, 
 leading down to the lower room in which they were ; 
 the guests starting at the noise, looked round, and 
 there behtld a knight in full armour ; followed, not by 
 his esquire, but by a sort of monster, covered all 
 over with scales. The new comers were the valiant 
 St. George and the Dragon ; and the knight taking 
 cif his helmet, and the Dragon his nead, displayed the 
 well-known features of Diddle 'em Downy and Ugly 
 Tom. 
 
 Poor Downy had received a deadly blow to all his 
 hopes, by the King paatiug on without vouchsafing a 
 hearing to the splendid speech he had been for weeks 
 concocting, fo he washed down his disappointment 
 with copious draughts of Eomney sack, and very 
 shortly caine out as brilliant and lively as ever. 
 
 Boisterous and jolly was the party ; and there were 
 great discussions about the vanous pageants of the 
 day, but this being rather a sore subject with Diddle 
 'em, Brassinjaw, to save his friend from the painful 
 dilemma into which such conversation would lead him, 
 proposed a song. 
 
 The moment the song was intimated, evtry eye 
 turned upon Diddle'em Downy ; but Bras-injaw, to 
 relieve the disappointed droll, roared out " No, no, my 
 
 fallants ; no Diddle em' yet ; for who can sing ajier 
 )iddle 'em ? but even I, Master Brassinjaw, the jolly 
 vintner of the Bridge, don't mind before ; so to set the 
 concert going, list ye roysterers all to me." 
 Saying this, he cleared his throat with a pint of 
 
224 fiDtTARfi OSBOfilfl:. 
 
 sack, and, falling into the humour of the times, sang 
 the following ditty — 
 
 I'll sing you a song, 
 
 That shall not be too long ; 
 But one that each tma English heart, should e'er sing ; 
 
 'Tie bom, sure, for fame. 
 
 Would you ask me its name ? 
 ' Tis — ^Down with the pope, boys, and up with the king ! 
 Then join me in chorus, and loyally sing, 
 Down, down with the pope, boys, and up with the king ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Now, as poor "Peter-pence*" 
 
 We hare driven from- hence, 
 Some pence to our own share may fall, let ua hope j 
 
 And won't its sweet chinking. 
 
 In my pouch, I'm thinking, 
 Sound better by far, than in that of pope ? 
 Then join me in chorus, and loyally sing, 
 Down, down with the pope, boys, and up with the king t 
 
 III. 
 
 If you'd have no more flames. 
 
 Frighting men, maids, and dames, 
 No stakes — but of beef— no, nor axe, racks, nor rope ; 
 
 Why, take my advice, 
 
 Nor stay to think twice. 
 But up with the king, boys, and down with the pope ! 
 Then join me in chorus, and loyally sing, 
 Down, down with the pope, boys, and up with the king ! 
 
 As the singer was the giver of the feast, it is not 
 astonishing that this loyal ditty met with a storm of 
 approbation. Over and over again did the company 
 roar out the two concluding lines. Just as they were 
 repeating, for the twentieth time, the words " Down, 
 down " sure enough, down fell Diddle 'em back- 
 wards. His fright made him cry out lustily, which, 
 
 • " Peter-pence." A tax, for a long course of years paid by 
 the English to the Pope of Kome. 
 
BBi.SSIlTUW TS A NEW OHABA.OTEB. 225 
 
 added to the clatter of hi3 armour, caused Buch an 
 uproar, that every one started to his feet. Their sur- 
 prise was in no small degree heightened, by seeing a 
 man's head protruding through the floor. The fact 
 was, that Downy's seat being placed upon part of the 
 trap-door, which led to the sterling below, by this 
 being upraised from beneath, he was thrown over, and 
 it was the head of the man who had lifted the trap 
 which they now looked upon. The man, seeming to 
 know the place well, at once mounted, and, looking 
 around, aa if in search of some one he expected to 
 see there, enquired whether " the host was there, or 
 gone to the devil r"' 
 
 Brassinjaw stood looking intently upon the stranger, 
 but said not a word. At last, the company pointing 
 him out, the man, after surveying him from head to 
 foot, exclaimed — " That mine host ? no, no ! 'tis not 
 he I sought ; I know him not !" then looking closer, 
 he continued, " and yet, there is a twinkle in that eye 
 which seems familiar to me." 
 
 " Although you know not me," replied Brassinjaw, 
 " I know you full well, notwithstanding that years 
 have passed away, and you now come back, accoutred 
 in the gear of a foreign soldier. But let us not stop 
 the hilarity of this right festive eve by prosy expla- 
 nations — for one night you are a welcome comer: 
 what may after happen, will be the child of chance. 
 Spikely, be merry, as the guest of your once sworn 
 friend, the saintly Father Brassinjaw." 
 
 16 
 
226 EBWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXL 
 
 A TIMEIT EESCTJE. 
 
 So discreet and fair of eloquence 
 So benign, and so digne of reverence, 
 And could so the people's heart embrace. 
 That each her loreth that looketh on her face. 
 
 Chaucbb. 
 
 The merchant and his whole household had visited 
 London, to see the grand procession which we have 
 described in the previous chapter, and were now on 
 their return to the quiet retreat at Putney. 
 
 Anne had reached that sweetest of all epochs in a 
 female life — the hud of womanhood, when every leaf 
 is opened by the flattering breath of Hope, when 
 Truth's bright wings seem fluttering o'er all around. 
 
 Anne had not outgrown the promise of her infant 
 beauty : the same sweet lovely face, that had caused 
 her to be called the Infant Vtnus of the show, was 
 there — the same luxuriant tresses, in graceful ringlets, 
 fell, over and partially hid from view her sweetlj- 
 moulded shoulders, and defctnding, reached nearly tj 
 the waist. 
 
 When our party had reached Charing Cross, they 
 halted for a moment, for such crowds of persons filled 
 up the road down to Holbein's beautiful gate of 
 Whitehall, which then stood across the road near 
 w here the Horse G-uards now is, that the merchant 
 turned up Hedge Lane, a pretty lane, with hedges on 
 each side, afterwards known as Whitcomb Street, now 
 a dirty and inconvenient, bnt much used thoroughfare, 
 just beyond the National Gallery. This lane was 
 chosen in preference to the the next turumg, called, 
 even then, the "Haymarket," as being more retired. 
 At the top of this lane they turned to the left into 
 what now is Coventry Street and Piccadilly, then an 
 open country road, called the " Waye to Eedinge :" 
 this road passed straight on beyond the comer at 
 
A TIMELY RE8CUS. 227 
 
 Hyde Park, to tlio Knight's Bridge. Passing this 
 bridge, they entered Bell Lane, well known in these 
 days as Brompton Eow : and on to the common of 
 Chelsea, which led to the top of Church Street, still 
 60 called. Near Church Street was the ferry. 
 
 Tliey soon passed the ferry, put spurs to their 
 horses, and, at a good round pace, they made no 
 stop until they reached the heath, and were once 
 more comfortably at home. 
 
 After having exhausted al the topics whic'i the 
 wonderful sights they had that day seen gave rise to, 
 the conversation gradually took a more sombre tone, 
 and was settling into that exciting, but absurd strain, 
 of telling ghost stories, when they were all startled by 
 Alvce sudilenly exclaiming, "hush!" almost in a 
 V hi^per, her eyes Stirling with fear ; •' hush ! 'tis 
 there again." 
 
 Every £ice evinced anxiety, for in the night-breeze 
 could distinctly be heard a sweet and melancholy air, 
 in flute-like tones. 
 
 After the last sad note had died away, the merchant 
 endeavoured to persuade them t!iat it was merely 
 the sighing of the wind through tlie boughs of the 
 tre s, aided by their own heated imaginations. 
 
 " But, fatber, dear father," said Anne, " we have 
 heard it before for several nights, and 'tis not likely 
 the boughs of trees would sigh the self-same air again 
 and again. I could sing it, were I not afraid." 
 
 " Dejist, desist, foolish girl !"' siid the merchant, 
 sLarply ; " we have talked upon these follies too long 
 already : so to rest, all of ye !" 
 
 Flora, taking the lamps, attended Alyce and her 
 diughter to their rooms, and Edward and William 
 retired also to their several apartments. 
 
 "When Edward had entered his room, he lighted his 
 lamp, which hung by a long line from the ceiling, and 
 the room being warm and close, he left the "jrindow 
 open, and seatiog himself near the table, for a time 
 wae completely lost in a reverie. 
 
228 fefiWAfis oSfiOBiTJ:. 
 
 Suddenly he started up, for in his ear was mur- 
 muring the very air they had that night heard with 
 BO much dread. It was but a strain, and all again 
 was still. 
 
 To add to his alarm, the lamp suddenly fell from 
 the ceiling and was extinguished ; and again he started 
 at hearing a repetition of the very same strain he had 
 so recently heard — it lasted but for a second. 
 
 ^Notwithstanding all bis firmness and determination, 
 large drops would start from his brow. He hurried 
 to his couch, and flinging himself, dressed as he was, 
 beneath the coverlid, passed an anxious and almost 
 sleepless night. 
 
 Edward Osborne remained for several hours in a 
 state of mysterious apprehension, and it was not until 
 morn, that sleepless fear gave way to sleep's sweet 
 81 If. As lie descended to the early meal, lie was 
 debating with himself, how he should best reveal what 
 he had heard in the dead hour of night, when, from 
 the very room he was about to enter, he again heard 
 the air which had so startled him in the night. He 
 opened the door suddenly, and stood bewildered 
 before the whole family, who had already assembled, 
 and were now in high glee, and laughing heartily. 
 
 " Heavens !" exclaimed Anne, running to him, 
 " what ails you ? Why, Edward, you are ill !" 
 
 Osborne observing that all the rest of the party 
 had smiles on their races, felt the colour rise into his 
 cheeks, from shame at his own fears. 
 
 " We were afraid," continued Anne, " that you had 
 heard the ghost in the night, as Flora did." 
 
 "Has Mora heard it too?" enquired Edward, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Oh, yes!' replied the laughing girl, "and we've 
 found him. Tes, we have, we have fouud the ghost." 
 
 " Ghost indeed !" said Flora ; " no. Master Edward, 
 but we have discovered the cause for our alarm : last 
 night I was turning and tossing in my bed, think- 
 ing of all sorts of horrid things, when I was made 
 
X IIICELT BESCUE. 229 
 
 almost to jump out of my skin, by hearing the air 
 again : it came from Mistress Anne's room. I took 
 my lamp, and plucking up all my courage, I entered, 
 and there I found — now what do you think I found ? 
 — why, my sweet yoimg mistress fast asleep, singing 
 the very tune : she has got it quite pat, and was just 
 now humming it to us." 
 
 Osborne again quite blushed, for he remembered 
 that a mere partition divided his own room from that 
 of Mistress Anne's. " But you said just now, you 
 had found the ghost," observed Edward, still clinging 
 to the mysterious. 
 
 "No, M»e have not," replied Plora, "but Bridget, 
 the dairymaid, has. When she heard the music first, 
 she thought it was some wandering- minstrel passing 
 along, so going to the gate, there she found a very 
 nice young man, playing upon a flute, and she gave 
 him a silver penny. The same minstrel passes here 
 every night." 
 
 " Come to breakfast," said the merchant, " and let 
 U9 make a ghost of that; tbe horses wUl be here anon, 
 and it's but sorry travelling this time of year, unless 
 one has a good lining to one's jerkin." 
 
 " Then you must go, William ?" said Alyce kindly. 
 
 " Ay, sweetheart, and, alack ! I know not for how 
 many days, nay, perhaps weeks ; but Edward and his 
 squire there shall come down on Saturdays as usual, 
 and Flora " 
 
 " Lawks, master !" said Elora, " I forgot that I, 
 too, am to go to-day ; my old aunt at Hampton is ill ; 
 I have a great mind not to go." 
 
 " Indeed, but you must, Flora — I insist," said 
 Alyce. " It may perhaps be the last time you may 
 ever see your aunt in this world ; go, by all means ; 
 Anne and I shall do right well, believe me." 
 
 A short time more, and the horses were at the 
 door. 
 
 Alyce and her daughter put on their walking gear, 
 and with the merchant and Edward, who led their 
 
230 ESWABS OSBOBITB. 
 
 horses, etrolled for a mile along the road towards 
 London. 
 
 After arranging that Anne was to write to Edward, 
 should any thing of importance occur, the merchant 
 and Edward mounted, and riding off at a brisk iro*', 
 were soon lost to sight. 
 
 They had not gone far, before they met with two 
 ill-looking ruffians ; the one was an old roan, the 
 other about thirty, but both were athletic, and had a 
 dash of the military swagger about them. So infested 
 had every road become with mendicants of every 
 description, that they would have been passed by 
 unnoticed, had not the elder one placed himself before 
 the hortes, and taking oflf his cap, as did the o:her, 
 began to beg. — " Hast no charity, master ?" said the 
 man. 
 
 " Ay, marry," replied the merchant, " plenty for 
 those who deserve it ; and that you may not have an 
 excuse for doing worse — there, take that !" and as he 
 said this he threw a piece of money upon the ground ; 
 it fell at the side of the horse ; the old man stooped 
 to pick it up, as the young one said, "Have you 
 nothing more ? This won't do !" He seized the 
 merchant's rein ; but almost at the same moment let 
 it loose again, for a terrific blow from the butt-eud of 
 Hewet's riding-whip nearly broke his wrist. The 
 merchant and Edward waited not an instant; bu^, 
 putting spurs to their horses, galloped off. 
 
 " Curses on you for a fool !" exclaimed the old 
 man ; " couldn't you see what I was about ? la 
 another moment I kad lifted him off by the heel, head 
 foremost ; when down, one blow with your staff would 
 have settled him, and the ether fellow would have 
 flown for his life: he was worth the plucking. I 
 know him v, ell, although he has forgotten me." 
 
 The young one said nothing to his mate; but, 
 rubbing his wrist, kept on muttering the most horrible 
 oaths. They turned down a l»ne, and were soon hid 
 from view. 
 
A TIMELT EESOTTE. 231 
 
 " Never was there such a lovely morn as this, dear 
 mother — was there ?" said Anne, " it is more like 
 spring than winter, the sun is so glowing. Oh, how 
 I should have delighted iu such a day as this when I 
 was a child, to have run about these fields, and plajei 
 
 and romped with Edward ! and "she stopped 
 
 suddenly. " Did you hear that ?" she said, " How 
 alarmed we should have been, but for good Bridget's 
 tale — listen ! It is the very air : it comes from 
 yonder copse. Let us steal softly thither ; and who 
 knows but we may see the cause of all our fears !" 
 
 Before Alyce could make reply, Anne had nearly 
 reached the thicket : her mother followed, rather to 
 bring her back, than sanction her curiosity — the 
 sounds of the flute had ceased, and through a slight 
 opening between the boughs they saw a young roan 
 sitting upon the stones of a small ruined chapel : he 
 was plainly attired, but appeared to be particularly 
 handsome — perhaps more as to his general bearing 
 than mere beauty of features. His flute was now 
 slung at his back; a gun lay by hiss'de; but he was 
 busily engaged sketching the remains of a beautiful 
 ci'oss that stood at some little distance. 
 
 Alyce led her daughter gently away without speak- 
 ing, fearful that her voice might attract his notice ; 
 and she saw in what au unworthy light they should 
 appear, were he to observe them at that moment. 
 
 " But only to think, now," said A-nne, " that that 
 very young man should have been the cause of giving 
 us so much alarm ; and now I have seen him, I am 
 sure there is nothing alarming about Mm. I wish 
 he had seen us, for I should have liked to have looked 
 at the sketch he was making. I wonder if he would 
 have gratified us if we had asked him ?" 
 
 As they were hastening homewards they were sud- 
 denly confronted by the two men who had so recently 
 met the merchant and Edward. 
 
 " Charity, charity !" said the old villain, as he and 
 his companion advanced towards them ; " charity, fair 
 
232 EDWAED OSBOEITE. 
 
 ladies ; if we receive not charity from angels, where 
 shall we look for it, eh P" 
 
 " Tea, yes, good man," said Alyce, at the same time 
 drawing a purse from her pouch ; — " you are — yes ! 
 you are, very welcome, and " 
 
 "Do not hurry yourself, fair lady, we can wait, 
 and if there be any difficulty, we will open the purse 
 for you." He put out his hand as if to take it; 
 Anne inroluntarily threw her own hand backwards, 
 when the other tfcief snatched the purse in a moment 
 from her grasp. 
 
 " And now I'm thinking," continued he, " how 
 much more good that gold chain around your neck 
 would be to such poor devils as we are, than it ever 
 can to the like of you." 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no! not that, not that!" exclaimed 
 Alyce, in perfect agony. " It was the gift of one I 
 love more than life." 
 
 " Oh, do not take that !" said Anne ; " here is 
 mine ; take all I have ; there, there, and there." She 
 cast down every thing she could tear from off 
 herself. 
 
 And as the thieves stooped to pick up the jewels 
 and money that lay about, Alyce and her daughter 
 flew from the spot as rapidly as they could. 
 
 " They must be deers indeed," said the old ruffian, 
 " to outrun such huntsmen as we. I'U have that 
 chain, or I'll cut her throat in half with it." He then 
 bawled out at the top of his voice — " Stop, fools, or it 
 win be the worse for you !" 
 
 They were easily overtaken, and seized by the iron 
 grasp of the ruffians. "Ye shall pay soundly for 
 this, my mistresses — no more foolery I" The air was 
 filled with the screams of the helpless creatures — 
 when suddenly one of the ruffians uttering a cry, fell 
 heavily upon his face ; at the same instant, the report 
 of a gun sounded in their ears ; the younger wretch, 
 believing a rescue was at hand, bounded over a hedge, 
 and disappeared in a deep ravine. 
 
THE AKTIST. 288 
 
 Alyce and her daughter had sunk upon their knees, 
 locked in each other's arms, when they were relieved 
 by hearing a voice assuring them that they were safe ; 
 and on looking round, they saw near to them the 
 same youog man whom they had so lately observed 
 sketching near the ruined chapel. He assisted them 
 to rise. 
 
 " Courage ! courage, ladies !" said the young man ; 
 " you are safe now." 
 
 " Oh, sir !" said Alyce, endeavouring to compose 
 her trembling nerves, " to whom do we owe this deep 
 debt of gratitude ? 
 
 " Tou owe me nothing, Indies," he replied ; " I owe 
 you the happiness — your having given me the oppor- 
 tunity to serve you. I am a poor artist, and my 
 name is "Walter Lerue." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE ARTIST. 
 
 It may well be, ho looked on her face. 
 In such a wise, as man that asketh grace. 
 But nothing wiste she of his intent. 
 
 CHArosB. 
 
 As Alyce and her daughter returned towards the 
 cottage of the heath, their newly-made friend made 
 rapid progress in their good opinions. 
 
 It seemed strange that he of whom they had so 
 lately been talking, as connected with their late 
 superstitious fears, should suddenly become, as it 
 were, closely linked to them by the bonds of gra- 
 titude. 
 
 "Walter Lerue, although young, was evidently a 
 man who had seen much, and understood the world 
 more deeply than his years would seem to warrant. 
 
 "When they reached their home, Walter Lerue, 
 unlike most young men in such circumstances, excused 
 
234 ED-ffABD OSBOSSE. 
 
 himself from intruding further upon them, but ex- 
 pressed a hope that he might be allowed- to return at 
 a later hour. Just as he was turning to leave after 
 having received more than one assurance of the 
 pleasure his proposed return would afford them, he 
 dropped the whole contents of his portfolio. 
 
 Observing the admiration Alyce evinced upon 
 viewing one of the drawings, he hurriedly picked 
 up the remainder, and said — "Although, I fear, the 
 poor efforts cf my pencil will but iU repay you for the 
 time you must lose in looking at them, I will leave 
 them until I again have the honour of waiting 
 upon you." 
 
 When "Walter Lerue left his newly found friend he 
 walked hurriedly away towards the town, and soon 
 reached the Terry-house, which was also the ostlery 
 of Putney. His first anxiety was to know whether 
 the letter-carrier from London had arrived. Being 
 answered in the affirmative, and that a communication 
 for hira was lying on the table in the room he 
 occupied, he flew up the stairs, and seizing the 
 epistle, tore it open. " No money yet !" he exclaimed ; 
 "not a single noble! — no matter: they may starve, 
 but they shall not conquer me. The host may retain 
 what things I have here ; they will be ample s»curity 
 for my debt, until I can pay him : let me hasten to 
 London at once, and see myself what course to 
 pursue ; but never, no never, let me look upon the 
 Beauty of the Heath again." 
 
 the more Walter Lerue determined upon " never 
 lookinj upon the Beauty of the Heath again," the 
 slower did he feel the time wear away, which might 
 render it not unbecoming in him to pay hia promised 
 visit to the cottage. 
 
 He had sat for some time, turning over in his mind 
 the most likely acquaintances he might with safety 
 apply to for assistance in his present circumstances, 
 when a gentle tap was heard at the door of his room. 
 " Come in," he said, and Lillia, the daughter of the 
 
THE ARTIST. 235 
 
 host, made her appearance. He rose, and taking her 
 hand gently led her into the room. 
 
 " It has just struck me," said she, " that as your 
 father is away from home, and will be so for some 
 hours, i\' you liad nothing else to do, perhaps you 
 would finish the likeness of me you have been taking 
 such pains with. I have not sat to you for now more 
 thanawetk, and I do want it to be finished," she 
 faid, " f very much ; for I long to tell my pooi", dear, 
 kind old father all. This is the first secret I have 
 kept from him in all my life, and it makes me feel at 
 times so very miserable. Why did you wiah me not 
 to tell him about the picture ?" 
 
 " In order that the pleasure might be the greater 
 ■when you gave it to him. But let us to work," said 
 Walter, anxious to change the subject ; " I almost 
 forget where I put it. I thought it was in this 
 portfolio," and he kept turning over his drawings 
 carelessly. 
 
 " Or perhaps," said Lillia, " it may be in this : 
 shall I look ?" 
 
 "Do child," he replied, "while I search this drawer. 
 Tou know I have twenty sketches of you, some- 
 where." 
 
 " Heavens !" she exclaimed, as her eye fell upon 
 one of the drawings she was turning over, "how won- 
 derfully like ! and yet it cannot be." 
 
 " Cannot be what ?" enquired Lerue, heedlessly. 
 
 " Not the likeness of my kind, kind schoolfellow, 
 Anne ; or, as I ought to call her now. Mistress Allen, 
 the Beauty of the Heath." 
 
 " And here iis their cottage, too," she said ; " and 
 here is the lovely face of Anne, twenty times repeated, 
 upon the same sheet of paper : you never told me, 
 Walter, that you knew Dame Allen and her daughter." 
 
 " Nor did I," replied Lerue, " until to-day ; but I 
 have often seen them, and these sketches are merely 
 the offsprings of memory." 
 
 "But come, Lillia," he continued, "we will com- 
 
236 xbwaud osbobse. 
 
 mence a new sketch of your pretty face, and not lose 
 our time in looking for the one I have mislaid ; and 
 while I am at work, you shall tell me all you know 
 about Dame Allen, and Anne, your schooirellow. 
 Have you known her long ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes !" replied the Lily of the Inn, " I have 
 known her for many years ; indeed for eight years. 
 Tou must know, that although poor father never talks 
 ahout it, he was once in a very different station to 
 that of keeping an ostlery — pray do not tell him I 
 have said so —for he only let me know it a few days 
 since, and wished me to keep the secret to myself; 
 but, the moment he t»ld me, I felt so proud, that I 
 determined to disobey him and disclose all to you." 
 
 " But about Mistress Anne," interrupted Lerue ; 
 " has she lived here long ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, almost as long as I can remember things 
 clearly. I was just turned eight when she came up 
 to the old convent house to be instructed." 
 
 " And do they live alone ?" said Lerue. 
 
 " Mostly ! that is all the week days ; but on Satur- 
 days, at eve, Master Allen, with two others, always 
 comes, and remains until the Monday morning. How 
 are you getting on, "Walter ?" enquired Lillia. 
 
 After seeming to work for some little time, his 
 mind was evidently wandering far from the object of 
 his labour. Lillia looking round, found him com- 
 pletely buried in thought ; so much so, indeed, that 
 he was quite unconscious that she bad risen from 
 where she had been sitting, and was now standing 
 behind him, looking upon the paper, drawn on cer- 
 tainly, but without the slightest approach to any 
 definite object. She placed her arm gently round his 
 neck, which made him start as from a dream, as she 
 said—" Walter, dear Walter, for many days you have 
 been so altered, that I could not, if I would, but 
 endeavour to find out the hidden cause — and I have 
 discovered it!" 
 
 Had a shot passed through his brain, Lerue would 
 
t-AS ABTiST. i37 
 
 tcarcely have felt more stunned than he did at, as he 
 thought, his secret heing discovered; and that, too, 
 by the last being on earth he would have liked to 
 have known it. 
 
 " Discovered it !" at last he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes," said the innocent girl, "I have indeed, 
 Walter : you are poor !" 
 
 The relief he at that moment experienced gave to his 
 features a most peculiar expression, which LiUia be- 
 lieving to be the effects of wounded pride at being 
 told he was poor, said — " But, oh, Walter, since I 
 have found that out, I love you a thousand times 
 better than before ; and but tor your poverty, you 
 would, perhaps, have never heard the confession I 
 have this day made." 
 
 "But how, dear Lillia," he said, "how did you 
 discover my secret, as you call it ?" 
 
 " Oh," she replied, " you have told it me more than 
 once, although you knew it not. Often, when I 
 thought you were asleep, I have watched near your 
 door, that none should approach to disturb your 
 slumber, when suddenly you would speak aloud, and 
 always about money. Even this very day, as I was 
 coming near your door, you exclaimed, ' They may 
 starve, but they shall not conquer me !' and something 
 about ' No money yet I' And now, Walter, own that 
 you are poor : I hope you are very, very poor indeed, 
 for then my pleasure wiU be unbounded." 
 
 " What, Lillia, at my being poor !" exclaimed Lerue, 
 at the same time smiling. " Is poverty such a blessing, 
 that you would wish poor Walter to be thus blessed ?" 
 
 " No Walter," replied the girl ; " but that I might 
 be blessed in relieving all your wants. My father has 
 saved much, and all he has I know was saved for me. 
 Ask him then openly, fearlessly, for his child. Tou 
 will not be refused, for he would refuse nothing to 
 make me happy. Then, Walter, dear Walter, all I 
 should ever possess will be yours. And now you 
 know the real cause of my boldness." 
 
238 EDWARD OSBOEITE. 
 
 Lerue was bewildered ; to underceive her at such a 
 moment he felt would be the acme of cruelty. The 
 confiding girl having thrown herself upon his breast as 
 she uttered her last words, was prevented from observ- 
 ing the Btr«nge workings of Walter's countenance: 
 his features took alternately the expression of almost 
 every feeling but that of real love ; pity, vexation, dis- 
 gust at his own unthinking folly, in having led a poor 
 innocent child into what he knew must prove hopeless 
 misery, now filled liis minH, and for a time held his 
 tongue spell-bound. 
 
 Fortunately for Lerue, relief came to his aid when 
 most desired; the father's voice was heard calling 
 upon his child. As she released herself from his 
 embrace, she looked into his face with such an expres- 
 sion of confiding truthful devotion, that he had not 
 the power to resist imprinting upon her pure but now 
 willing lips, one kiss of real, of heartfelt kindness. 
 Poor LUlia was for that single moment the happiest 
 of human beings ; she pressed both his hands fer- 
 vently to her lips — then casting upon him a look of 
 intense affection, hurried from the room. 
 
 Tor several minutes Lerue stood exactly as she had 
 left him, perfectly lost in thought ; at last he said — 
 " Poor eoul ! why has fate been so cruel to one 
 deserving of all happiness? — so unjust as to let her 
 cast her whole heart's hopes upon him, who never can 
 requite her ? She is but a child ; and if once I aai 
 gone, there is but little doubt she will soon forget me, 
 and all that has passed this day. Tes, absence is the 
 only cure for love's fever." 
 
 The clock of the village sounding reminded Lerue 
 that it was time for him to think of returning to the 
 cottage on the heath. 
 
 Lerue hurried away — and to his great relief unseen 
 by Lillia, whom he felt he should henceforth dread to 
 meet until he had determined upon the course he 
 should take — and soon entered the cottage, where he 
 found the whole contents of the portfolio be had left 
 
THE AUTIST. 239 
 
 arranged around the apartment, and being still ad- 
 mired by both Alyce and her daughter. One eircum- 
 etance rather annoyed him, for he diBcovered now, that 
 in this collection were all the sketches he had taken 
 of the Lily of the Inn. These caused Anne to be 
 prodigal indeed of praise, for she pronounced the 
 likenesses to be perfect. 
 
 " Ah," said Anne, half sighing, " she is a svieet 
 girl, the most amiable but most childish of human 
 beings : her thoughts are ever on her tongue. What 
 she feels she must give utterance to. And she then 
 related how they had been for years together at the 
 convent school, and told the story of the father having 
 been formerly a soldier — of his superior birth ; and thst 
 now young Edward was upoa the throne it was 
 expected he would n store the old man to his rights. 
 She told Lerue, that for many years she had known 
 who and what he was ; and how highly he was re- 
 spected by all the country round ; and that Walter 
 Cromwell, who had befriended him, had also be- 
 friended all she held dear ; and was just about to enter 
 more fully into the truth of who they themselves were, 
 when Alyce interposed, saying, "This gentleman can 
 feel but litile interest in the affairs of people so 
 simple as the family of Master Allen." The name of 
 Allen khe particularly emphasised. 
 
 So agreeable did Walter Lerue render his con- 
 versation to both mother and child, and so com- 
 pletely had he succeeded in making himself appesr as 
 an old friend, that before he left the cottage Anne not 
 only had displayed to him all her ovin drawings, 
 which, of course, he praised far beyond their real 
 deserts, but had more than once, at his request, taken 
 up lier lute, and sung to him some of her sweetest 
 ditties : the one he appeared to admire the most ran 
 thus — 
 
 What is that strain, so sad — so sweet, 
 Ton maiden sings, with weeping eyes? 
 
24D esWahs obbobite. 
 
 Is it Bome tale of man's deceit — 
 
 Of broken vows— of tears and Bigh»f 
 
 Or is it, what few e'er reveal — 
 
 The maddening sting, that oft will pror* " 
 
 The bitterest pang the heart can feel — 
 
 Is it of — unrequited love ? 
 
 That is the theme yon maiden sings — 
 That w the cause those eyes now weep — 
 That is the magic power which brings 
 As 'twere a spell to banish sleep — 
 That to those wakeful hours may steal 
 The phantom jealousy, to prove 
 The bitterest pang the heart can feel, 
 Is that of unrequited love. 
 
 There was a sadness in the air, even more powerful 
 than the melancholy attempted to be depicted by the 
 words, which sank deeply into the heart of Lerue, for 
 he thought, at the moment, how truthfully might such 
 a song be sung by poor Lillia ; and taking a hurried, 
 but kind farewell, he departed. 
 
 We must now leave the fair ones of the heath, and 
 once more return to Oid London Beidse. 
 
 CHAPTEE 2XIII. 
 
 THE COMPACT. 
 
 • • * The revel anew. 
 Till that the brighte sun had lost Ms hue, 
 For the horizon had 'reft the suu his light ; 
 This is as much to say as it was night. 
 
 CEA.XrOEB. 
 
 Night seemed to be thinking seriously of wedding 
 itself to morning ere the revellers at the Cardinal's 
 Hat gave indication of retiring to their various homes. 
 This was the second night of revelry — it was the night 
 of the coronation, and was now at the guests' own 
 
THE OOMPAOT. 241 
 
 charge, and all were more less in an advanced Btage ot 
 inebriety. Four of the party — Checklocke, Catche- 
 mayde, Silkworm, and the sharp-nosed little arrow- 
 maker — were among the last to leave ; and when they 
 found themselves in the open air upon the Bridge, and 
 saw a light burning in t he merchant's bouse, they gave 
 three cheers " for honest Master Hewet." 
 
 Cacbcmayde and the sharp-nosed little arrow-maker, 
 waxing valiant, declared that they would make an im- 
 mediate attack upon the thieves in the Clink. " They 
 would rout them out ; they would tie them all back to 
 back, and in the morning they would lead them by a 
 rope in triumph to Gu Idhall ;" — and linking their 
 arms together, they hastened towards the Clink. It 
 so happened that the " Bishop of Winchester's birds" 
 were taking a flight that night in search of prey, so 
 that the lanes were perfectly clear, when the four 
 redoutables emerged from beneath the black arch, and 
 finding themselves unopposed, they set up a shout of 
 defiance. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the smith, "have you all fled 
 at our approach ? — dare not oae of you show his nose, 
 in case we should pull it oflf? Oli, oh! we have 
 caught you, have we ?" he bawled out, while at the 
 same time he pointed to a window, from which a 
 man's head was thrust. Seeing this, they all ex- 
 claimed, as wiih one voice, " Surrender ! surrender! 
 surrender !" 
 
 " Ton be d — — d !" was the only reply they received. 
 
 " Come down, and surrender !" squeaked out the 
 sharp-nosed little arrow-maker. " Know, villain, that 
 we are constables — constables ! do you hear that ! So 
 tremble, and surrender !" 
 
 " But wouldn't you Uke more than one of us, my 
 masters ?" said the man, laughing. 
 
 "A hundred, if we can catch them!" roared out 
 Catchemayde ; " not one less than a hundred will 
 satisfy me!" 
 
 " Well, we must see what we can do toplewe yen.'' 
 16 
 
242 EOWABS OSBOBKE. 
 
 Having said this, the man sent forth a whistle, so loud 
 BDd shrill, that it seemed to call forth echoes for miles 
 around. Scarcely a second elapsed before another 
 whistle, of like power and shrillness, replied ; and 
 then another, and another, and another. 
 
 These extraordinary sounds flying about in every 
 direction served to awaken the tour invincibles from 
 their drunkenness ; and the same thought appearing 
 to have touched all their minds at once, they flew 
 lour different ways, as hard as their legs could carry 
 them. 
 
 Silkworm and Checklocke fortunately took the right 
 road from the Clink ; not so poor Cachemayde and the 
 sliarp-nosed little arrow-maker, who, rushing into two 
 alleys, flew into the arms of about fifty ruffians : tbey 
 were at once dragged off towards the black arch to 
 the spot whence the first whistle had been heard. 
 
 By this time the man at the window had descended, 
 and was dancing about quite franticly, and laughing 
 and roaring out, " Huzza, my Bishop's Birds 1 we've 
 caught a constable — caught a constable, and glorious 
 fun we'll have !" 
 
 "And as tince wears," said the leader of this lawless 
 band, " and justice must be satisfied, I ask you, if a 
 rascally hawk will come and poke his nose into a 
 Bishop's nest, and want to hook out a hundred full- 
 grown birds, what ought to be done to him ? " 
 
 " Plucked and roasted alive !" said a woman. " But 
 you, know, brother, what's the btst to do in such a 
 case ; and it's my advice," she continued, addressing 
 those around her, " it's my advice to leave the handling 
 of these fools to the mercy of Bludgeon Billy, our 
 leader here." 
 
 "Leave 'em to him, leave 'em to him ! " exclaimed 
 nearly every man at once. 
 
 The leader bt aring the euphonious title of Bludgeon 
 Billy, made a bow, in acknowledgment of the honour 
 tonferied on him. "Then thus I decree," said 
 he,—" First, tie them back to back, and then haul 
 
THE OOMPAOr. 243 
 
 them up to yonder beam, and roast them alive, until 
 they are half done — out oif their ears, and, as a treat, 
 the one shall eat the ears of the other." So to it, my 
 Birds—pick 'em, and pluck 'em, and hang 'em to roast !" 
 
 " Hurrah !" exclaimed the thieves, and in an instant 
 all was bustle, swearing, laughing — cries from the 
 victims and shouts of derision from the rabble. 
 The rope was thrown over the beam, and poor 
 Catchemyde and his comrade were soon swinging in 
 the air, screaming and kicking about, to the great 
 delight and merriment of the crowd below, many of 
 whom were busily employed heaping up straw, and 
 faggots, and broken wood, to make the fire beneath 
 them. 
 
 The agony the poor creatures suffered may easily be 
 imagined, as the smoke and fire began to ascend. 
 Despair was rapidly seizing upon the little conscious- 
 ness that fear had left them, when their ears were 
 startled by loud shouts heard through the passage of 
 the Black Arch. They thought that more of the 
 thieves were returning, until they perceived a sudden 
 panic seizing upon the ruffians below, as they all 
 together rushed beneath the Black Arch to meet the 
 danger, whatever that might be. 
 
 The air was filled with screams of women, curses of 
 men, and shouts of defiance and of rage ; many 
 returned covered with blood; some with broken heads, 
 others with broken arms, or wounded limbs; one or 
 two were carried past, apparently dead; i'rom the 
 increasing number of the fugitives, it was evident the 
 thieves, for once, were being worsted. 
 
 The thieves who remained in the Clink soon found 
 the force brought against them perfectly resistless. 
 The two leaders of the attacking party, fought with a 
 determination against which there was no standing ; 
 each seemed endeavouring to outvie the other ; for 
 
 fride as well as courage appeared to actuate them 
 oth. 
 "Tou shan't outdo me, Master Edward!" exclaimed 
 
24A EI>Wi.BD OSBOBNE. 
 
 the Bridge-shooter, for he it was, with Osbome, who 
 now was heading several scores of city apprentices, 
 armed, as usual, with their resistless clubs; " you shan't 
 outdo me— tl^re ! — and there!— and there!" he 
 bawled out, as at every blow a ruffian fell to thj 
 ground. 
 
 Edward went more coolly, but not less determinedly 
 to work ; he remembered for what purpose they had 
 been called out, merely to rescue Catchemayde and 
 his companion, so that all he aimed at, was to cut his 
 way through the crowd of thieves, until he should 
 find those he came to save. 
 
 And it was only when the whole space before the 
 Black Arch was clear of an opponent that the 
 perilous but ridiculous situation in which their 
 friends were dangling, was first perceived by Edward 
 and his companions. In spite of every feeling of pity 
 and humanity, they could not resist a hearty laugh 
 at the expense of poor Catchemayde, and little sharp- 
 nose. 
 
 "Never mind, never mind!" said the two, as they 
 were being lowered down ; " only let us once more 
 set foot upon Old London Bridge, and if ever we are 
 caught attempting to put salt upon the tails of the 
 Bishop's Birds, may we be picked to death for our 
 pains, say we 1" 
 
 This fortunate rescue was owing, principally, to the 
 circumstance of Edward Osborne having sat up late 
 that night, to see the Bridge-shooter the moment he 
 arrived from Hampton, where he was to leave Mora, 
 and it was almost morning when Edward opened the 
 door to admit him. 
 
 Edward had scarcely commenced informing the 
 Bridge-shooter of the afi'airs that would require them 
 astir at daybreak, when they were alarmed by a violent 
 knocking at the door, wad cries for help and rescue. 
 It ^peared, that when Silkworm and Checklocke 
 had e^cted their escape, they hurried to the Bridge, 
 and observing the light still in the merchant's houiie, 
 
THE COMPACT. 245 
 
 it at once struck tbera that Edward Osborne was, of 
 all people, the most likely to aid in the rescue of their 
 two unfortunate companions. 
 
 The moment Edward and the Bridge-shooter heard 
 what had happened, tiiey lost not a moment in giving 
 the alarm to those whom they knew would not be 
 backward in such a cause, and this being the night of 
 the coronation, there were plenty of the wiue-houses 
 still filled with the very boys they wanted to assist 
 them. 
 
 A word from Edward, beloved as he was by almost 
 every apprentice of the city, was quite sufficient to 
 raise an army of youths who knew the use of the 
 club, and had courage enough to employ-it under a 
 leader whom they liked and confided in. How quickly 
 they were in the Clink, and what good service they 
 there performed, the readec is already aware of. 
 
 " If I might pop in a little bit of advice," said the 
 Bridge-shooter, " I should say, having gained our end, 
 the sooner we sound an honourable retreat the better." 
 
 "Eight, right!" exclaimed the sharp-nosed little 
 arrow-maker, " and I and Catchemayde will lead you 
 back in triumph." He did not wait for a reply, but 
 placing himself in the very foremost rank of those 
 nearest the line of march leading ^ow the Clink, 
 began to move on. 
 
 WhUe these scenes of noise and desperate encounter 
 had been enacting at the Clink, one of a different 
 stamp had passed in the Cardinal's Hat, between 
 Brassinjaw and the villain Spikely . The moment the 
 house was clear of the roysterers, Brassinjaw thus 
 addressed Spikely — " Now, Master Spikely, although 
 years have passed since we met, and may have caused 
 many a change around us, yet I suspect that there 
 need be no useless beating about the bush before we 
 come to a clear understanding with each other : when 
 we last parted, we parted enemies — how do we meet ?" 
 
 "As friends, an thou wilt !" replied Spikely, "for 
 since the work I come upoQ must pay us both well, 
 
246 SBWABS OSBOBiril. 
 
 I suppose the bargain of friendship between us is 
 already settled ?" 
 
 " It ia !" replied the host, " I am your sworn ally 
 — that is, if, as you seem to promise, you can make it 
 worth my while — not elsel'' 
 
 " Of that you shall be the judge," said Spikely ; 
 " listen !" and mine host seating himself at the 
 opposite side of the table, gave signs to Spikely that 
 he was ready to listen to whatever communication he 
 might wish to make. 
 
 " Tou hate Horton ?" said Spikely, with a look that 
 seemed to enquire, and answer its own enquiry at 
 once. 
 
 " "We'll not lose time," said Brassinjaw, " in talk- 
 ing. Tou say I hate him— I do !" 
 
 " Otherwise," continued Spikely, " I would not 
 trust you. Know, then, that bound as he and I were 
 once by mutual interest, that interest having vanished, 
 the bonds are severed. He knew I held a secret that 
 was like a rope about his neck ; I had but to speak 
 the word, and that rope would have squeezed his life 
 out." 
 
 "And it shall !" said Brassinjaw, at the same time 
 clenching his hand and grinning malignantly ; " that is, 
 if you but let me catch one end on't, and he be now 
 alive !" 
 
 " He is, but he believes me dead ! Tes, thanks to 
 his kind intentions, be believes me dead. When, on 
 the fall of Cromwell, we both fled, we entered as 
 mercenaries into the service of the Emperor. By 
 some good luck for him, for the devil always takes 
 care of his own, he ever gained the greatest share of 
 spoils and plunder, I the most hard knocks. But my 
 secret ever made his purse my own, so it mattered, 
 little. At last, so goaded was he by my ever-renew- 
 ing wants, that I felt I had strained the cord too 
 tight ; so I thought it better to look a little to my 
 own safety. I therefore shifted my quarters from the 
 band to which he belonged, intending for a time to 
 
THE COMPACT. 247 
 
 keep aloof from him. In the kst battle, and a fright- 
 ful one it waa, I fell to the earth wounded, and so 
 severe were the wounds I had received, that I could 
 not raise myself from off the earth ; my dress being 
 but of the poorest, those who came near enough to 
 hear my feeble calls for help, cast but a glance upon 
 my rags, which holding but no temptation to their 
 avarice, passed on, caring n^ot a jot whether I lived or 
 died. At last, I perceived Hortou approaching. By 
 a violent effort, I succeeded at last in raising my arm 
 to attract his notice ; but so intent was he- upon the 
 work of despoiling the dead, that for some time he 
 perceived me not. Presently turning towards the 
 spot where I was lying, I exerted the whole of my 
 little remaining streugth, and called him by his name. 
 When he saw by whom he had been addressed, hia 
 countenance became suddenly deadly pale. No other 
 soul was near. I knew he held me in deadly hate, 
 and wished my death ; I was resistless, and in his 
 power. As he approached me, I saw him deliberately 
 take from its sheath a knife ; he looked around — no 
 one was near; think what I felt at that dread 
 moment. ' 'Tis hopeless to call for aid,' he said, as 
 he grinned at me like the devil ; 'you laughed at me 
 once for my childish fears at being a murderer : I am 
 Eow a man, and no longer fear to shed man's blood : 
 it is but justice that you who taught me should have 
 some share of the harvest of your tuition — die, 
 wretch !* he shouted in my ear. I heard no more — 
 but I felt one pang as he stabbed his koifo into my 
 neck — and then my senses fled." 
 
 " But how," enquired Brassinjaw, " did you escape 
 alive at last ?" 
 
 " By a miracle, if such things be !" replied Spikely. 
 " When consciousness returned, by my aide was 
 sitting what I thought to be an angel of heaven ; but 
 turning ray head the other way, there sat, what 
 seemed to be a fiend awaiting my guilty soul. But 
 now comes the strangest part of all : for who think 
 
S4S BSWABS OSBOBKI. 
 
 you my preserver was ? — the Cripple of the Bridge- 
 gate-tower ! — The angel by my eide— the blind girl, 
 Eoline!" 
 
 "It appeared," continued the latter, "that after 
 the battle, the Cripple had gone to the field, to render 
 all the service he might to the wounded or the dying. 
 I had been thrown upon a heap of dead, intended for 
 burial : fancying be saw in me some signs of still- 
 lingering life, he bore me in his arms to his own 
 cottage, just without the town. Although there was 
 but little chance of ray recovery, they never gave up 
 hope, but tended me like an infant, and thus, by tbeir 
 unceasing care, I was saved from death. One more 
 of our ola friends was there, and one whom I used 
 most scurvily — the Abbess of St. Clair ; but she for- 
 gave me ; and one night when I thought I was dying, 
 and being half delirious, I — but, pshaw I — my story 
 has already been long enough ; the end of all, is all I 
 ever care for — I recovered, and here I am ! And now 
 I am Bworn to hunt to death the villain Hoiton. T 
 will serve all that he would wrong, be whom they 
 may. I want levenge upon him, and that I'll gain, 
 though I be hanged by the same rope in gaining it." 
 
 Spikely then told Brassinjaw that Horton was the 
 real murderer of Sir I"ilbut Fussy; but that he him- 
 Eelf having been so deeply implicated in the affaT, 
 and Brassinjaw, although not connected with the 
 knight's death, being so mixed up with the continued 
 robbing of Sir Filbut, that they would take their 
 revenge in a way more safe for th«moelves, than by a 
 public denunciation. What their ultimate plans were 
 time will show. 
 
SHE LILT or THB INS, 249 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE LILT or THE INN. 
 
 Her bright hair combed wai untresBed all. 
 
 Cbatoeb. 
 
 As Leetje sauntered towards the ostlery of the ferry, 
 his awkward position in regard to the young girl 
 Lillia, came forcibly upon, his mind. By the time he 
 reached the inn, it was r.ither late in the night ; he had 
 purposely loitered on his way, in order that the host 
 and his child might, at least, have retired to rest. 
 
 Just as he was entering the door of his apartment, 
 he was startled by a gentle voice pronouncing his 
 name. 
 
 " I could not go to rest, "Walter," said Lillia, " until 
 T knew you were safe : there have been such desperate 
 poople about here lately, that no one is secure after 
 nightfall ; but now 1 know you are here, I shall to 
 sleep quickly — happily!" 
 
 And they parted ; Lillia to dreams, filled with all 
 those fairy visions which young love so much delights 
 in ; and Lerue, to think upon another, the Beauty of 
 the Heath. 
 
 Edward Osborne, although he had not heard for 
 some days from the cottage, was plodding on in his 
 usual quiet manner, and was almost congratulating 
 himself upon the happy peaceful tenure of his life, 
 vi hen a letter from his young mistress arrived ; and 
 breaking the seal, he read — 
 
 ' DEAE BEOXHEB, 
 
 ' It is seldom I have to write to you upon sub- 
 jects more exciting than perhaps an account of our 
 increasing stock in the poultry-yard, or of Eoger 
 having slipped his foot into the milk-pail, which, you 
 know, he did, not a week ago ; but now, dear Edward, 
 
250 EDWAED 03E0ENE. 
 
 open thine eyes, and devour a tale of real romance. 
 I have began thia letter thus ridiculously to prove 
 before hand, that although there was much to alarm, 
 and indeed some positive danger, yet no real harm has 
 happened to us.' 
 
 And thea she detailed to him the whole circum- 
 stances of vrhich the reader is already aware — of how 
 they had peeped at the ghost whilst sketching — of 
 the attack of the two ruifiacs, whom she described so 
 accurately, that Osborne knew at once that they must 
 have been the same who stopped him and the 
 merchant. 
 
 ' And now, who do you think,' wrote Anne, ' was our 
 preserver ? No other but the ghost ! and a nicer young 
 man I have never bebeld — I would have said, hand' 
 somer ; but my mother will have it hei is like me — and 
 she says that people who are alike very often marry 
 each other. Is not that delightful, Edward ? Only 
 think of my being married ! 
 
 ' Tou know I am in jest, Edward, when I say this : 
 marriage is rather too serious an undertaking to deter- 
 mine upon at a moment's notice ; nor do I think I 
 ever shall marry. Can you believe it to be little Anne 
 writing all this nonsense ? But I will try to be as 
 serious as you always are. Well, then — this our pre- 
 server is called Walter Lerue : he is an artist, and a 
 very clever one indeed : before we knew Mm, lie had 
 taken twenty likenesses of me, only seeing me at a 
 distance— Was not that clever? 
 
 'But ours are not the only likenesses he has succeeded 
 in — he has made an equal number of my sweet school- 
 fellow, Lillia ; you know whom I mean, although you 
 have never seen her. By-the-by, Edward, what a dar- 
 ling little wife Lillia would make for you ! 
 
 We want you, Edward, to copy what I have written 
 about our new-found friend, and forward it to my 
 dear father, and then we wish you to make all the 
 enquiries you can about Master Lerue— his other 
 name is Walter— it will not- give you much trouble, 
 
THE LIIT CP THE INN, 251 
 
 for being so clever, he must be known very well in 
 London. 
 
 " Walter Lerue," said Edward, when he had got thus 
 far through this the letter ; " there is an old artist of 
 that name, can it be he ? But I had forgotten, Anne's 
 Walter is a nice young man ; it may be his son though, 
 I'll enquire about that ; I think the old one bears a 
 very bad character ; indeed I know he does : if he be 
 the son of such a man, the sooner the connexion be 
 broken off the better." 
 
 The more he read of the letter, the more he became 
 annoyed by the frequency of the name of AValter 
 Lerue, meeting his eye in almost every other line. 
 
 " It is very remarkable," he observed, " that Anne 
 has said dear Edward but once, throughout this inter- 
 minable epistle ; I hope she will not, like the generality 
 of the world, forget her old friends in her admiration 
 of her new." 
 
 Poor Edward was quite astonished, that, highly as 
 he had always appreciated Anne's goodness, and even 
 her beauty, it seemed to him that it was only at this 
 very moment that he had for the first time discovered 
 even one half of her excellencies. 
 
 It was odd enough, but the letter he returned to 
 Anme caused to her almost as much uneasiness as hers 
 had to him. In spite of all his efforts to the contrary, 
 there was a sadness in the turn of thought he could 
 not help giving to the most trivial circumstance. 
 
 Lerue eontinuing to feel the irksomeness of his living 
 at the Eerry, had removed to a farm house on the 
 other side of the heath- He had not again visited the 
 Aliens, but rambled about the neighbourhood. One 
 day at noon he found himself near the ruined chapel, 
 and as he approached the ruin, he was astonished at 
 hearing, sung by a low and sweet voice, the very air 
 which he was accustomed to play.andwith which he had 
 alarmed the merchant's family. He stole gently towards 
 the opening in the ruin, when he there beheld the 
 lovely Anne, singing, and sketching the ruined cross. 
 
252 EDWABD OBBOEHB. 
 
 This was an opportunity that, to his romantic 
 imagination, geemed brought about by fate, and one 
 he could not muster forbearance to neglect. — " I will," 
 he said, " this day know my fate ! what is all the world 
 to him who loses his heart's life — the only being in all 
 the world who could render that world a paradise to 
 him ?" 
 
 With feelings such as these words indicate, he 
 approached the fair one ; who, on hearing her name 
 pronsunced, started in affright. 
 
 " Be not alarmed !" he exclaimed, scarcely knowing 
 what he said, " 'tis I — "Walter Lerue !" 
 
 So different to his own was her manner, and so at 
 variance with that which he had expected and hoped 
 his unlooked-for presence would have caused, that he 
 stood for a time perfectly bewildered. 
 
 Lerue had been for whole days thinking of nothing 
 else — for whole nights dreaming of nothing else but 
 the lovely Anne. Observing-the little excitement his 
 presence had caused, he felt that to declare his passion 
 then would be abmjrd; but still the opportunity 
 aptpeared so gloricmn, the spot so romantic, for such a 
 diaclosure — th9ii?*being alone, too, was a chance that 
 might never occur again, and suddenly seizing her 
 hand, she was startled to see Walter Lerue fall on 
 his knees before her, but ere he could utter a word, 
 or Anne demand the meaning of such strange con- 
 duct, they were, for a moment, both paralyzed at 
 hearing a piercing shriek near them. Lerue started 
 to his feet, and both rushing from the ruins, they 
 found, behind some shrubs and fragments of the 
 chapel, the fainting form of the poor Lily of the Inn. 
 
 Lerue stood astounded, and felt as though he would 
 have wished the earth to open and swallow him. In 
 a moment the whole truth had flashed upon his mind. 
 The ruined chapel was a favourite spot with him — 
 Lillia knew it was so — and the poor child had gone 
 there, day after day, since his departure, in the hope 
 of seeing him ; but, although disappointed so oftent 
 
THE LILT OF THE INK. 253 
 
 she still hoped on, and was happily building up all 
 sorts of fairy castles in the air, as she approached the 
 loved ruins, and was just picturing the bliss of meeting 
 Walter — when she beheld him kneeling at another's 
 feet : she uttered one shriek, and fell senseless. 
 
 Never had Lerue felt such a bitter pang as he did 
 upon beholding Lillia l^'ing as it were in death. 
 The cottage being nearer than her home, Anne 
 implored Lerue to bear her thither. 
 
 They were but a very short time in reaching the 
 cottage, and Lerue having given his still unconscious 
 burden into the care of Alyce, hastened away to the 
 Eerry, to remove any alarm Lillia's absence might 
 create. 
 
 He felt greatly relieved to find that her father was 
 in London, and would not return for some time ; so 
 going to the room he had recently occupied, for the 
 purpose of writing a letter he had before intended to 
 have written, his heart quite ached at observing, that 
 not one single thing there belonging to him, but had 
 some mark about it of Lillia's devoted love. A rough 
 sketch he had done, to please her, of himself, she had 
 adorned with flowers, and had placed it on the chair 
 he had mostly occupied ; before it stood another seat, 
 and upon this he found her lute. 
 
 He now determined upon the course he would 
 pursue, and taking another seat — for he felt that it 
 would be like sacrilege to remove those slight but 
 touching evidences of pure affection — he commenced 
 his painful task. 
 
254 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 A MTSTEEIOtrS TISITOB. 
 
 But BO tefel, this merchant on a day 
 Shaped him to maUen ready hie array. 
 Toward the town of Bruges for to fare, 
 To buyen there a portion of ware. 
 
 Cbavoeb,. 
 
 Fkom the hour the merchant set sail for the Low 
 Countries, the wind proved so contrary, that although 
 several days had elapsed since leaving the river, the 
 vessel had made no further way than the North Pore- 
 land, and so impossible did the captain of the 
 merchant's vessel find the task of beating round tlie 
 North Foreland unaided, that he cast anchor, and put 
 up signals for a pilot. 
 
 Many and mauy were the hours they remained un- 
 heeded ; and the gathering storm so rapidly increased, 
 that it seemed nest to impossible that any boat would 
 venture to bring them aid. 
 
 But at last, to their great joy, a boat did near them ; 
 and a pilot and his four men were enabled to climb 
 on board the ship. 
 
 Every precaution that could prevent their being 
 driven from their present anchorage was resorted to. 
 Another anchor was let go, and all was made what 
 sailors call " snug " for the night. 
 
 " See, see !" said the pilot, " is not that a light bear- 
 ing down from the nor'east ? It is a signal of 
 distress ;" and through the darkness the merchant and 
 his crew could see the vessel, about their own tonnage, 
 pass them. She was soon lost to sight ; and all was 
 dark and dreary as before. 
 
 The perils of their own situation demanded their 
 attention, for just then both cables suddenly broke, 
 and the pilot did all he could to give the safest 
 direction to the flying vessel. 
 
A MTSTEEIOrS TISITOB. 255 
 
 Anxiously did everyone hope for the moon to sbine 
 out through the break in the clouds, for they were 
 fast coming near. At length the moon shone out 
 sufficiently to show, by the breakers, where those 
 sands lay ; and as the tide had fallen in many places 
 their treacherous heads were high above the surging 
 wateis. 
 
 "She's there!" said the pilot, pointing towards 
 some shapeless black masses, already half embedded 
 in the sanda, " she's there, sure enough ! that is, as 
 much as is left of her. 1 thought when we saw her 
 scudding along, she would be stopped by that sand- 
 trap." 
 
 The merchant, who had been throughout the storm 
 one of the most watchful, was attentively looking 
 upon the sand-bank, and judging by the brealiCrs 
 whether they were approaching too near the shoals, 
 suddenly exclaimed — " By Heavens ! there is some- 
 thing moving on tbe sands — look there, there !" 
 
 All hands ran to the side of the vessel where the 
 merchant stood, and through the hazy atmosphere 
 distinguished what they believed to be some wretched 
 human beings, awaiting the rising of the tide to bring 
 them that death, from which, for a short space, these 
 sands had rescued them. 
 
 The pilot declared it would be madness to attempt 
 to oifer them succour ; but the merchant first 
 entreated, then commanded, that, however hopeless 
 the attempt, it should be made. 
 ■ " And I will be the first !" exclaimed the merchant, 
 " for I ask no man to meet a danger I fear to meet 
 myself: will any follow me to the trial ?" 
 
 The boat was lowered with the merchant, and three 
 of the stoutest hands aboard, who had at once volun- 
 teered to accompany him. 
 
 While the merchant was thus surrounded by the 
 perils of the storm upon the sea, Osborne was 
 encountering perils scarcely less formidable upon 
 Old London Bridge: so tremendous had been the 
 
256 ESWABS OSBOBNI!. 
 
 power of the winda, that more than one dwelling was 
 unroofed, windows were blown in, and in one instance 
 an entire house was carried from the Bridge into the 
 raging flood. 
 
 And just at this moment Edward and the Bridge- 
 shooter were alarmed by a loud bnocking at the out- 
 ■viard door. 
 
 " It's an odd night for visitors," said the Bridge- 
 shooter, " unless, indeed, it's some poor devil whose 
 house has given him the slip, as our neighbour, the 
 lantern-maker's has juat done !" and having opened 
 the door, he re-entered the apartment where Edward 
 was sitting, followed by a stranger closely muffled up 
 in a cloak, and having on a military cap, made after 
 the foreign fashion. 
 
 " Are you Edward Osborne ?" inquired the stranger, 
 addressing Osborne. 
 
 " I am," replied the other. " Your commands must 
 be pressing, that you give me the honour of a visit 
 on such a night as this !" 
 
 " When a soldier has a duty to perform," said the 
 stranger, " it is not often the weather stops him in 
 his course ! My commauds were to see you imme- 
 diately on my arrival — and here I am ! And as it is 
 you, young gentleman, to whom I was sent, I will at 
 once disclose my mission ! You know a vUlain named 
 Horton, Harry Horton ?" 
 
 "He was my fellow apprentice !" replied Edward. 
 "Hewent abroad some years ago, and is in all likelihood 
 dead, for since he left England, we have never heard a 
 word concerning him." 
 
 "He lives," said the stranger ; "and it is to tell 
 you that he lives, and put you on your guard, that I 
 am here. J was told to place in your hande a charm, 
 and one so powerful that it must not b« used until 
 the last extremity. When the hour shall come that 
 he seems resistless, take from your breast this charm." 
 And at the same time throwing upon the table the 
 blood-stained knife vrith which Horton had murdered 
 
A MTSTEBIOrS VIBITOB. 257 
 
 Sir Filbut in the wood, he continued, " Use it as I 
 have told you ; when it be necessary that you should 
 know more, the "Witch of Houndsditch will reveal it. 
 Bo as I have commanded, and you will snare a villain, 
 and befriend your friends — farewell !" 
 
 The stranger wailed not fur further parley, but 
 hurrying down the dark stairs, was soon heard slam- 
 ming the outer door. 
 
 " Are you sure it is a knife ?" said the Bridge- 
 shooter, seizing Edward's arm, to prevent him from 
 touching it ; " are you sure it is ?" 
 
 " Nonsense, "William !" said Osborne, smiling ; " I 
 fear not to touch it ; it's but an apprentice's old- 
 fashioned dagger-knife, such as I used formerly to 
 carry. These marks are not of rust," and he looked 
 closer at the blade ; " they are more like old stains of 
 blood." 
 
 " Blood !" exclaimed the Bridge-shooter, poking his 
 nose over the knife ; " and see," he continued, " the 
 point has been broken off— and hang me if that pat- 
 tern running down the blade isn't — but wait a mo- 
 ment, wait a moment — only you just wait a moment !" 
 And the Bridge-shooter, seizing a lamp, hurried up the 
 stairs, to the very top of the house ; and as he re- 
 turned into the room, he exclaimed, " It is, I'll swear 
 it is, before I try it ! See here, master Edward, see 
 here !" and he held up the broken piece of the blade 
 against which Osborne, it may be remembered, had 
 cut his foot, and which the Bridge-shooter had kept 
 ever since ; and placing it at the end of the knife, to 
 Edward's astonishment, it fitted so exactly, that it was 
 not possible to doubt the two parts having formerly 
 been one. 
 
 " Here's a mystery," observed Osborne, " and one 
 that I think will baffle all our ingenuity to fathom." 
 
 " "Well," said "William, " in the morning I'll away 
 
 to my old mother ; for you remember the stranger 
 
 told us, what further was to be learnt would 
 
 be through her i I'll manage to ferret out something." 
 
 17 
 
258 EBWAED OSBOEITE. 
 
 Kext morning, when the Bridge-shooter reached his 
 mother's cottage, he fancied he saw a figure standing 
 in the room, resembling the stranger of the night 
 before ; and raisiog the latch without a sound, he was 
 amazed to find no one in the room but his old bed- 
 ridden mother. 
 
 "Where's the stranger?" he exclaimed, looking 
 round the apartment. " I'll swear I saw him standing 
 here ! Gome, mother, don't have your witchery non- 
 sense with me. Who was it ?" 
 
 " He ! — who ?" enquired the old dame ; " those that 
 I have seen, you could not see. He has been with me 
 again this night." 
 
 " Whom mean you ?" enquired her son. 
 
 " The murdered knight," replied the old woman ; 
 " you'll hear more of him anon — you'll hear more of 
 him anon; and when you do, remember well that I 
 have told you this ; and if you and Edward Osborne 
 would serve those you love, both you and he must 
 hasten to the cottage on the Heath : you will there 
 find one you little dream of." 
 
 The Bridge-shooter, impressed as much by the 
 manner of his mother as by her words, returned 
 hastily to the Bridge and delivered the message. 
 
 " Well, then, William," said Edward, " we'll away 
 at once ; if a service is to be performed, the sooner 
 it be done the better. Besides^ I have for some 
 days past had strange forebodings concerning the 
 cottage on the Heath ;; an inward sort of feeling that 
 seemed to impel me to hasten thither, and see that all 
 was well. Heaven send it be so !" 
 
 As soon as the affairs of the merchant's shop could 
 be put into sure train, that their absence might cause 
 no disparagement of the business, the two mouuted 
 their horses, and starting at a good round pace, were 
 soon far from London. It was towards nightfall 
 when they arrived at the Cottage; but the strange 
 incidents that there -took place we must reserve for a 
 future chapter, , 
 
SHE ITALIAN. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE ITALIAN. 
 
 My truth will I hold to tliee, my brother, 
 As I hare sworn, and each of us to other, 
 For to he true brethren in this case, 
 And both we go acbouten our purchase. ' 
 
 Chaitceb. 
 
 AriEii Bitting for some time, Lerue at last took up 
 his pen and wrote to Dame Allen an excuse for not 
 returning to the cottage, business of importance having 
 called him to London. 
 
 Having dispatched his letter, he ordered a horse to 
 be brought, and hurried away to London. When he 
 reached Southwark, he dismounted at the Tabard — 
 the Itin immortalized by Chaucer, a portion of which 
 still exists ; and here he left the horse, and hastened 
 on foot towards the Bridge. Feeling somewhat athirat 
 just as he was pa-sing the Cardinal's Hat, he entered, 
 und called for a tankard of ale, seating himself near a 
 window that looked on to the Bridge. There were 
 several persons in the room, but, engrossed in Lis 
 own thoughts, he did not pay any attention to them, 
 till he was addressed by our old friend, the sharp- 
 nosed arrow-maker, who said, " Now, sir, I appeal to 
 you, who, being a stranger, as it were, that is, not one 
 of us, you can have no prejudices either for or against 
 whatever I say, or he says, or the other says — or what 
 anybody says. Now, sir, I appeal to you — is it not a 
 just law, a good law, a righteous law, a glorious law ?" 
 
 " Before I decide," said Lerue, " I think it would be 
 as well that you should first tell me what law you are 
 alluding to ?" 
 
 " What law !" exclaimed haK a dozen at once ; 
 " what. law, indeed! — why, what law can it be, but the 
 new one to punish begging !" 
 
260 XSWABS 08BOBI7E. 
 
 " And in wbat way does it punish them F" enquired 
 Lerue. 
 
 " First, then," replied the little arrow-maker, who 
 appeared to have studied the new law deeply — " first, 
 then, those who are found loitering about for three 
 days, are to be branded on the breast with a hot iron, 
 and made a slave of the informer ftir two years. 
 Secondly, if the slaTO run away for fourteen days, and 
 is c^mght, he is to be marked with a hot iron on t'-e 
 lorehead, or the ball of the chetk: and havitvg been 
 thus burnt, he is to be adjudged a slave to his master 
 for ever ; and should he then attempt to escape, he is 
 to suffer the death of a felon. Now, I again ask, is 
 not tbat a just law, a good law, a righteous law, a 
 glorious law P" 
 
 " As far as I can understand it," rejoined Lerue, 
 " it appears to me to be a law, that must have been 
 framed by a set of devils, rather than by a body of 
 Christian men !" And having delivered his opinion 
 was on the point of quitting the place, when he 
 fancied be saw some one in a dark corner of the room, 
 endeavouring to avoid his notice ; he at once walked 
 straight to the spot, and exclaimed — "Nino!" The 
 man appeared to be confused at being found in such 
 a place, rose, and in Italian, uttered a few words to 
 Lerue, who replying in the same language, left the 
 Cardinal's Hat followed by him whom he had ad- 
 dressed as Nino. 
 
 There was one other who also quitted the place, 
 this was Spikely ; he had been for a long time before 
 conversing with Nino, whom he had known when 
 abroad, and it was to meet Spikely, and renew their 
 former friendship, that Nino had then visited the 
 Cardinal's Hat. Spikely followed at some distance, 
 and saw Nino enter a boat at the stairs at Svran 
 Lane, and depart towards the west ; Lerue passing 
 by the Steel Yard, was soon out of eight. Spikely 
 hurried down the stairs, and selecting the boat that 
 appeared to him the most lightly built, be jumped 
 
in.z tTAiiAir. 261 
 
 in, and was soon in the wake of the boat of Nino. 
 When they arrived opposite the Strand, which, at 
 that time, was adorned with the magnificent mansions 
 and castles of the nobility, the gardens of which 
 extended to the water side, Nino was put ashore at 
 the private stairs of one of these mansions ; aiid 
 Spikely coming alongside at the same moment, the 
 two cronies stepped ashore together. They entered 
 the beautiful grounds, and after a few words, implying 
 that they would meet again in a few minutes, Spikely 
 made himself comfortable in an alcove that over- 
 looked the river, and Nino hastened to the castellated 
 mansion. 
 
 " So he is to arrive to-day !" said Spikely, speaking 
 to himself; "luck befriends me; I shall have merely 
 to forge my bolts, and I need not fear finding fools 
 enough to shoot them for me. This Nino, this young 
 Italian, may be turned to good account." And con- 
 tinuing his soliloquy, he ran over the list of those 
 upon whom his vengeance would light. 
 
 " Tes," he continued, " I cannot forgive my bro- 
 ther's death. No, that must be paid for early or 
 late; when he has done my work against Horton, 
 then young Master Osborne's own turn may come ; 
 the same with Hewet, and the like with the Bridge- 
 shooter, and the same with Nan too. She mj^y be 
 dead: well, if so, 'tis better perhaps. But this new 
 law they talk of, might have worked for me gloriously. 
 If her father had been still alive, and I could have 
 caught him by it, that would have been the way ; the 
 only way to touch her to the quick, was for others to 
 Ul-use him. I have often worked her up to mad- 
 ness by the kicks and cuffs I gave to him." 
 
 Hearing footsteps close to the hedge which divided 
 the alcove where he was seated from the principal 
 walk, to discover who the speakers were, he peered 
 through an opening, and was surprised to see that 
 Baron Seymour, the Lord High Admiral of England, 
 and bis enemy Horton were in close conversation. 
 
262 edwabd osBoaus. 
 
 Nino coming up at t'nis moment, placed in Sey- 
 mour's hand the packet which Lerue had giTen bim, 
 and Horton having been dismissed, the Lord High 
 Admiral perused the contents very rapidly, and turn- 
 ing to Nino, he said — " The anavrer is — 'tis granted ! 
 An hour hence let him be at "Whitehall, where he 
 will find the necessary document !" Saying this, the 
 Lord High Admiral moved on towards the mansion, 
 and Spikely being joined by his friend, the two en- 
 tered one of the boats, and rowed towards the Palace 
 of Whitehall. 
 
 As they went along, Spikely observed to his com- 
 panion, that Horton's sudden appearance had not 
 surprised him half so much as his being found where 
 he had just seen bim. 
 
 " The reason, I think," replied Nino, " is simple 
 enough ; Horton having; distinguished himself abroad 
 in the Protestant cause, now that the Protestant 
 cause is again prosperous, returns, as hundreds of the 
 Cromwellites will do, to seek employment, or rather 
 rewards, for what they call tlieir sacrifices in the cause 
 of truth : he wants employment, and he'll get it-: and 
 why should he not ? Can you tell me of one govern- 
 ment throughout the world that does, or ever did, or 
 ever will exist, without the aid of scoundrels ? No, 
 Master Spikely, no 1 I'm an Italian, and our govern- 
 ment, though wondrous holy in outward show, we 
 all know to be most rotten at the core. But what is 
 yours ? Not a tithe the better ! Look at your glo- 
 rious Cranmer, who swears to be a Papist, whilst a 
 Protestant at heart, who swears a life of celibacy, 
 whilst all the while he has a wife, and children too ! 
 Ha, ha ! 'tis marvellous to see how men can be de- 
 ceived. No, no, amieo, while the wind blows in the 
 quarttr it now does, Horton, the unscrupulous tool 
 of Cromwell, may ask and have !" 
 
 Saying so, Nino's boat stopped suddenly, just be- 
 neath a' projecting window that stood out from one 
 of the buildings, or rather castles, that then adorned 
 
ME iTAtTAN. ; 263 
 
 the Thames, and he chanted in the Itallaa language 
 a song, the last line of which may b6 freely traas- 
 lated — " XTnless indeed I am forgot." 
 
 "Diavolo!" he' exclaimed, "biit It seems I really 
 am forgot !" 
 
 "By whom ?" enquired Spikely. 
 
 "Oh! a pretty little countrywoman of my own," 
 replied the otbcr, and he again trolled a verse of his 
 serenade, and had just come to the concluding line, 
 when a fair hand was seen thrust from the casement 
 above, and from it fell — not a tender billei-dowx, hat 
 a. silver cup ! Nino immediately struck up a lively 
 air, and sang something about a lover's thanks to his 
 mistress, for the favours she had bestowed, and the 
 boat passed on ; and he remarked to Spikely, who had 
 picked up the cup from the bottom of the boat, and 
 was examining it with the eye of a connoisseur, 
 " There's no doubt about it's being silver ; and what- 
 ever its form now, 'twill soon change it : those arms 
 upon it would tell a tale too plainly for me to feel 
 quite safe while it was in my possession." 
 
 " They are those of the Earl of Shrewsbury," said 
 Spikely. 
 
 " They are," replied the other; " and that was his 
 mansion we have just left. Every week, mia lella 
 there drops love's offerings from yon casement, into 
 the bark of her faithful gondolier. I give her love, 
 and she gives me whatever she can lay her hands on ; 
 she's worth her weight in gold to me, and may be of 
 wondrous use to us in working out the plan we 
 have formed." 
 
 In a like strain they continued to converse until 
 they reached the Whitehall Stairs, where they landed, 
 and at once bent their course towards that portion of 
 the Palace appropriated to the offices, over which the 
 Lord High Admiral had control. 
 
26i EDWARD OSBOEKB. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 TEB WITHEBED BLOSSOU. 
 
 Hui \rorld is but a thorouglifare full of woe, 
 
 And we be pilgrimg passing to and fro : 
 
 Death is an end of ereiy world^s tore.— Chavoeb. 
 
 ETENiira had begun to close, when Edward Osborne 
 and the Bridge-shooter arrived at the Cottage on the 
 Heath. To their great astonishment, they found 
 Al^ce and her daughter as much surprised at their 
 arrival, as they themselves were at discovering their 
 visit to the Heath so perfectly unlooked for. 
 
 They had much to tell each each other, but the 
 conversation turned to the fate of poor Lillia. 
 
 " Poor girl !" observed Aime ; " I fear me she is too 
 pure, and too innocent to be allowed by Heaven to 
 remain long upon this wicked earth. Ever since the 
 day on which I and Master Lerue found her in the 
 rums on the Heath, she has scarcely spoken, and 
 there is such a fixed, such determined melancholy 
 upon her mind, that at every moment it seems to be 
 eating away her life. She has some secret sorrow 
 preying upon her mind, I am certain, but of what 
 nature I cannot guess ; nor could I tempt her to dis- 
 close aught that might give me a clue to discover any 
 way of bringing relief to her wounded mind." 
 
 So intently were all their minds fixed upon the 
 subject, that they were not aware, until the moon 
 had risen high in the heavens, how long they had 
 been talking upon the melancholy theme. 
 
 Just then Anne happening to raise her eyes to- 
 wards the window, suddenly uttered an exclamation 
 of fear, that caused them all to start to their feet. 
 " I am certain," she said, " I saw a man looking in at 
 the casement." 
 
 Did you, Mistress Anne?" said the Bridge-shooter, 
 starting towards it ; " then I'll just ask him what he 
 wants, and — " 
 
<fHE WITHEKED BIOSSOM. 265 
 
 ■" No, no,— do not venture ; it may be one of those 
 desperate people that are continually prowling about." 
 
 " If BO," observed Edward, " I think the sooner we 
 make him prowl somewhere else the better !" 
 
 Saying this, and before Anne could prevent him, 
 Edward flew to the outer door, followed by the Bridge- 
 shooter; when it was opened they found a country lad 
 standing before them ; he was crying, and panting for 
 breath, and appeared exhausted with running. 
 
 " Was it you who looked in at the window ?" en- 
 quired Edward, in an angry tone. 
 
 "Hoiy?" exclaimed the lad, " not hoiy, maisler ! 
 Hoiy know my place better nor that." 
 
 " Then did you observe any one else doing so, as you 
 came up ?" said the Bririge-shooter 
 
 "Hoiy? not hoiy, maister !" again exclaimed the 
 lad, as well as his sobbing and his lack of breath would 
 allow him ; " hoiy seed no 'un looking in !" 
 
 " But, why do we find you here ? What want you ?" 
 enquired Edward. 
 
 " Hoiy wants young missus ■ and my young miasit 
 wants her too !" 
 
 " And who is your young missus ?" said the BridgCi 
 shooter. 
 
 " Why, don't you know ? 'gad hoiy thought every 
 fool knowed my young missus, bless her ! It only shows 
 that you are not a poor *un, or you'd a known my 
 young missus, bless her ! All the poor 'uns about 
 these parts knows raaister's daughter, Lillia, bless 
 her !" Here he blubbered aloud. 
 
 Anne recognising the voice of the lad, cime to the 
 door, and enquired if Lillia had sent him. 
 
 " No, not she," was his reply ; " not she, bless her !" 
 
 " Then who did ?" said Edward. 
 
 " Moll, the milkmaid !" exclaimed the boy ; " Moll 
 sent hoiy ; and told hoiy to run loike mad up to the 
 cottage ; to tell you that young missus is as bad as bad 
 can be, bless her ! so Moll says, and Moll says, that 
 young missus says, that she wants you to come 
 
266 EB-frAUD OSBOENE. 
 
 to her directly ; and hoiy 'm to take care oa you, down 
 to the Ferry." 
 
 " No, my good lad, I have others to take care of 
 me," said Amie ; " so do you run back again as quickly 
 as you can, and say that I will be there almost as soon 
 as you are." 
 
 A few minutes after, and Anae, with Edward, fol- 
 lowed by the Bridge-shooter, was on her way towards 
 the Terry. 
 
 Tbey bad just passed the end of a cross-road, and 
 had not gone many steps beyond, when they were 
 caused to start, by bearing a female voice calling 
 loudly, " William ! William ! William !" 
 
 It was Flora, returning to the cottage; she had 
 caught sight of her lover as he passed the end of the 
 road. 
 
 " Well," she said, " that old gipay must have been 
 a witch, fur she told me I should find something 
 precious at a cross-road." 
 
 " And you find my precious self there," said the 
 Bridge-shooter, giving Flora a hearty embrace ; " and 
 now you shall go to the Ferry with us." 
 
 " I can't," said Flora ; " I've got all my things in 
 the waggon, and I must not leave them." 
 
 Anne, guessing at William's feelings, insisted up n 
 his accompanying Flora home, " being," as she said, 
 " quite safe without more protection than what 
 Edward could bestow." 
 
 The Bridge-shooter did not wait to be pressed to 
 return, but at once told the driver to push forward, 
 and placing Flora's arm in his own, the two trudged on 
 happily together behind the waggon—" in order," ashe 
 said, " to enjoy the beauty of the evening," but in 
 reality, to have a little bit of comfortable chat un- 
 noticed ; while Edward and the loyely Anne proceeded 
 to the Ferry -house; and leaving Osborne in the 
 room below, Anne ascended to the apartment of the 
 drooping L'ly of the Inn. 
 
 " Oh, bless you, dear Anne !" said Liliia, in a sweet 
 
The witheeed utoasoir. 267 
 
 but feeble voice, as ehe raised herself slowly on her 
 couch ; " oh, bless you, for this kind, this prompt 
 attention to the wishes of a poor miserable girl !" 
 
 " But why miserable, Lillia ?" stid Anne, kissing 
 the pale lips of the sufferer ; " why say miserable, 
 when hope seems to have once more dawued upon the 
 fortunes of your father ?" 
 
 " It was to tell you why," replied Lillia, " that I 
 have prayed your coming hither — I am d} ing ! and 
 it is because I fecr my little remaicing life will pass 
 away before my poor father once more shall look upon 
 his child, that I would say to you all I had intended to 
 confess to none but him. Tell him all, dear Anne, 
 all I shall sav to you ! 'Twill kill him, Anne ! I feel my 
 death will kiU him !" 
 
 Anne wept bittarly, and io the hope of bringing her 
 relief, she kindly pressed Lillia at once to ease her 
 mind of what ehe wished to disclose. 
 
 Lillia gazing at Anne with a look of intense feeling, 
 exclaimed — " Tou, you are the cause !" 
 
 " I," excla'med Anne, in a tone of perfect wonder- 
 ment ; " I the cause of your sorrow ?" 
 
 " Do not think," replied the poor girl, " that I 
 have called you here to upbraid you — Heaven forbid ! 
 Tou knew not that giving life to another's hopes, was 
 bringing death to mine." 
 
 " Tou speak in riddles, Lillia, indeed you do," said 
 Anne; " what other mean youP" 
 
 " Walter," replied Lillia, " Walter Lerue ! I lovi d 
 him, more than my life I loved him." Again she 
 burdt into tears. 
 
 Anne remembered the scene that had taken iilace in 
 the ruins of the chapel, the evident confusion that had 
 seized upon Lerue, when first he discovered the sense- 
 less form of Lillia lying on the earth ; his precipitate 
 retreat the moment Lillia had been conveyed to the 
 cottage, and his continued absence, while she was 
 there. The truth seemed at once suddenly to fia^h 
 upon her '^d. 
 
2(58 edWahd oSBoKifs. 
 
 Anne endeavoured by every means she could devkd 
 to raiae a hope in Lillia'a breast, feeling that hope wnH 
 the only medicine that could cure the wounded mind. 
 She told her truly how indifferent Lerue was to her- 
 self; that with the one slight exception, all his acts to 
 her had ever been but those of common courtesy. 
 
 And having taken an affectionate leave of her suffer- 
 ing friend, she left her with her father, who had just 
 returned from London, recounting all the happy 
 chances that had befallen him while away, and how 
 his dearest hopes had been most strangely consum- 
 mated. 
 
 Anne rejoined young Osborne, and they hurried on 
 towards their home. "When they arrived at the cot- 
 tage, they found the Bridge-shooter awaiting them at 
 the gate. 
 
 " Master Edward," said the Bridge-shooter, " were 
 you ever surprised in your life ? Who's the last person 
 you would ever expect to find beneath this roof? — 
 But you'd never guess ; so come in and see." 
 
 When Osborne entered the room, he certa'nly was 
 surprised, for he beheld not only his master, whom he 
 believed to be in Holland, but also the Cripple of tlie 
 Bridge-gate-tower, and by him the blind Eoline. 
 
 In order to explain how the Cripple was beneath the 
 roof of Master Hewet, we must take the reader back 
 to the night of the storm. When the merchant and 
 his brave companions had approached as near as they 
 dared to the fatal sands, they plainly saw that there 
 were at least two persons upon them still alive : and 
 after running many risks they at last succeeded in 
 saving two helpless beings from a watery grave. 
 
 So imperfect was the light of the breaking day, bo 
 altered by fear and suffering were those they had 
 rescued, that it was not until they were once again safe 
 in the ship, that the merchant recognised in the man, 
 the Cripple-of-the-bridge, and in the helpless female, 
 the blina Eoline. 
 
 When the sufferers were somewhat recovered, and 
 
THS WIIHEBES BI.OSSOM. 269 
 
 there being strong reasons why the Cripple should not 
 be supposed to be in England or even alive, the 
 merchant and his companions had journeyed at once, 
 after landing on the Sussex shore, towards the Heath — 
 Eoline conveyed in a litter, borne along by two horses j 
 the merchant and the Cripple walking the greater 
 part of the way on foot, on either side of the litter. 
 
 The merchant was relating all the circumstances of 
 his wonderful escape, when who should be announced 
 but "Walter Lerue ! 
 
 " I am right glad he has come," said the merchant; 
 " for now I can thank him heartily for saving you, my 
 Alyce dear, and my no less darling child." 
 
 " You will be charmed with him," replied Alyce, 
 " he is so clever, so amiable, and Anne says, so band- 
 some : between ourselves, I think she is half iu love 
 with him." 
 
 When Lerue entered, he was, for a moment, con- 
 fused at finding so many persons where he had ex- 
 pected and hoped to have found but two. The mer- 
 chant waited not for any introduction, but taking him 
 attrdially by the hand, first thanked him for the ser- 
 vice he had rendered his wife and child, and then gave 
 a hearty welcome to the cottage. Anne, in spite of her 
 endeavours to appear as usual, could not cast off a 
 feeling of restramt, which the knowledge she had that 
 night gained from the pale lips of Lillia, would force 
 upon her. Osborne sat moodily in one corner, and 
 became more moody when he saw the handsome appear- 
 ance and superior style of bearing which belonged to 
 "Walter Lerue. The moment Mora cast her eyes upon 
 him, she whispered to William — " I am sure I have 
 Been that face before, or one so like it, that it seems to 
 me the same. Do you know any one like this Master 
 Lerue, "William p I am much mistaken if he is not 
 the Lord George Talbot who you remember gave 
 a ring to Edward many years ago ;" and she eyed him 
 60 Buspiciously that he evidently felt uneasy at her 
 gprutiny. 
 
270 EDWABD OSBOBNB. 
 
 " Egad ! and now I look again," replied the Bridge- 
 sliooter, "it is the very fellow that made me so 
 jeal'us when first I loved you. But why is he here 
 in disguise?" 
 
 When all was now made ready for the accommo- 
 dation of Eoline and the Cripple, they arose, and 
 Lerue, taking advantage of the opportunity, bade a 
 quick adieu, and left the room. As he went out he 
 gave Elora a peculiar look, which she guessing the 
 meaning of, said — " I'll lock the outer gate, William !" 
 and without waiting a reply, followed Lerue. 
 
 When they were out of the house, he turned to 
 Elora, and said — " Tou know me !" 
 
 " I do I" she replied. " But why is Lord Talbot 
 here und-r a false name ?" 
 
 "Eor the same reason, perhaps," retorted the young 
 lord, " that Master Wiliiam Hewet takes the name 
 of Allen. Keep my spcret," he continued, "and 
 your reward shall not be stinted ; as earnest, take 
 this gold." 
 
 "I want not gold," said Flora: " I have a treasure 
 within more precious than gold." 
 
 "Indeed! what is that?" 
 
 " My young mistress's fame." As she uttered these 
 words, she closed the gate, and hurried into the cottage. 
 
 " That stupid girl will spoil all," said he. " But 
 why should I dread the disclosure ? He who is to be 
 the E'lrl of Shrewsbury cannot marry a clothier'^ 
 daughter ; and why this continued folly ? To-morrow 
 I will at once to town ; and now I am again reconciled 
 to my father, will endeavour, by gaiety and courtly 
 pleasures, to forget the Beauty of the Heath." 
 
 While this scene was passing at the cottage, a very 
 different one was taking place at the Ferry House. 
 The old fatler had returned with a heart filled with 
 hope and joy, for he thought the news he brought 
 would have tilled with hope and joy poor Liliia's heart ; 
 so with a joyous smile he sat beside the bed, and 
 began to recount the unlooked-for success h? had met 
 
THE WITnEEED BIOSSOM. 271 
 
 with in his application to the Court — " Oh, Lillia, how- 
 happy we shall be !" said the old man to his child. 
 " all my troubles are now for ever passed. I am 
 wealthy, Lillia, doubly wealthy, for I have thee as well 
 as gold. See here," he said, as he took forth some 
 oiScial looking documents — " this is a deed that 
 restores to me all my former wealth ; this is a com- 
 mission in the king's service — this — but these are 
 things I can show you to-morrow, dear, for now it is 
 prowing late, and rest will do you far more good than 
 the prattling of an old man's tongue." 
 
 " No, do not leave me yet," said Lillia, " for I shall 
 never sleep again until I have told you a secret, 
 father, the only one I have ever kept from you. And 
 
 now, if indeed vfe are rich " a blush came over 
 
 her features, for she thought of him she loved ; the 
 scene in the ruined chapel rose up in her mind, and 
 seemed to rob her of the little nope she had been 
 endeavouring to foster ia her heart. At last, after 
 hesitating more than once, she said — " It is of Walter 
 Lerue " 
 
 "Walter Lerue!" exclaimed the old man, not 
 waiting for Lillia to finish her sentence; "may 
 Heaven's blessings light upon him 1 Would yoa 
 believe it, Lillia, but ia it true, dear child, that to 
 Walter Lerue, the poor ariist, who seemed scarcely 
 able to pay the simple charges of our Inn, to him it 
 is I owe ail my present happiness. No friend had I 
 to state my wrongs to those, by whom alone those 
 wrongs could be redressed, and I was on the point of 
 returning in despair, when suddenly I was summoned 
 to the Palace of Whitehall ; there I met my bene- 
 factor; he placed in my hands these papers — then 
 hurried from me before I knew their worth — before 
 I could offer him my thanks." 
 
 ■When poor Lillia heard her father's words she burst 
 into tears ; for now hope once more took firm hold 
 upon her heart ; could he love another, and do all 
 this for her poor father ? No ; she must have been 
 
272 EDWABD OflBOEKE. 
 
 miataken; her overwrought love must have blinded 
 her reason ; thus did she think, and for a moment aha 
 was happy. 
 
 "But stranger than all," said the old man, "was 
 the discovery I soon after made ; for I found that 
 this same Walter Ijerue was no other but the heir 
 to the great Earl of Shrewsbury, young Lord George 
 Talbot. What aUs you, child ?" exclaimed the father ; 
 " heavens, your face has become deadly pale ! Speak, 
 speak, Liilm, Lillia, speak !" He clasped her in his 
 arms ; she made several efforts as if to find something 
 that lay near her heart; she drew forth her hand, 
 and flung from it a flower — it was Lerue's first offer- 
 ing, and had ever since been treasured in her breast. 
 She made two or three convulsive efforts to throw 
 her arms round her father's neck — one deep-drawn 
 6iu;h that seemed as though it was her soul taking her 
 flight to Heaven — and she was dead ! 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 A S£CB£I SiyiTLaEI). 
 
 And have well fouudeu by experience^ 
 That dream^s hh significations. 
 As well of joy, as tribulations. 
 That folk enduren in this life present, 
 There needeth make of this no argnment, 
 
 CEl.TrczB. 
 
 It had been settled on the previous night, that the 
 merchant and tbe Bridge- shooter should return to 
 London in the morning, leaving Edward at the cottage, 
 to attend upon his former friend, the Cripple, who 
 for certain reasuna was to be kept out of sight, until 
 matters should be more matured. 
 
 Osborne was delighted with the arrangement, for 
 as yet he had not been made acquainted with all the 
 strange causes that had brought the Cripple once more 
 
A SECRET DITTJI.OID. fl78 
 
 to England, and had placed him beneath the roof of 
 him the Cripple had formerly held in detestation. 
 
 Ab the merchant intended to go bj water, it waa 
 settled that Anne should accompany her father as far 
 as the Ferry^, being anxious to hear tidings of her 
 young suffering friend. 
 
 As Osborne was to go with the'.n, in order to escort 
 her home again, the Cripple, who was as anxious to 
 tell Edward all that had oefallen him and his adored 
 Eoline as Edward was to hear the tale, determined to 
 stroll along with them. 
 
 " Wonders will never cease. Master Edward," said 
 the Cripple, "never, never! Tou must have been 
 strangely suprised to find the Cripple of the Bridge* 
 gate-tower a guest of Master Hewet — were you not ?" 
 
 " That I was surprised to see you at the Cottage of 
 the Heath, I cannot deny," replied young Odborne : 
 " bat that you should one day become the merchant's 
 guest does not surprise me ; for I knew his goodness 
 and your good sense, and that time would remove 
 whatever prejudices you had unjustly nourished against 
 him ; but what first brought about the change ?" 
 
 " An ange'i," replied the Cripple, " a child of earth, 
 but with a mind of heaven — Eoline." 
 
 " As you yourself have broached the subject," said 
 Osborne, " tell me, WiUy, what was your first cause 
 of hatred to the merchant ?" 
 
 " This misshapen trunk," said the Cripple, lookin<^ 
 down upon his own deformity ; " this, and a fatlier'a 
 and a mother's death," I believed I owed all three to 
 him ! and aU I panted for was the revenge of placing 
 his head upon the Bridge-gate-tower." 
 
 " But what mean you, Willy," enquired Osborne, 
 " by laying to t'le merchant's charge your difference 
 in form to other men ?" 
 
 " It is a sad tale, and did I tell you all, you would 
 
 feel why I held the merchant in such hate. The 
 
 fiends who blasphemously called themselves the 
 
 preachers of Chnst's mercies condemned my father 
 
 IS 
 
2?4 TsDWAEt) OSSOElffc. 
 
 to the flames, because Lis conscience saw not Tdtil' 
 eyes like theirs ; because he believed that God was 
 to be propitia,ted by penitence before himself, not by 
 the intercession of some painted doll ; and I was ever 
 taught by the pnor demented beiig I called my 
 mother, that merchant Hewet was the sole cause of 
 our un'loing. I know the error now, but it was 
 believed by those nearest to me, that from informa- 
 tion given by William Hewet, then a m< re boy, my 
 father was condemned for Heresy. And then came 
 the last, the fatal scene. It was enacted in thit place 
 of lire, of torture, and of blood, Smithfield. Thero 
 stood the pulpit, from which taught but charity and 
 peace to all mankind should ever flow, but now erected 
 to sanction the tortures of earthly flames, and to send 
 to flanaes eternal, were it in the power of man to do 
 so, the upright soul of one, who merely difiered in 
 outward form of worship of that God whom he and 
 his accusers both kni It before and called all-merciful. 
 "When all else had faire i to shake my poor father in 
 this dreadful moment of earthly tr'al, what did the 
 miscalled lioly fiends do then ? they brought his wife, 
 my moth r soon to be, the idol of his heart, the bliss 
 or anguish of his every thought — they brought her 
 to him while fastened to the stake— ttiey forced her 
 on her knees to pray of him to save his life, by 
 renouncing what they called his damning heresy ; and 
 when this attempt to subdue affrighted nature failed, 
 they placed a burning brand within her grupp, and by 
 force compelled the wife to fire the fatal pile that 
 was to consume her husband ; and amidst the cries of 
 agony of a dying father, and the shrieks of a mother 
 maddened by her anguish, I was untimely bom ! 
 Can you wonder that I could never look upon these 
 deformities without remembering the dreadful cause 
 that brought such a monster upon earth. I had 
 always been led to believe that the merchant had been 
 the denouncer of my father, and by that denuncia- 
 tion was the cause of a toother's early grave. Ever 
 
A SECRET DIVITLGED. 2lO 
 
 itatult that au unfeeling world heaped upon me, 
 engendered in my heart Hnotlier drop of bitter gall, 
 to poiaon my mind against Master Hewet. But I 
 was wrong, as all are who footer hate. The merchant 
 had never wronged me or mine; this was by chance 
 made clear to me by the Abbess of St. Olair." And 
 then he related, what the reader already knows, that 
 S,nkely had been found amongst the dead, and had 
 been taken to the dwelling of the Cripple, and that 
 he had, when he believed himself upon the point of 
 death, made a confession to the Abbess, of things of 
 great importance to Eoline : amongst others he 
 divulged I hat Horton had stolen the documents that 
 alone could prove the rights of Eoline, whatever they 
 might be. 
 
 " And think of our surprise," continued the Cripple, 
 " to discover, conceale 1 in the very mattress upon 
 which he had conveyed Eoline to the ship, years ago, 
 the treasure which the Abbess aloae kuew the value 
 of, and which she had believed was for ever lost. 
 Who the wounded soldier was he would never disclose, 
 or how he came to the knowledge which was of such 
 worth to us. The instant he had recovered sufficiently 
 to leave his couch, he departed from our house, and 
 siuce that time we never heard more concerning 
 Lira." 
 
 " Then it is to prosecute Eoline's claim," enquired 
 Edward, " that has brought you here ? but who and 
 what is she then ? She was always regarded as a poor 
 orphan, kept at the convent out of charity." 
 
 Before the Cripple could reply, they heard a great 
 s'loutiug, fi'om a crowd assembled in the little market- 
 place, for they had now entereJ ihe town. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" enquired the merchant of 
 one of the bystanders. 
 
 "Oh, no great matter," replied the man, "only 
 Master Blaze, the smith, going to sell a beggar ; and 
 why there is such a crowd, do ye see , is because this 
 ig the first beggar that has been so'd since the passing 
 
276 EDiTAM) osboeSe. 
 
 of the act ; there won't be many beggars sOou, but 
 there'll be lots of slaves." Then, in a whisper, he 
 said, " I mean to buy him if I can." 
 
 As the fellow said this, he started off nearer to the 
 spot where a sort of large table had been placed, and 
 upon whicn the smith, the worthy Matter Blaze, 
 immediately mounted, attended by a tip-staff, who 
 read, in a loud voice, the new act — " Statute I, 
 Edward YI., c. 3, laying grear emphasis upon the 
 words which empowered the master to sell, bequeath, 
 let out for hire, or give the service of their slaves to 
 any person whomsoever, upon such conditions, and 
 for such t«rm of years, as the said persons be 
 adjudged to them for slaves, after the like sort and 
 manner as they may do of any other of their move- 
 able goods and chattels." 
 
 Anne, who until that moment had not looked 
 towards the disgusting scene, now raised her eyes, and 
 suddenly clinging to her father's arm, exclaimed — 
 " Gracious Heavens ! 'tis the poor old man ! — father, 
 father, 'tis he !" 
 
 " Whom mean you, child ?" enquired the merchant, 
 not comprehending why she could be thus suddenly 
 moved. 
 
 " 'Tis old grandfather," she said. She saw before 
 her the only being who had made the miseries of her 
 childhood endurable ; she would have sprang forward 
 to embrace her never-to-be-forgotten saviour, had not 
 the merchant held her back. 
 
 " Hush," whispered her father; " be calm, all will 
 be well yet." 
 
 The merchant himself could not at such a time 
 resist a powerful emotion. He was in his mind look- 
 ing upon a scene of years gone by ; that scene of 
 bliss, wherein he beheld his long-lost child, as by a 
 miracle, restored to his longing arms, and he once 
 again exclaimed, " God's blessing light on him 1 he 
 shall be happy, if wealth can make him so !" 
 
 He whispered something into the ear of the 
 
A SECllET DIVULGED. 277 
 
 Cripple, who, mixiug with the crowd, approached 
 very near to the platform. 
 
 There were but two bidders— the man who had 
 auswered the merchant's enquiry, and the Cripple. 
 The cripple became the purchaser. 
 
 "For wbat have you bought me?" said the old 
 man, as the Cripple walked away with him ; " for what 
 have you bought me? I'm old and weak— I can't 
 work — I only wish to die." 
 
 "I've bought you for a lady's toy," replied the 
 Cripple, smiling, " and for one who could, an' she 
 would, make a thousand better men then you or I 
 her slaves ; and that you'll own, when you shall see 
 your mistress, and here she is." 
 
 "Great Heavens!" he exclaimed, "and have my 
 prayers been heard ; and do my eyes once again gaze 
 upon the poor wronged thing, that I so loved — so 
 often prayed to see once more ?" 
 
 " 'Tis I, indeed, grandfather," replied Anne ; " and 
 here stands my real father, him of whom I used to tell 
 such tales ; and here is Edward, too : you remember 
 Edward. And here is the Bridge-shooter, "Willy of 
 the Bridge-gate-tower, that we used to talk about so 
 much. 
 
 The old man looked from one to the other, as Anne 
 pronounced their names, but seemed completely lost ; 
 then fixing his eyes intently upon her face, began to 
 examine every feature — "Yes, yes," he at last ex- 
 claimed, "it is the poor wronged child, the little 
 Anne that I so loved 1" 
 
 It was then explained, that the merchant for years 
 had been endeavouring to discover the protector, the 
 saviour of his darling child ; and that having, as by a 
 miracle, at last found him, he should no more want a 
 protector, or a hope. 
 
 He was placed under the care of the Cripple, to 
 convey him up to the Cottage on the Heath, while 
 the merchant, on their way to London, with the 
 Bridge-shooter, hurried to the Ferry, and Anne, 
 
278 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 placing her r.rra within that of Edward, proceeded 
 towards the little Inn, where they learned that Lillia 
 was no more. 
 
 Anne wept bitterly at hearing the sad fate of Ler 
 Ehe had loved with a sister's love. 
 
 ■" Let us not hurry home, Edward," said Anne, as 
 they came to a road that turned to a uper part of the 
 teath ; "after a time I shall be more myself: let us 
 stroll through this lovely lane, and do you tell me 
 something, anything, to change my present unhappy 
 thoughts." 
 
 " I am but in a poor mood," replied Osborne, " to 
 talk cheerfully, for my whole thoughts are bent upon 
 a subject, that when you shall learn the end to which 
 it leadfij I think you will own that I have cause for 
 being unhappy." 
 
 ."What mean you, dear Edward P" exclaimed 
 Anne, his words filling her with surprise. 
 
 " Anne," he said, " I have been long wishing to ask 
 your advice — to tell you the plans I have formed for 
 my future life. Do not be surprised at what I shall 
 now tell you. Tou know the great interest your good 
 father possesses abroad amongst the merchants there. 
 I have discovered that ere long the manager of the 
 English Tactory at Antwerp, will leave that station, 
 and. 'tis my intention to solicit it, through .j(j}iv 
 father's means. It will be a bitter parting when I 
 leave all I ever loved, to seek my fortune in a foreiga 
 land ; but, since m^ mind has taken a turn, unknown 
 to all but myself, 1 feel it would prove, oh, far more 
 bitter still, were I to remain ! Do not ask me "the 
 cause of this determination, for I will never breathe 
 the secret to mortal ear : do not attempt to p(«Buade 
 me to alter my fixed resolve; it would but add 
 another pang, without even shaking my now firmly- 
 rooted intention. When I do leave England — it will 
 be for ever." 
 
 So unlocked for was the revelation she had heard, 
 that for a moment, the astonished girl could not utter 
 
A SECBBT DITUIGID. 279 
 
 a word ; and when sbe did she scarcely knew what 
 she said. 
 
 " Oh, Edward, Edward !" at last she exclaimed ; 
 " were not your words too cruel for a jest, I would 
 not, could not think you seriou'. Leave us ! your 
 home! your country! and for ever! — impossible! 
 What says my father to this wild s,-heme ?" 
 
 "As yet, he know not of my withes," replied Ed- 
 ward, "and I dread to disclose it to him. He will 
 ask my reasons, and he is the last on earth that I 
 would reveal thi-m to." 
 
 "Reveal them, tlien, to me!" fjaculated Aune, as 
 she gazed implo.ingly intj his eyes, as though she 
 would through them read the seei'et of his iuraofct 
 soul ; " confide all your car^-'S, all your sorrows to me ; 
 for I fear you have csbren, and sorrows too, Edward, 
 that we little dream of." 
 
 " Whatever they may be, Aaue," he replied, " and 
 I own I have troubles ; but tbey are such, tbat none 
 but he that suffers beneath their weight, can ever 
 comprehend the pangs that tliey infliot." 
 
 " Then they are troubles of the mind," she replied, 
 " the weightiest of all to bear ; wo have had a sad 
 proof of this, but now." 
 
 " What mean you ?" enquired Osborne. 
 
 '' Tuu koow, dear Edward," she replieJ, " that un- 
 like you, /never keep a secret, at least from you. 
 The pi'OP cliild Lillia, has died 1 fear — nay, 1 am 
 certain, from having allowed her mind to eat away 
 her life. Young and innocent as she was, she had 
 deceived herself, and loved." 
 
 "And was rejected!" exclaimed Edward. 
 
 " No," continued Anne ; " but believing that she 
 had betrayed her own affection, to one by whom her 
 love was not returned, she drooped and died." 
 
 " Then she was too proud," said Edward, " to ask 
 the truth, and sought the grave, rather than hazard a 
 rejection. She was right ; were I to love, I would 
 suffer a thousand deaths, before I would-^— " 
 
280 SSVTABI) OSBOaiTE. 
 
 And before be had time to Ear wbat he would do 
 Le was interrupted by Flora, v\ho had come upon 
 tbem unawares, and who told them that Bime Alyce 
 and Eoliue were in the ruins. Osborne felt ralber 
 relieved at the interruption which had broken off a 
 conversation that be began to fear would lead him to 
 belray his secret to her, of all others be would have 
 concealed it from. 
 
 When they had joined Alyce and Eoline, they bad 
 much to Bay, first about the death of poor Lillia, the 
 news of which shocked Alyce greatly ; then concern- 
 ing the strange disccTery of tbe old man, to whom 
 Anne had really owed her restoration to her home 
 and her parents. Alyce hearing that by that time 
 he would be at the cottage, hastened away with 
 Eoline and Edward, leaving Aune and Elora to follow 
 them. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 AN ATTACK ON THE COTTAGE. 
 
 If eo were, that I might 
 Have all his treasvire to mjself alone, 
 There a no man that liveth imder the throne 
 Ot Gtod, that should live so merry as I. 
 
 Ceauoib, 
 
 It was a dark and dreary night, and near the mid- 
 night hour, when in a miserable room, lighted by a 
 ■ingle flickering lamp in one of tbe most miserable 
 dwellings in the most miserable part of London, two 
 persons might be seen sitting in deep converse. One 
 of the speakers was a man well dressed, and of soldier- 
 like bearing ; he was well armed, and before him on 
 the table lay a large pistol. His companion was 
 vtry meanly dressed; her features, which had evi- 
 dently been handsome in the days of her youth, were 
 haggard, and bore the impress of early depravity and 
 
AN ATTACK ON THE COTTAGE. 281 
 
 care. Her eye was still bright, and from it flashed 
 the light of firmoess and deternuDation. — The man 
 'wasHorton — his companion, Nan, of the monster show. 
 
 " If what you say be true," esdaimed Nan, " then 
 my many troubles begin to end. But you are sura 
 he is dead ?'' she enquired. 
 
 " Sure," replied Horton — " I saw him with my own 
 eyes expire on the field of battle; so be assured, 
 Nanny, you hare nothing to fear &om Spikely. But 
 come now," continued Horton, tell me what you 
 alone can tell, : — "Who, and what am I ? — for I am 
 not what I seem to be. Who, and what is Eoline ? — 
 for she is not what she seems." 
 
 " In both surmises you are right. The world be- 
 lieves her a penniless orphan — you beUeve her to be 
 your sister. The world and you are wrong." 
 
 " Not my sister !" exclaimed Horton. 
 
 " No !" replied Nan. " No blood of hers and yours 
 ever flowed in the some channel. Don't dash out my 
 brains," she cutinued, half laughing, "when I 
 humble the pride of Master Horton, the would-be 
 heir of Horton of Henley — when I ttU him that his 
 rightful &ther was a thief — and that my sister was his 
 mother." 
 
 " Thou lieat, hell cat !" broke in Horton. " I came 
 not here for fooleries like these, but to seek truth, 
 and through the truth find fortune." 
 
 " It's all true," continued Nan ; " and to make all 
 clear to you, I must relate matters that happened 
 before your birth. The man you always thought to 
 be your father, Andrew Horton, had from early youth 
 lived one unaltered course of deep, though secret 
 depravity. Woman was his prey. My sister was 
 one of his many victims. Tempted by a simi of money, 
 one of the Birds of the Clink married roy sister — and 
 you are their child." 
 
 Horton again bit his lips and frowned, but held his 
 peace. 
 
 " Some time before this, Old Horton wedded with 
 
282 KDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 a girl lowly of birth, but beautiful in face. I was 
 beneath his roof, when his wife bore to him a son ; 
 at the same moment you were born ; ar.d then it was 
 that the" idea entered my mind, what a gloricus 
 revenge it would be, to change the children, and make 
 the thief's Bon Horton's heir, and bring up Horton's 
 son amidst thieves ! The thought was scarcely formed 
 before it was fulfilled. Horton's real son grew up a 
 lovely boy, effem'nate but beautiful. An old man of 
 great wealth, took a liking to him, and bought him 
 of your mother, promising to make him his heir. 
 "Who the old man was, and what became of the boy, I 
 have never been able to learn. Yoa grew up a way- 
 ward boy ; the blood of your real father was in your 
 veins, and mada you what you are. She whom you 
 C'iUed your mother had another child, a girl, born in 
 sorrow— for Horton was a brute, and drove his wife 
 almost to madness. I have known her weep until she 
 lost all power of sight — whether this could have 
 influenced the fate of his child that was still unborn, 
 I know not ; but when it came into the world it was 
 blind — totally blind : that child was Eoliue." 
 
 " But how came she in the conveut of the Miuc- 
 ries ?" said Horton ; " and how knew the Abbess that 
 she was my father's child ? or the man I called my 
 father, if it be really as you say." 
 
 " That I cannot answer," said Nan ; " but I know 
 that Eoline and tl'.e child of Horton were one ; for 
 my sister, taking a religious fit, became one of the 
 poor Clares ; and when she died, as she did soon after 
 she had entered, I saw the blind girl there, and knew 
 her : she had been lost before I was driven from his 
 roof, I gloried in knowing it, for, strange to say, the 
 only thing he ever seemed to really love was that 
 blind child : his wife had long before fled from him, 
 and, it is believed, destroyed herself. We must meet 
 again, for I am worn out to-night, and there is much 
 yet to tell, ere our plan can be brought to bear : givo 
 W9 some money, and then le^ve me," 
 
AN AITAOK ON THE COTTAGE. 283 
 
 Horton, who would have learnt all at once if ho 
 could, but knowing the being he had to deal with, 
 felt it would be useless to press her further, placed 
 a purse upon the table, appointed another meeting, and 
 then taking up the pistol, left the wretched apartment. 
 And let us now return to the Cottage at Putney. 
 
 So completely occupied had every one at the cottage 
 been, from one cause or another, that Anne and 
 Osborne had not for several days been again alona 
 together. One night, as Flora was attending Anne, 
 previous to her retiring to rest, and tt-lling her all the 
 news she had picked up, she suddenly exclaimed, 
 " but I hope to Heaven that what William sajs about 
 master Edward may not be true." 
 
 " Edward 1" ejaculated Anne, " what of Edwai d ?" 
 
 " Oh," replied Flora, in a sorrowful tone, " he haa 
 told William that he intends leaving ua, and quilting 
 England for ever." 
 
 " He has told me so too," said Anne, in a tone more 
 sorrowful than the other ; " and ever since t e did so. 
 I have never been able to ihink of anything else : 
 what can it mean ? Leave us — leave his home — leave 
 all he declared he loved ! there must be some good 
 cause for such strange conduct." 
 
 " Oh, there's plenty of cause," said. Flora, in a 
 tone of voice that seemed to imply she could tell a 
 good deal more if ehe were asked ; she waited, but 
 Anne spoke not ; so as Flora had now detenniced to 
 speak out, she repeated the sentence, " there's plenty 
 of cause." 
 
 " Oh, my dear young mistress, it's vo use mincing 
 matters any longer — Edward Osborne is dying — yes 
 dying of love for you." 
 
 " For me !" exclaimed Anne, turning deadly pale ; 
 "that he loves me is nothing new, nor is my love for 
 him a novelty, but it has ever been the simple love of 
 a brother and a sister." 
 
 " Yes, and so he thought," said Flora, " until that 
 Maiter Lerue opened his eyes." 
 
284 EDWABS OSBOBNX. 
 
 " Lerue !" exclaimed Anne ; " but what can he hare 
 to do with it ?" 
 
 " He has had everything to do with it, and I am 
 very glad he has, for now we know the truth. While 
 Edward could come and see you, and talk to you, and 
 know that no other good-looking fellow came near 
 you, oh! then it was all eomfortable enough, then it was 
 all brotherly love, do y'see ; but the moment he found 
 a fine handsome young man like Lerue being constantly 
 with you, this change comes over Master Edward." 
 
 " But what can be done ?" enquired Anne, quite 
 innocently. 
 
 " What can be done ? I'll tell you : you see, it ia 
 said that ' like cures like ;' and so, if Master Edward's 
 heart has been wounded by love, why, let love be the 
 plaster, and do you put it on." 
 
 "Tou are talking like a mad girl, Flora," replied 
 Anne ; " indeed you are wrong ; Edward has never 
 by word, or look, or deed, betrayed to me that feel- 
 ings different to those we felt for each other in child- 
 hood, had taken possession of hia heart." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! oh, dear !" interrupted Flora, 
 " you young ladies are uncommonly dull of appre- 
 hension. Can eyes speak ? Can sighs ttU tales ? 
 Can words aometitnes betray their speaker ? All this 
 would apply to Master Edward, and yet you tell me 
 he has never, by word, look, or deed, told you t&at 
 he loves you. But I have another proof, if another 
 proof were wanting — ^look here !" and as she sai«l this, 
 she took from her pocket a sheet of paper, whicn she 
 unfolded, and held up by the two comers, as a flag of 
 triumph. " Did ever a young man, and does ever a 
 young man, write poetry if he isn't in love ! The 
 thing's impossible ! for I have been told that there 
 never was a Une of poetry written worth the reading, 
 that had not been penned with the hope to gain the 
 praise of some fair maid — read that." 
 
 Anne took the paper, and read — Tbe Dbeau ov 
 
 JjOYE i^ 
 
AS ATTACK ON THE OOMAOE. 283 
 
 THE DEEAM OF LOVE. 
 
 I. 
 
 The dream of Love, tliat sweetest dream 
 
 That e'er can haunt the midnight hour ; 
 The young maid's hope, the poet's theme, 
 
 The sleeper's bliss, the magic power 
 That to the very soul imparts 
 
 A thrill forgotten neyer more ; 
 For, oh ! it brings to youthful hearts 
 
 A feeling they ne'er felt before. 
 Then of all dreams from realms abore, 
 Gire me the dream, the dream of Lore! 
 
 II. 
 
 And that sweet dream was mine to-night. 
 
 When, oh ! how kind she looked, then sighed, 
 And Towed — oh, rapture of delight ! 
 
 That soon, yes, soon she'd be my bride. 
 But then it seemed she false became, 
 
 And I was scorned, and loved no more, 
 But why stiU weep such fancied shame? 
 
 The wrong is gone — the dream once o'er. 
 Then of all dreams from realms above. 
 Give me the dream, the dream of Love ! 
 
 "There dow," said Flora, "there's a right down 
 new ditty, and Edward is the author." 
 
 And then Anne read it again, and Anne admired 
 it ; and then Flora began to find all sorts of faults 
 with it ; and said that having shown it to her young 
 mistress, she might as well burn it. And Anne 
 thought so too, but forgot to give up possession of 
 it ; but kept it in her hand on her lap, and then she 
 sent Flora down to the parlour to see that all was 
 safe, for she thought she heard a strange noise there ; 
 and the moment she was gone, Anne looked upon the 
 song with one of her sweetest smiles ; and dare we 
 tell what she then did ?— she kissed it, and then 
 carefully, but quickly folding it, placed it in her 
 bosom, just as Flora in evident terror returned, and 
 told her young mistress that she had heard the sound 
 of Toices behind the house. 
 
286 tlD-WAttD dSSOESfi. 
 
 " Tout fears have deceived you," said Anne. " We 
 will first be certain, at all events, before we give an 
 alarm. Place the lamp out of sight in yonder 
 cupboard, and I will descend with you and learu 
 the truth." 
 
 Neither Anno nor Flora were wanting in courage ; 
 but as they quitted the room on tiptoe, and in dark- 
 ness, they could not prevent trembling as they ap- 
 proached the casement : all was still in that direction. 
 They descended the stairp, and listened at every door 
 that led towards the outside of the dwelling, but all 
 was still ; there was but one more place to examine — 
 the kitchen: they lifted the latch of the door; all was 
 still ; they entered ; when they heard a peculiar 
 sound, as of something placed against the outer door, 
 which seemed to be turning and turning, but very 
 slowly and carefully, as though to cause as little noise 
 as possible ; in another moment a blow came against 
 the door, as the part that had been worked upon had 
 given way ; something was now withdrawn, and then 
 the same sort of sound was repeated. 
 
 Not a moment was to be lost ; as quickly as their 
 trembling limbs would bear tliem, they hastened, 
 Flora to arouse Edward — Anne to awaken the 
 Cripple-of-the-Biidge. 
 
 It was some little time before eitlier of the sleepers 
 could be made conscious that danger was at hand ; as 
 soon as this was made clear to them, they cime forth, 
 bearing all the arms tbey could muster. What was 
 to be doneP Flora was sure, she said, that there 
 were numbers of assailants. Resistance, under such 
 circumstances, seemed hopeless, but still neither 
 AYilly-of-the- Bridge nor Edward were men to give 
 in without a s'ruggle. At first, it seemed impossible 
 that they could even alarm the people of the farm, 
 until Anne poposed, nay insisted, upon making the 
 trial herself; the direct road lay across the yard 
 wherein the robbers were, therefore that way was 
 impossible ; but it struck her. that by leaving the 
 
AS lTt,\.dK Olf *IIE COTTAOE. 28? 
 
 tiouBe by the front, and creeping along bineatli the 
 hedges, she might attain her end, and bring aid suf- 
 ficient to enable them to hold out until the farm 
 Bervanta might call in other assistance : and she cau- 
 tiously left the dwelling, while the Cripple, with 
 Eiward, stole to the kitchen. 
 
 Tiiey saw an arm pushed through a hole in the 
 door to undo the fastenings, and without hesitatioa 
 Edward firod. 
 
 The robbers finding that secrecy was now of little 
 use, began to batter at the door with heavy beams of 
 wood ; but strong as the dnor was, it »oon gave way. 
 Edward and the Cripple fired upon the robbers and 
 then retreated, followed by the assailants. Knowin;j[ 
 there would be no time to reload their pistols, they 
 r. served their fire for the last extremity, and the 
 Cripple having found his staff, laid more than one 
 ruiBan bleeding upon the ground. I'Vom room to 
 room they fought with desperation ; when the la'at 
 kind of relief that could have entered into the mind 
 of either Edward or the Cripple, sudJeuly appeared 
 in the shape of soldiers armed to the tiseth, led on 
 by the Bridge-shooter. 
 
 The house was filled with armed men, wounded 
 and dying robbers, and women on their kn es, offer- 
 ing up thanks for their unlooked-for preservation. 
 The few thieves that remained were soon marched 
 off; while those that had escaped were being hotly 
 pursued in various directions over the Heath. At 
 last, Edward, who had been to see to the comforts 
 of their deliverers, returned, and enquired if Anne 
 had nft yet returned from the farm. All v. ere in a 
 state cf alarm, when, on enquiry, it was ascertained 
 that she had not been seen or heard of at the farm. 
 It was at once determined to institute a search for 
 her, an'l different parties saliied forth over the Heath 
 for that purpose. 
 
 Tlie old man of the show took up his staff, deter- 
 mined to aid in the search af.er his benefactress, the 
 
288 EDWAED OSBOaSE. 
 
 whole scene near Tybourne Tree being recalled foN 
 cibly to hia mind. Pervently did he pray, that on 
 this night also, he might be by Heaven selected to be 
 the saviour of the lost child. 
 
 When coming near the ruins of the cliapel, he was 
 surprised to see several lights within, and approach- 
 ing one of the ruined windows, he looked iu upon 
 a solemn and affecting scene. In the centre was s 
 grave, on each side of which was placed a coffin : at 
 the head of the grave stood a man, reading from a 
 book, the service of the dead in English. The larger 
 coffin was deposited in its endless home ; and as the 
 smaller one was just being lifted over the aperture, a 
 country lad in violent grief, exclaimed " Oh, my poor 
 young missus, I shall never see her again, bless her ! 
 I shall never see her again — no, never, bless her !" 
 
 The old man was greatly moved at this simple but 
 heartfelt grief of the poor lad ; and when the grave 
 had been filled up, he followed him as he left the 
 chapel, and ascertained who they were that had that 
 night been consigned to the tomb. 
 
 " And only to think," said the lad, " that she should 
 die, and her father should die, and all just when he had 
 got a new name, and a great heap of money." 
 
 " A new name, and a heap of money ! and what 
 was his new name, eh, my good lad ?" 
 
 " Algernon Mortley — so they says." 
 
 " Algernon Mortley !" exclaimed the venerable in- 
 quirer ; " how strange !" And it may easily be 
 imagined how painfully he was excited when we tell 
 the reader that this was the name of an elder brother, 
 who had in early life fled from home, rather than 
 enter into a marriage he loathed, and had, untD that 
 day, never been heard of again. 
 
 ^Notwithstanding the unhappy circumstances in 
 which he met, as we might say, his long-lost brother, 
 his anxiety for Anne led him to make further fruit- 
 less enquiries regarding her fate, and he sorrowfully 
 returned to the cottage, where he ascertained tbsil 
 
IN ATTACK ON THE COtTAQK. 289 
 
 evefy endeavour to discover the lost Anne had proved 
 abortive. 
 
 Late as the night was, Edward and the Bridge- 
 Bhooter determined to hasten to London, to acquaint 
 the merchant with the dreadful news. The inmates 
 of the cottage were safe enough now, for several of 
 the soldiers mounted guard, and the rest were to 
 remain until the morning at the farm. So, taking a 
 harried leave of their friends, Edward and his trustj 
 companion started upon their midnight journey down 
 the river. 
 
 As they went along, the Bridge-shooter informed 
 young Osborne how he had come so opportunely to 
 their rescue—" For once," said he, " I must own, old 
 mother has been as good as a witch. Tou must 
 know, that this afternoon, she sent for me, and so 
 oflf to her I went. ' "Where is the merchant ?' said 
 she. ' Out,' said I, ' and won't be at the Bridge till 
 the morning. ' Then you must act for him. Ask no 
 questions, but hurry down to the river, get six of the 
 strongest rowers you can, tell them to pull for their 
 lives, and convey you to Putney ; when there, get 
 what aid you can, and hasten to the cottage: this 
 much only I can tell you — the cottage will this nigVit 
 be attacked, and plundered, if nothing worse should 
 happen, unless you be there before the clock shall 
 sound the eleventh hour of night.' Hearing this, 
 you may be sure I did not hesitate, so oflf I atarte.'I, 
 got my rowers ; the tide was with us, and gallantly 
 we cut along : and having by mere chance found some 
 soldiers at the ferry, I pressed them into service, and 
 tbe rest you know." 
 
 As they were just oS where the Southwark Bridge 
 now spans the Thames, they j-assed a boat goiug at a 
 sluggish pace ; two men were rowing, and at the 
 bottom of the boat lay something not unlike a dead 
 body, wrapped round with sailcloth. 
 
 "What cheer, friends ?" called out the Bridge- 
 shooter. 
 19 
 
290 EBWAUB OSBOnHE. 
 
 No answer was returned ; bolh the men stopped 
 pulling, and turned the head of the boat, as if about 
 to land ; but seeing the boat with William and bis 
 six rowers, now far a-head, they put again into their 
 former course, and passed on. When they arrived at 
 Old London Bridge, the two men fa'stened the boat 
 to the sterling, undtr the arch benfath the Cardinal's 
 Hat ; a signal being given, the trap above w as opened, 
 and a ladder let down. A man was seen holding a 
 torch from the trap-door — that man was Brassinjaw, 
 One of the men in the boat, unwiapping the sail- 
 cloth, lifted up the senseless form of a female, an-d 
 thus laden, began to ascend the ladder; the other 
 man remained in the boat to steady it — this was 
 Nino, the Italian ; the first was Spikely. We need 
 scarcely say, that the senseless form he carried, was 
 that of the lovely Anne. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 
 
 Let take a cat, and foster her with milk 
 ^nd tender flesh, and make her couch of silk j 
 And let her see a mouse go by the wall. 
 Anon she waiveth milk and flesh and all. 
 And every dainty that is in that house : 
 Such appetite hatli she to eat the mouse. 
 
 Chaxtcsb. 
 
 When the merchant heard of all that had happened 
 at the cottage, and of the second loss of his child, his 
 agony was extreme. As Edward and ibe Bridge- 
 ■ehooter, who were little less affected than Master 
 Hewet, were endeavouring to console the bereaved 
 father, by raising hopes which they themselves did 
 not believe in, they were told that a sea-faring man 
 was waiting below and. wanted to see the merchant. 
 Edward feeling how impossible it would be for their 
 
i&i ADbtfcTtoN. 201 
 
 ttiafter to receive any stranger, ovprwhelmed as he 
 was with grief, descended to enquire the object of the 
 visitor. He had been gone but a very few minutes, 
 ■wlien he returned, and beckoned to the Bridge-shooter, 
 who quietly left the room. 
 
 "lou must go immediately with this man," said 
 Edward, "' wherever he may take you ; he is a Dutch 
 tailor, and jumbles his own language with the few 
 words he knows of ours in such a manner, that it is 
 liopelrss to discover what he really means, further 
 tli;in that somebody belonging to Merchant Hewet is 
 wanted immediately upon ailairs of moment. 
 
 The Bridge-shooter, who, as we have before seen, 
 never stayed to dispute any order given to him by 
 Edward, made a very few minutes suJffiee for his pre- 
 parations, and immediately started off with the Dutch 
 sailor. 
 
 "When Osborne returned to the merchant's room, 
 he found him much more composed ; the first flood of 
 grief was pnssed away, and he determined at once to 
 leave the Bridge and hasten to the Heath, that he 
 might give whatever little comfort lay iu his power to 
 his beloved Alyce. 
 
 "And, besides," eaid he, "I must not forget, in 
 giving way to the grief of a father, the duties of a 
 man. I have much to eay to "Willy concerning Eoliue, 
 which if delayed may be their ruin. 1 had but just 
 bet'ore my return learnt strange things regarding 
 their ailairs, and I became ov<.'rjo>ed at the discovery 
 I lad made, when jour fatal news sunk my heart into 
 despair." 
 
 When the merchant had gone, Edward gave way to 
 his own wretched feelings. If he had formerly been 
 unconscious of his love for Anne, he was so no longer ; 
 her loss drove him almost to madness. Willingly 
 would he have laid down his own life, could he have 
 restored her to her once happy home. 
 
 He remained for a time loss in thought, picturing 
 to himself all the early scenes in which he had been 
 
292 EDWABD OSBOKWE. 
 
 80 happy as a boy, when first he had watched the 
 tottering steps of the baby Anne. He had loved her 
 from the first, but little dreamt lie then that that 
 child would one day be his heart's sole hope, and yet 
 that heart's despair. All at once he was startled from 
 his reverie, by hearing a strange voice close to his ear 
 exclaim — " Be'st asleep, maister Ed'ard ?" 
 
 Osborne looked towards the speaker, and there saw 
 the country boy from the Ferry-house at Putney. 
 
 "And what want you, my good lad?" enquired 
 Edward. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, only you,'' replied the other, 
 " Hoiy corned from the odd-looking chap that's now 
 at the Cottage on the Heath." 
 
 Edward starting up, asked anxiously, " Had they 
 found her ?" 
 
 " No, not exactly her," said the boy ; " but they a' 
 found Bummut, w^hich hoiy'm to give to you, for you 
 tu give to Master Allen." 
 
 " But what is it you have to give me ?" said Edward, 
 rather sharply. 
 
 "Oh! here it he's," said the boy, producing a 
 badge, such as were then worn on the arm by serving 
 men ; and he also delivered a note hurriedly written 
 by the Cripf le, which was to the effect — " that in 
 again searching the line of road by which it was 
 imagined that Anne would endeavour to reach the 
 farm-house, they had found the ground much die- 
 tuibed, as if a violent struggle had taken place there ; 
 more than one piece of toin female attire also was 
 lying about, and in a hedge through which a way bad 
 apparently been forced, the badge was discovered. 
 
 W hen Osborne had d smissed the lad, he began to 
 examine the badge more attentively. " It is certainly 
 strange," he said, " that such a thing should be found 
 in such a place ; this is evidently the badge of the 
 house of Shrewsbury, and it is not likely that any 
 servitors of that great family would be linked with 
 thieves. As he stood gazing upon the badge, his eye 
 
THE ABDOCTION. 293 
 
 fell upon the ring which young Lord George TJbot 
 had given some years before, and he remembered the 
 promise which had then been given. " How little did 
 I then think," said he, " that I should ever wish to put 
 such a promise to the t«st, nor would I now were it to 
 serve myself; but for her, oh! what would I not do?" 
 
 How Anne had fallen into the hands of those -who 
 now held her close prisoner may be thus explained. 
 Nino, who was an Italian of the worst description, 
 had discovered the attachment which Lord George, 
 while disguised as "Walter Lerue, had formed for the 
 trader's daughter of the Heath, aad he immediately 
 began to speculate upon the probability of turning 
 the aflFair to his own benefit. Once having made up 
 hia mind that something must be done to reinstate 
 himself in the good graces of his young lord, whose 
 estimation of him, lately, he felt bad been greatly 
 lo>vered, he dettrmined to sacrifice the trader's 
 daughter for his own advancement. — " Tou see," he 
 said to Spikely, whom he had made a participator in 
 the plot ; " you see that although Lord George would 
 not condescend to ask my aid in such an affair, and 
 would fain be thought too honourable to sanction 
 such a proceeding, he will, believe me, be mad wiih 
 joy, when he finds her snug beneath his own roof, aud 
 in his power." 
 
 So trifling an a&ir did the abi^uetion of a trader's 
 daughter appear in those days. There happened just 
 at this juncture, a circumstance which caused Nino 
 great anuoyance, for in it he saw much inconvenience 
 to himsflf, and loss to his purse — this was the un- 
 expected dismissal of Mona from her employ, and 
 that dismissal attended with such disgrace, that it 
 was hopeless for her to attempt to obtain a like posi- 
 tion, at least where she was at all known. In tliis 
 extremity she had flown to her lorer, Nino ; and he, 
 not knowing what better to do with her, had per- 
 suaded Brassinjaw to allow her to remain, for a timo, 
 at the " Cardinal's Hat." 
 
294 XDWABD OSBOSITIi. 
 
 Pate seemed to be working in aid of their iofamous 
 plan ; the very night they had fixed upon for visiting 
 the Heath, and watching their opportunity of seizing 
 the girl and carrying her away, was the same which 
 another party of wretches Lad chosen as a fitting one 
 for. committing the robbery of the Cottage. 
 
 By Anne having gone a very circuitous road to 
 reach the Farm, she had, by the very precaution slie 
 was taking to avoid danger, fallen into one, that could 
 she have known the truth, she would have regarded 
 with a thousand times more horror than the certainty 
 of death by the hands of the robbers. 
 
 Anne having left the Cottage some distance behind, 
 flew forward as swiftly as her limbs would carry her, 
 and was just turning tlie comer of a narrow lane, 
 when she came suddenly upon the two wretches. 
 
 Nino caught her in his arms, exclaiming — " Holloa, 
 my pretty wench, whither so fast ? 'tis late at night 
 for petticoats to be flying about the fields — is it not ?" 
 
 " Fur mercy's sake !" exclaimed Anne, endeavouring 
 with all her might to fiee herself from his grasp, 
 " oh ! for mercy's salte do not, do not detain me ! I 
 am flying for help — robbers are at the Cottage !" 
 
 " Diavolo 1" ejaculated Nino, "it is the girl herself; 
 quick, quick, away with her ! Fool ! why do you 
 scream and struggle so ? 'Tia useless to resist." 
 
 But Aune struggled on, and louder screamed than 
 ever; for one moment she freed herself, but her 
 strength was gone, and falling into a swoon upon the 
 earth, became their unresisting prey. 
 
 When they had conveyed her to the boat, ihey 
 watched for returning animation ; the moment lile 
 appeared they placed a draught to her lips ; uncon- 
 scious of wljat she did, she swallowed it. It was a 
 Eowerful narcotic. Soon did its mysterious power 
 ly to rest every feeling ; and thus in a profound 
 sleep was the wretched Anne conveyed to Old Londoo 
 Bridge, and placed under the charge of Mona. 
 
REV11LA.TI0N3. 295 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 REVELATIONS. 
 
 That Boundeth unto the gentleness of Iots — 
 As on a tomb is all tlie fair above. 
 And under is the corpse, such as we wot j 
 Suoh was this hypoorite, both cold and hot . 
 
 OaA.i;oitB. 
 
 It will be necessary here to explain the provisions of 
 old Horton'a will. When lie died it was discovered, 
 much to Horton's dismay, that his reputed father's 
 property was all left in trust— the bulk for the benefit 
 of Eoline, and a very slender provision for himself. 
 It was also provided, that in the eveat of Eoline not 
 being found by a certain distant date, or if her death 
 could be proved before such date, that the whole of 
 the property should come absolutely to Horton. It 
 may easily be imagined, therefore, how much he 
 was annoyed when he was informed by Nan of his 
 true parentage. During the course of that conversa- 
 tion, Nan in counting her many wanderings, bad told 
 him that she had returned from the continent in the 
 same ship with the Cripple, Eoline, and the A.bbes3 ; 
 and that in the shipwreck all on board had perished 
 but herself. 
 
 As Nan was the only one cognizant of his not 
 being in reality old Hortou's son, he saw no obstacle 
 to his getting possession of the wealth of bis reputed 
 parent, if he could purchase Nan's silence, and induce 
 her to come forward as a witness to prove Eoline's 
 death. 
 
 It was not long before he managed to secure both 
 points in his favour by making very liberal arrange- 
 ments with Nan, and giving proper legal documents 
 to secure her a comfortable income for life. The 
 giving documents of any kind was rather distasteful 
 to IJorton — he wanted her to trust to his honour 
 
296 ED-WAED OSBOEITE. 
 
 and the affection which he must entertain for his 
 Aunt, but on this point Nan was inexorable, and 
 Horton was obliged to yield. " Natures never alter," 
 said she to him ; "a rat's a rat, and a rogue's a rogue — 
 it is knowing this which makes me guard myself from 
 you." 
 
 These preliminaries being at least satisfactorily 
 adjusted, Horton made application to bis trustee, but 
 found that his claim to the property was c6ntested, 
 and that he must prosecute it in a court of law. 
 
 He lost no time in preparing for the trial — he 
 secured the services of that eminent Counsel, Sergeant 
 Thunderdown, and confidently awaited the result. 
 
 A few days after the abduction of Anne, the event- 
 ful morning that he hoped would make him a wealthy 
 man at last arrived. 
 
 Nan, in the meantime, believing that her husband 
 was dead, had openly assumed his name, and in the 
 sober dress of a widow accompanied Horton to "West- 
 minster, where the trial of the case was to come on. 
 
 The necessary forms having been disposed of. Ser- 
 geant Thunderdown rose, and commencing what he 
 intended to be a very long and very brilliant speech, 
 stated, " that the case entrusted to him was a peculiar 
 case — a case differing from any one he had ever before 
 had placed in his hands. It was a will case — but, 
 unlike most will cases, the will was not disputed in 
 any part of its provisions. He then went on to ex- 
 plain, " that Andrew Horton, deceased, had been 
 married ; that the fruits of this marriage had been 
 two children, one a boy, the other a girl ; that the 
 girl was bom blind ; that this child had been lost at 
 a very tender age ; that the father would never be 
 persuaded but that one day or another she would be 
 recovered ; that it was under these strong feelings of 
 parental love and pity for her blindness, that he had 
 caused the will to be drawn up in the shape it had 
 been. The clause upon which the whole case turned 
 was tills — that Andrew Horton, believing that bin 
 
REVELATIONS. 297 
 
 daughter would one day be discovered, had left nearly 
 the whole of his wealth away with his eon, and had 
 placed it in trust to accumulate for the sole use and 
 benefit of the said daughter, to be rendered up to her 
 at any time she might be discovered ; or in case of 
 her not being discovered during twenty years after 
 the death of the testator, then, and not until then, the 
 property was to go to the son, Henry Horton, unless 
 it cannot be clearly proved that the lost or stolen 
 child be dead — Now the first thing we have to prove 
 is whether the child was born or not." 
 
 " We admit the birth, brother Thunderdown," said 
 "Whistlepipe, the opposing counsel, " we admit the 
 birth." 
 
 " "Well, then, the next point we have to prove, is 
 the discovery of the blind child by her brother Henry 
 Horton, in the late Nunnery of the Miuories." 
 
 " We admit that fact," again interrupted Whis- 
 tlepipe. 
 
 " Then," said the sergeant, " the two points being 
 admitted — first, the birth of the child, and then the 
 discovery of the child, all I have to prove is the 
 death of the child — and the court," he was sure, 
 " would forgive him being a little lengthy in his re- 
 marks, for he threwdly suspected his learned brother 
 did not intend to allow him a reply ; therefore all he 
 had to say he must say now. Had his friend Whis- 
 tlepipe, iutended to produce witnesses " 
 
 " And so I do," observed Whistlepipe. 
 
 " Under these circumstances then," said he, " as 
 I shall have a future opportunity of again addressing 
 the court in reply, I shall at once call a witness to 
 prove the deeth of Eoline." 
 
 Dame Spikely was now brought forward for exami- 
 nation. The questions to be asked, were so clearly 
 and carefully laid before the examining counsel, that 
 Nan had scarcely any more to say than " yea, or no," 
 as the case might be ; and the circumstance of tho 
 wreck being such a well-known fact, there was no 
 
298 EDWARD OSBOBIfl!. 
 
 doubt at that moment on the minda of all who heard 
 her, nor was there on her own, but that Eoline Tiad 
 perished with her hasband, and the rest of those on 
 board. 
 
 To Thunderdown's astonishment, AVhistlepipe never 
 once attempted to cross-question her ; and when he 
 arose, he begaa his address by complimenting Dame 
 Spikely upon the clear and straightforward evidence 
 she had given, and that he allowed her fjll credit for 
 believing every word she bad uttered — " But," said 
 he, "how often does error look like truth. Jfow I 
 shall be able ' to prove that not one word concerning 
 the death of the blind girl is true." This assertion 
 caused a great sensation, and Whistlepipe went on — 
 " I always go," said he, "to the fountain head at once, 
 therefore the witness I sball produce to prove the exis- 
 tence of the lady in qutstion, will be — tbe lady herself." 
 
 Upon saying this, Eoline was brought forward, as 
 much to the horror of Horton, as to the surprise of 
 Nan, That she was the person saved from the wreck, 
 was soon made manifest by tbe evidence of the mer- 
 chant and his brave companions. 
 
 There was but one chance now left for Horton, and 
 that at the first glance appeared a strong one; namely, 
 that of obliging the adverse party to prove that 
 Eoline was really the lost child of Andrew Horton. 
 It did certainly lie with the defendant to prove, that 
 the claimant brought forward in the person of a 
 certain blind girl named Eoline, was the child of the 
 deceased Andrew Horton. 
 
 Whistlepipe not being prepared for this turn of 
 events, it is difiBcult to fancy how the case might 
 have terminated, had not, just at this moment, the 
 Bridge-shooter put his head in at the side door, and 
 having caught the eye of tbe merchant beciioned 
 him out. 
 
 In a few minutes the merchant returned, and 
 whispered a few words to their counsel, who imme- 
 diately replied to Sergeant Thunderdown's enquiry— 
 
BIVBLATIONS, 299 
 
 " If that was his case ?" with "Not quite ; I have one 
 ■witness more to examine. Call in Elizabeth Savagp, 
 late Abbess of the Poor Clares." And the Abbess, 
 who appeared half dead from illness, brought on by 
 her sufferings during and after the storm, was carried 
 in, seated in a chair. The disclosures she made asto- 
 nished al), but none more so tliau Horton himself; 
 for upon being asked her name, she answered — "I waa 
 called B izabeih Savage; but that is not my name. 
 I am Eoline Horton, and that blind girl is my 
 own child." 
 
 She then explained how the shattered boat in which 
 she lay, had been cast upon the shore : that by the 
 care of those who found her, her life had been prc- 
 ser\ed ; that believing herself upon the bed of death, 
 she had prepared a full account of all she was then 
 relating; and that all had been ignorant of her fate 
 till she had sent a foreign sailor to Merchant Ileweb 
 to inform him of her being in England. 
 
 It was soon found that her strength would never 
 hold out to tho end, so it viaa arrauged that her 
 written narrative should be read aloud, aud that then 
 she could, as it proceeded, make any observation she 
 might think fit ; it ran thus : — 
 
 " Thb Confession of a Sinnek." 
 " In very early life I was married, by compulsion, 
 to Andrew Horton, who was rich, but who cared not 
 whom he sacrificed, so that his own desires were ac- 
 complished. Weeks and months rolled on ; every 
 succeeding one mere wretched than the last. I now 
 became a mother ; my infant, a boy, was, almost as 
 soon as born, removed from me, and placed under the 
 care of one of his other victims, as nursa to my 
 child. The next year of my life was one of unceasing 
 tears ; for weeks I have been totally blind from weep- 
 ing ; it was in this miserable state I bore a daughter ; 
 the temporary blindness of the parent fixed itself for 
 ever upon the child— she was bora sightless. Ms 
 
300 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 eiiatence became a torture to me ; all I prayed for 
 was to die. At last driven to madness by insult and 
 oppression, 1 fled my husband's home for ever. I 
 entered the abode of the poor Clares ; circumstances 
 combined to make me soon the head of that house. 
 One night I pretended to have found a poor blind 
 orphan, but it was false, for the girl I brought was 
 my own child ; this pretended orphan was my only 
 comfort — a mother's love being rewarded by a darling 
 child's affection." 
 
 The narrative then went on to describe those scenes 
 which the reader has already been made acquainted 
 with ; such as the visit of Horton as a commisaioner 
 of Cromwell, and how she bad checked his licentious 
 course by whispering in his ear that E line was his 
 sister, although it was long before known to her that 
 Horton was no child of hers ; for as !N'an had truly 
 stated to him, his real mother had taken refuge in 
 the Convent of the Minories, and, it now appeared, 
 had, on her death-bed revealed the truth of the 
 children. But here followed a passage in the Abbess's 
 Earrative whicli astonished those who heard it, for it 
 stated that the rich old man, who had taken a likino; 
 to, and had, in fact, bought the true offspring of 
 Andrew Horton, and had with it gone to Italy, 
 passing the boy off as his on'n son and heir, was a 
 baronet named FUbut Fussy, at whose death, the 
 boy, now grown to man's estate, unconscious of doing 
 wrong, and unopposed by any of the relations of hid 
 supposed father, laid claim to, and enjoyed all the old 
 man's vast possessions. Thus it appeared that Eoline 
 and the murdered knight were, in truth, brother and 
 sister, and that Harry Horton in no way could lay 
 claim to inherit any portion of the wealth left by 
 Andrew Horton. So well had the Abbess digested 
 her plans to secure to her daughter her rights, that in 
 one part, where cqpfirmation was required of asser- 
 tions that might appear doubtful without a witness, 
 forth stepped the once-saiutly father Brassiujaw, 
 
SlVEtATIONS. 801 
 
 Wlio, as former confessor of the poor Clares, disclosed 
 as much (and perhaps a little more), as his priestly 
 oath of secrecy would permit ; but in the case of the 
 death-bed confession of Nan's sister, what she had 
 then revealed, was not for the purpose of obtaining 
 absolution, but that those who heard it might one 
 day bear witness to the truth. 
 
 The moment Braesinjaw had been informed that 
 his evidence was to ruin Horton, he flew to the task 
 with all the appetite with which we might imagine a 
 hawk would pounce upon a poor defenceless sparrow. 
 
 A very short time suflSced to conclude the rest of 
 the affair ; and with comparatively light hearts, the 
 Clippie with his now rich wife, accompanied by their 
 fiiends, quitted the justice court — we say, with com- 
 pai atively light hearts, for the uncerta n fate of the 
 merchant's daughter could not but cast a damp upon 
 their otherwise boundless joy. 
 
 Osborne bad gone several times to the mansion of 
 the Earl of Shrewsbury, but without having the good 
 fortune to find either that nobleman or his son. 
 Lord George. He prosecuted his enquiries in every 
 quarter the most likely, aod even the most unlikely, 
 to gain information regarding the lost Anne : he even 
 consulted the Bridge-shooter's mother, who, this 
 time, honestly confessed herself at fault. 
 
 After this visit to the witch of Houndsditch, Ed- 
 ward again visited the EarVs mansiim, and this time 
 was ushered into a magnificent gallery, hung round 
 with portraits of the Earls of Shrewsbury, aod pic- 
 tures of many of the great aciions of their lives. He 
 had been waiting some time, when a door cipened at 
 the opposite end of the gallery to that by which he 
 had entered, and was bewildered to see standing 
 before him Walter Lerue, splendidly attired. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, Osborne said — " 1 but 
 little expected to meet with Master Lerue in this 
 mansion — indeed, I was told to await here the coming 
 of the Earl, or of his son— and " 
 
S02 EtWAnt OSEOfiSi. 
 
 "And you are welcome, Mastrr Edward Osborue," 
 Raid Lerue ; aud as he advanced, be held forth his 
 hand to Osbomje, which the latter took, with evident 
 reluctance. '' If your heart were as bad as your 
 memory, you would be a much worse man than you 
 ever will be. Look at me agaia ; we are old friends, 
 are we not ?" 
 
 " Once meeting for an hour at the Cottage on the 
 Heath," replied Edward, "is scarcely intercourse suf- 
 ficient to form an acquaintance, much less cement 
 a friendship." 
 
 " Tut, man," said the other ; " why, you cannot 
 surely forget that, but for your timely aid, I had 
 once taken a bath too much off Battersea. Be not 
 surprised, ia finding in Master Lerue the heir of 
 Shrewsbury. My memory. Master Ooborne, is far 
 better than your own. 1 remember, too, that you 
 have a ring of mine, and no doubt you have come 
 to claim the promise made, when that ring was 
 given :" and Lord George pushed forward a magni- 
 ficent seat, and drawing another near to it, said — 
 " As I hope this visit will not be a short one, let us 
 be seated, for though you may have but little to say, 
 I have much, and tliat, too, of some moment : be 
 seated and speak freely — you have a willing listener." 
 
 Edward now began to tell his tale by saying — 
 "You, my lord, having already been somewhat ac- 
 qnain'ed with the inmates of the Cottage on the 
 lltath, will doubtless be surprised to learn that he 
 who owned that Cottage, was not Master Allen, aa 
 humble trader as he there appeared, but " 
 
 " Master Williaiti Hewet, the kind's great mer- 
 chant," interrupted Lord Talbot. " Tou see I kuow 
 more than you suspected." 
 
 " Heaven grant that you may knowiiow to discover 
 the treasure Master Hewet has, I fear, for ever lost !" 
 
 " What treasure has that worthy merchant lost ?" 
 enquired the other. 
 
 " His child !" said Osborne. 
 
HEVElATlONS. S03 
 
 " His child !" exclaimed the young lord, " lest liis 
 child ; surely I must misunderstand your words." 
 
 " Alas !" replied E iward, " it is but too true ;" and 
 he then recounted the whole of the iucidents con- 
 nected with the attvik of the robbers ; and tbat after 
 Anne had left the cottage, in the endeavour to reach 
 the farm unobserved, she had never again been seen. 
 " When you bestowed upon me this ring, you told 
 me, tbat whenever I required aid, I was to claim 
 it here." 
 
 " Whatever aid I, or my house can bring, vi ill bo 
 brought right willingly. But how can we hope to 
 solve the mystery ?" 
 
 " There ia a s'ight chance of obtaining a clue, by 
 the aid of this badge," he replied ; and he produced 
 the badge, and explained the circumstances under 
 which it had been found. 
 
 " There is more knavery in this," s.iid Lord Talbot, 
 " than we shall perhaps ever fathom ; but I think I 
 have a knave that will ferret it out ; he is my varlet — 
 by name Nino, an Italian rogue, who, because he did 
 me a service when in Italy, has ever since stuck to 
 me as a blood-sucker." 
 
 The young lord went to a side door, and calling the 
 Italian by his name, Nino appeared. 
 
 Lord Talbot, holding the badge up suddenly before 
 Nino's eyes, exclaimed — "Whose badge is that ?" 
 
 " Whose ? — why, yours, my lord i" 
 
 " I know 'tis mine," replied the other ; " but would 
 know who wore it last, and lost it ? Had my orders 
 been obeyed, and the badges numbered, we should have 
 known at once whose it was." 
 
 " I know," said Nino ; "it is doubtless the badge 
 of Philip of the Buttery : he absconded a fortnight 
 since with Mona, cur laiiy's woman ; fearful of dis- 
 covery, he has torn the badge from his arm, and cast 
 it away." 
 
 " It may have been as he says," observed Lord 
 Talbot, addressing Osborne. " Tou may be gone." 
 
304 ID-WABD OSUORSE. 
 
 Nino bowed humbly, and retired through the door 
 he had entered by. 
 
 " I feel that we shall trace but little by this badge ; 
 but this I promise, that not an engine of power, that 
 is likely to avail as, but shall immediately be set in 
 motion. And now I would tell you a secret ; but for 
 the present, you must pledge me your word not to 
 breathe it to mortal ear." After a pause, he continued, 
 
 " No doubt, you must have been surprised to find, 
 that the poor artist of the Heath, and the boy you 
 Eared, were one, and that one — Lord Talbot !" 
 
 " It was a difference I had had with my father, that 
 made me, for a time, wish to live in concealment. 1 
 assumed the character of an artist, being a great lorer 
 of the art, though but a poor executant, put up at the 
 Ferry, and strolled about the country with my gun 
 and my drawings, and killed time as well as I could. 
 In one of my rambles, I saw the ' Beauty of the 
 Heath,' for eo sweet Mistress Anne was called all the 
 country round. 
 
 " You, doubtless, know that fate at last placed an 
 opportunity in my way, of being of some slight service 
 to her : I seized that opportunity of becoming more 
 intimate. 
 
 " The unexpected meeting wiih the merchant on 
 the evening you saw me at the cottage, opened my 
 eyes to the position of the pretended Mr. Allen, and 
 when I left the cottage, I determined never to think 
 of the ' Beauty of the Seath ;' but so painful has thia 
 absence from her been that I feel that life with ber, 
 or death with her, must be m y fate : I have, therefore, 
 determined to demand her hand ! 
 
 " I see you are astonished," continued Lord Talbot. 
 " But what is the world to me, unless sustained by the 
 love of her, in whose love alone life can be honourable ?" 
 
 " Ton now know," he said, " the secret feelings of 
 my mind ; keep them, at present, locked in your own 
 breast ; but the moment sweet Anne shall be restored, 
 it is upon you I depend ; you roust plead my cause — 
 
B£T£IiilXIOirS. 305 
 
 you must discover for me the inward feelings of her 
 heart, for Jcanaot stoop to ask and be rejected. In 
 the meantime, be sure that every nerve of mine will be 
 exerted to discover the retreat, or fate of sweet Anne 
 Hewet. I will so arrauge, that you shall always Cud 
 me at a moment's notice." 
 
 Osborne, considering the extraordinary turn matters 
 had taken, so contrary to that which he had believed 
 his visit would lead to, managed to leave the young 
 lord's presence with tolerable composure; but the 
 moment he found himself alone, he hurried into a 
 concealed alcove, and gave full vent to his sorrow. 
 
 We will not attempt to depict all his agony. If any 
 thing could have blignted the little hope he formerly 
 might have pictured to himself, tliat last ray of hope 
 was extinguished, by the knowledge of one so great as 
 the young lord he had just left, having determined 
 to offer his wealth and name to the merchant's 
 daughter. 
 
 " But I will never see that day — no, no, I will never 
 see that day," he said to himself, bitterly. 
 
 While so many were employed in various districts, 
 endeavouring to discover the lost Anne, she was a 
 prisoner within an arm's length of (hose who dwelt in 
 the house of her birth upon the Bridge. When she 
 had been brought to the Cardinal's Hat, she was at 
 once conveyed to the upper room of the house ; this 
 room being lighted by a skylight only, it was impossi- 
 ble for any one confined there to discover, from out- 
 ward views, where their prison lay. After the powerful 
 draught she had swallowed began to lose its narcotic 
 virtue, returning sense began to assert its sway, and 
 the first time real consciousness returned her eyes 
 met those of Mona, whe had been incessantly watching 
 over her from the night on which she had been 
 brought there. Anne started from her couch and 
 screamed. 
 
 " What are you afraid of, child ?" said Mona. 
 
 " Afraid of!" ejaculated Anne ; " but who are you ? 
 •iO 
 
306 ED'WAIID OSBOBKB. 
 
 and how came I in this wretched place ?" She then 
 shut her eyes again for a moment : then, opening 
 them, looked around doubtingly, as though the 
 half fancied she etill was in a dream — " Do not 
 loi k BO strangely at me; but speak, speak ! where am 
 I?" 
 
 " "Were T to tell you, perhaps those who brought 
 you here," said Mona, " might think my tongue an 
 inch too long, and cut it off." 
 
 " Oh, heavens !" exclaimed Anne, p'acing both her 
 hands uprn her forehead, " what a frightful thought 
 flies through my braiu. I remember now the dread- 
 ful struggle on the Heath. Ob, tell me, tell me ! am 
 I inc'eed within the power of those wretches ?" 
 
 "Hush 1" whispered Mona. "A villain never likes to 
 hear himself called a villain — speak low er. — I have been 
 watching, anxiously watching for your returning 
 sense; for in your delirium you have utteied words 
 and names that makes me believe the truth has not 
 been told me : speak lowly, but truTi/, and you may 
 perhaps have found a friend in one, who to herself has 
 never been a friend — Yoti love !" 
 
 Anne blushed, and looking enquiringly into the face 
 of the Italian girl, answered — " I do ! but you and 
 myself are the only two that know it." 
 
 " And the name of your love is " 
 
 Anne again blushed as she almost whispered — 
 " Edward ; but why do you ask ?" 
 
 " Because I fancy I am to be deceived, and made a 
 fool of," replied Mona, frowrring ; -" that wss .the 
 Lame you muttered eo frequently when your mind was 
 wandering, and made me doubt their tale. They told 
 me his name was George, and that he was a noble of 
 this iMid." 
 
 " George !" said Anne, " I know no human being 
 bearing that name ; and never, to my knowledge, spoke 
 a word to mortals above my own humble state." 
 
 " Then it is a lie 1" exclaimed Mona, starting up, 
 'but a lie that shall stick in his throat until it cnoka 
 
BETELATICNS. 307 
 
 him. I have been too bitterly deceived by him to be 
 deceived by bim again. One way or other, I am to be 
 fooled, and you made their victim !" 
 
 " Oh, heavens !" exclaimed the affrighted girl, 
 springing from the couch oa which she had been 
 lying, and casting herself upon her knees before the 
 stiU-frowning Mona. " Oh, save me, save me ! I know 
 not where I am — I know not where to look for safety 
 but in you : then, save me, save me !" 
 
 The room in wliich this scene was enacting, was an 
 oddly-shaped apartment at the top of Brassinjaw's 
 dwelling. There was but little furniture in the place ; 
 but what there was, was of massive structure. The 
 place was at all times in parts, quite dark ; the only 
 light coming through a small skylight in the roof. 
 Beneath this skylight, a sort of gallery passed across, 
 forming a communication between two lofts. 
 
 Just as Anne had thrown herself upon her knees, 
 and seized the hand of the Italian girl, a huge Hi- 
 looking head might have been seen obtruding from one 
 of the doors at one end of the shattered gallery. It 
 was Brassinjaw, who, like Mona, began to suspect 
 that he was being made a dupe of, and who deter- 
 mined to learn the truth for himself, as far as he 
 could, by listening to all the Italian and the trader's 
 daughter they had stolen away, migbt say to each 
 other, and, by this means, learn how best to act, for 
 his own advantage. 
 
 So eloquently did Anne plead her own cause— so 
 feelingly did she picture the suffering sbe too well 
 knew her poor mother was then enduring — the agony 
 of her broken-hearted father — the mention of the 
 father's woe, appeared to touch a chord in Mona's 
 breast, whose vibrations thrilled through every fibre 
 of her softened heart, and called up visions of days 
 gone by — visions that memory's eye could never look 
 on but in tears, that she raised the imploring girl — 
 then buriied her own face upon the shoulder of Anne, 
 ss through a flood of grief she exclaimed — " I know, I 
 
308 EDWAED OSBOUNE. 
 
 know! oh, h was of a broken heart my father died; 
 and I it was who broke it !" 
 
 It now became Anne's turn to offer con?olatioa ; 
 and Mona having partially recovered, said — " I have 
 not been thus moved for many a day ; but I too had 
 once a home — a happy home ; I too was blessed by 
 the love of a doting parent ; I too have loved, but 
 therein lay my ourse ! So blindly mad with love was 
 I for Nino (that was my lover's name) that all warn- 
 ings proved of no avail ; and at last I fled with him, 
 to follow him to this distant land. Although I am 
 now convinced he no longer loves me, the recollection 
 of our early days of affection still clings around my 
 heart ; but that slight bond I have vowed to break. 
 It is my fixed resolve to return to my native country, 
 though I should beg my bread at each step I go. I 
 will sin no more. But you must first be saved ; your 
 salvation shall prove a slight atonement for one who 
 has done wrong, not loving wrong, but through loving 
 wrongly." 
 
 " Oh, bless you, bless you !" exclaimed Anne, 
 throwing her arms round the neck of the Italian girl^ 
 " oh, bless you ! and know, that if you but save me 
 from the peril I am now encompassed by, no lack of 
 means will have to be endured throughout your jour- 
 ney to your native land, though that journey should 
 extend to thrice the distance round the globe." 
 
 " Then are you not the daughter of a poor trader of 
 the name of Allen ?" enquired Mona. 
 
 " Allen is a name by which I have for somfe few 
 years been known," replied Anne, " but Allen is not 
 my real one. No, so fer from being the child of a 
 poor trader, I am the only daughter of one of the 
 richest merchants of this great city — "William Hewet, 
 merchant to the king; but if you could reach his 
 house, alas I I fear far, far a\fay from here, his bouse 
 on Old London Bridge " 
 
 " Where ?' ' interupted Mona, " where did you say ?" 
 
 " On Old London Bridge," repUed Anne ; " reach 
 
SETKLlTIOirS. 309 
 
 but that, and you will easily find it, for his house is 
 well known there ; it stands next to a wine shop 
 called the Cardinal's Hat." 
 
 " Hush," whispered the Italian girl, " we are speak- 
 ing too loudly — be calm, for what I am about to tell 
 you, might, without warning, prove too much for you to 
 hear. Tour father's house is there." And Mona pointed 
 with her thumb over her shoulder towards the wall. 
 
 " There ! what mean you ?" exclaimed Anne, feeling 
 there was something in the word she could not com- 
 prehend, 
 
 " There," repeated Mona, again pointing with her 
 thumb, " there, within a foot of you ; this is the wine- 
 house you have named." 
 
 Anne was about to utter an exclamation of joy and 
 surprise, but was checked by Mona. " That they have 
 brought you here, is a proof they know you not : be 
 silent, for in silence is your only hope ; did they but 
 once suspect who, and what you really are, their idea 
 of safety would be in your destruction." 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed Anne, in a voice sub- 
 dued by alarm and deepened by fear ; " and am I 
 truly so near all that is dear to me — all that would 
 shield me, yet dare I not fly to that love — to that pro- 
 tection ?" 
 
 ".Dissimulation is your only- hope; I must appear 
 to know nothing, and when 1 find the opportunity, I 
 will disclose to your friends your peril, then look to 
 them and Heaven for ray own safety." 
 
 " A swifter plan for our release," said Anne, still 
 almost whispering, " I think I can devise. If this be 
 the house you say it is, there is outside that door — 
 for from that skylight, I imagine this to be the highest 
 room — a staircase leading to yon gallery, which thence 
 leads to the roof; you look astonished at my know- 
 ledge of this locality, but by that very stair, some 
 years now gone, I verily believe I did descend to seek 
 for safety, as I now shall mount it with the self-sama 
 hope." 
 
310 edWaed osbobne. 
 
 " Such a stair does exist," said Mona, " and I com- 
 prehend your meaning : not a moment must be lost ; 
 we must find safety now or never." 
 
 Clinging together, the Italian girl and Anne has- 
 tened towards the door — they opened it, when, horror! 
 there stood Spikely, Braseinjaw, and the Italian Nino. 
 
 " So, so, my mistress," said Nino, addressing Mona, 
 " you would betray your lover, would you ? — fly from 
 him — eh ? — But you are easily dealt with." Saying 
 which he suddenly cast a rope with a slip-knot on it, 
 over her necit ; then drawing it tight, the poor Italian 
 girl fell to the ground, struggling in strangulation ; 
 in another minute, and she was bound hand and foot ; 
 the cord was removed from her neck, and the three 
 wretches left the apartment, carrying their victim 
 between them. 
 
 Anne was so stupified by this sudden scene, that 
 she stood transfixed, until the secure bolting of the 
 door aroused her. The mere glance she had obtained 
 of Spikely and of Nino, showed her that they were 
 the same with whom she had so fiercely struggled on 
 the Heath. Her only hope lay in instant flight ; but 
 how to accomplish it ? If she could reach the gallery, 
 might she not thus find an outlet still unbarred ? — 
 the trial must be made. The moment the idea entered 
 her mind, she was at her labours. Every thing that 
 she could pile the one upon the other, was brought 
 and placed beneath the gallery. Her feeling now was 
 almost as great for the safety of the Italian girl as for 
 her own. The massive table was dragged to the proper 
 spot : on this she placed the heavy stool, or chair ; 
 and then, with other smaller things, she buUt up a 
 mount, from which she could reach the gallery. How 
 cautiously did she attempt the ascent, yet how deter- 
 mined was every movement ! She felt that life or death 
 was in every step. She reached the summit — caught 
 firmly hold of the railing : it suddenly gave way, and 
 ehe fell backwards to the ground, stunned — insensible. 
 
 When the three worthies, Spikely, Brassiiijaw, and 
 
SEVitATioifa. 311 
 
 Nino, had placed Monn, still bound, in a closet near 
 the lower room — they began to discuss their proposed 
 modes of action. Their discovery, through Brassinjaw, 
 that the Beauty of the Heath was the daught.^r of 
 Hewet, disconcerted their plans greatly. Nino, too, 
 finding that he had miscalculated his lord's idea of 
 honour, and th.it from his clever plan, nothing but 
 further disgi ane and pimishment were liliely to accrue, 
 if carried into full effect, was devising some scheme 
 how he could virtuously turn his knowledge to 
 account. They discussed what to them was of vi al 
 importance — namely, how to dispose of Anne, whom 
 they now knew to be Hewet's daujliter. Nino's 
 scheme they felt was much more likely to bring thera 
 a rope than a fortune ; and both Spikely and Brassin- 
 jaw were not over nice in their expressions of auger 
 a'^aiost him for havin'^ led them into such a scrape. 
 So violently did their altercations become, that the 
 Italian drew his knife, and, flying towar Is the door, 
 which he held in his hand, that he might secure a 
 retreat, swore " that the first who stirred a foot to- 
 wards him, should find it buried in his side." 
 
 "We are all fools," roaied out Spikely, "worse 
 than fools, to lose our time inquarrellinf^jwhen every 
 moment it of consequence. Sit down Nino, sit down, 
 :ind let us talk like men ! A¥hat shall wo do with 
 the girl ? that is the question." 
 
 Nino proposed that they should take her back 
 towards the lieath, in a like state to that in whic'i 
 they had brought her, and there leave her to chance ; 
 but this plan Brassinjaw showed at once was absurd ; 
 for he overheard enough to let him know that she 
 was fully aware of the place of her imprisonment. 
 
 Brassinjaw had inwardly made up his own mind 
 exactly what he should do, which was nothing short 
 of betiaying his two friends, and by the riistoration of 
 Hewet's daughter, gain all the honour and advantage 
 to himself. But ISrassinjaw knew his companions tuo 
 well not to be very guarded in his movements ; so h& 
 
312 EDWAED OSEOHSB. 
 
 put on a more ferocious bearing tban either of tkS 
 others, and swore " he saw no better plan than the 
 trap aud water." 
 
 " No," said Spikely, " not for her ; but there is one 
 who shall taste it, and shall be made to kuow the 
 treat she is to have before she lias it, and that is Nan, 
 1 feared that we should never meet again ; but we 
 have ; and I have dogged ber to her hiding-place ; if 
 once I can lure her here, she and I will settle our 
 long reckoning ; when she's gone, then I can look to 
 my other friends. Horton's my next, but he, the 
 villain, shall be tortured, and soundly too, before I 
 give the coup de grace. " 
 
 " But what are we to do with the girl ?" exclaimed 
 Nino, impatient at hearing Spikely talk of nothing 
 else but his own concerns. 
 
 "Tes," said Brassinjaw, " what are we to do with 
 the girl ? she must not stop here." 
 
 Now, that she should stop where she was, was 
 exactly what he wished ; and Spikely, hearing Brass- 
 injaw so vehement upon the subject, first of the 
 girl's destruction, and then on the importance of her 
 1 emoval, began to suspect the truth, so said — " Always 
 right, always right, Brassinjavr — leave a priest alone 
 for that. Tes, the girl must not stop here j but I 
 know where she can stay, and safety, until we deter- 
 mine upon her fate, and that is in my old house, by the 
 Black Arch of the Clink," and it was now settled 
 that at ten that night she should be taken to the 
 Clink. Brassinjaw was appointed to mix a strong 
 opiate in her food, so that she might be carried off 
 once more in a sleeping state. 
 
 They then broke up their consultation, and each 
 went to his various affairs. 
 
 Ever since the attack of the thieves upon Alyce 
 and her daughter, and from which danger Lerue had 
 rescued them, the merchant had detetmined to bring 
 his family once mere to town to a magnificent man- 
 sion which he had bought in Fbiipot Lane, so called 
 
HETELiTIOIfS. 313 
 
 from tbe name of tUo owner, Sir John Pliilpot, who 
 dwelt there. 
 
 After the trial at Westminster, the whole of Hewet'a 
 party adjourned to his new mansion. Had it not 
 been for the gloom which the loss of Aune neces-iarily 
 cast upon the feeling of all, how happy would have 
 been that party, at the triumphant termination of 
 Eoline and her husband's troubles. As muy be sup- 
 posed, every care that kindness of heart could imagioe, 
 was bestowed upon the Abbess, whose determination 
 was, should she recover, to retire to some convent, in 
 a foreign land, and end her days in prayer and peni- 
 tence. 
 
 The Cripple, notwithstanding the joy he felt at the 
 change which had taken place in his fortunes, would 
 listen to no word but such as touched upon tlie loss 
 of Anne j indeed, until some tidings of her should be 
 received, all appeared determined not to allow one 
 moment to be passed in selfish happiness. 
 
 When Edward returned from the earl's mansion, 
 all were astounded at the news, that Lerue was the 
 Lord Talbot, and the merchant and Alyce scarcely 
 knew how to keep their expressions of gratitude 
 within bounds, when Edward informed them, that 
 Lord Talbot had promised not to leave a stone un- 
 turned, in bis endeavour to serve them, and to find 
 Aune. Por this purpose the merchant and his friends 
 proposed and rejected many new schemes. As in all 
 such casts, one thought one thing, one another ; but 
 upon this poii.t they were all agreed, that Anne had 
 been stolen away, most Lkely for the purpose of 
 gaining a reward £er her restoration. This idea 
 turned their thoughts upon the ke.<t method of an- 
 nouncing such reward, and, at all events, the reward 
 being offered, weulJ give publicity to the fact of her 
 being missing, and might thus lead to some good 
 end. 
 
 They werj very busily drawing up an account of 
 the abduction, for such they called it, when a str;'.nger 
 
314 BDWAttD OSBOENE. 
 
 was announced, as waiting an interview with th« 
 mercliant, upon busioess of great importaace. 
 
 "When the merchant entered the large unfurnished 
 waiting-room, in which the stranger was, he saw a 
 man closely muffled in a cloak, and altogether of such 
 a suspicious looking character, that Hewet for a mo- 
 ment paused, as if doubtful whether to close the door 
 behind liim or not. 
 
 " Be not alarmed," said the stranger, " I am a 
 friend." 
 
 " I am not often alarmed," replied the merchant 
 smiling, " but I must own your mystei-ious appearance 
 does surprise me — what would you with me ?" 
 
 To which the other replied — " Tou lave lost your 
 daughter ! But before I can let you into too much of 
 what you will wish to know, I have a question or two to 
 be answered ; and it will depend on the answers I shall 
 receive, whether I throw off my cloak, or depart again 
 unknown. Tou have lost your daughter ; and you 
 would doubtless give a good reward to any one who 
 should put you in ihe way of finding her ?" 
 
 " He should be rewarded, to his heart's content," 
 replied the merchant. 
 
 " Tou are a merchant, therefore a man of business," 
 said the stranger, " so I will attempt to speak in a 
 business-like manner ; would you give five hundred 
 pounds of right lawful money ?" 
 
 "A thousand!" said the merchant, in a tone of 
 supplicating anxiety. 
 
 " Now, to show you," replied the other, " how 
 much I will do for love to serve you, I will fix the 
 reward at a good five hundred pounds ; for the payment 
 I must have your bond ; and for tlie next security 1 
 must have your oath : before I speak further you 
 must swear, that jrou will never drag me forward to 
 give evidence against any one who may have been 
 implicated in the affair. I hazard my life in doing 
 whac I do, unless you swear to keep my secret." 
 
heteiatioks. 313 
 
 " The most solemn vow tbat the heart caB-conceive 
 I freely take," replied the merchant : " now, who and 
 what are you — and what is the hope you bring ?" 
 
 " 'Tis not hope I bring," Baid the stranger, " but 
 certainty — my name is Brassinjaw." Sayias? this he 
 disclosed himself to the eyes of the astoni^hed mer- 
 chant. 
 
 " Brassicjaw !" he exclaimed, " what, in Heaven's 
 mame, can you know of my lost child ?" 
 
 " Every thing," was the other's reply ; " but the 
 share I have taken in this transaction has been done, 
 you may be sure, more out of hope to shelter' inno- 
 cence, than any desire to gain reward. Tiiere is 
 one more point upon which you must solemnly pledga 
 me your word, and that is to be guided entirely by 
 me." 
 
 " Only restore my lost child to tliese arms," said 
 the merchant, " and be not afraid either of reward or 
 caution." 
 
 Brass'"njaw then related how Anne had been 
 brought to the Cardinal's Hat, and that when he 
 accidentally discovered that she was Hewet's 
 daughter he had at once determined to serve her. 
 " My plan," said he, " is a very simple one. At ten 
 this night, it has been arranged by those who bronght 
 your daughter to my Inn, that she is to be removed 
 to an old house in the Clink, but whether by the 
 Bridge-road, or in a boat, I am uncertain, so we must 
 be prepared for both emergencies. Tou must place 
 yourself, with some dozen stout men around the 
 Southwark gate, but not in a way to cause suspicion. 
 And as at that hour the tide will be at its safest, let 
 the Bridge-shooter, and Willy-of-the-bridge, be near 
 the arch beneath my house ; and let them have plenty 
 of aid within call. But come which way they will, you 
 will easily know them, for between them they will 
 carry something wrapped round in a sail-cloth ; the 
 moment you see them, fly upon them in a body ; 
 bind them hand and foot — knock out their brains 
 
316 ErWABD OSBOHUB 
 
 if you like, but as you value the safety of my throat 
 let them not escipe j and remember that I am not to 
 be named." 
 
 " But you have not told me how we are to find my 
 child." 
 
 " Why, in the sail-cloth ? But be not alarmed, 
 to prevent a chance of her screaming she will be put 
 to sleep, sounder than ever but once she slept before ; 
 only keep your faith with me, act to the letter as I 
 have directed, and all will be well for you and youra, 
 however it may turn out for me, or my companions. 
 Now then I must away, or all may yet go wrong." 
 
 Saying this he again muffled himself iu his long 
 cloak, pmled his hat closely over his face, and then 
 stealthily quitted the merchant's new dwelling. 
 
 When the Cripple and the Bridge-shooter heard 
 the Btrauge tale, they were scarcely less surprised 
 than the merchant had been. It was thought ad- 
 visable not to tell Alyce of their hopes in case of 
 failure, nor even to make Flora privy to their attempt ; 
 and upon reflection, it was thought advisable not even 
 to let Osborne know about it. The night proved 
 clear, but very windy, the wind blowing strongly 
 from the south. They were aU upon the watch at 
 their appointed stat'ons soon after nine ; and here we 
 will leave them for a time, and again visit EJward in 
 his room. — He was just about retiring to rest, when 
 he fancied he saw a flash of lightning against his bed- 
 room window — soon after he saw another — and then 
 a distant humming sound reached his ear ; at that 
 time of year, and iu such a night, it could not be 
 lightning; so he opened his casement, and looking 
 out, saw the flaring of a great fire just beyond the 
 Bridge in Southwark. He saw people hurrying 
 across the Bridge from the City side towards the 
 scene of conflagration, and a general cry of " fire " 
 began to resound from every quarter. As quickly as 
 he could, he hastened from his master's house aud 
 joined tiie excited throng. 
 
RETELATIONS. 317 
 
 It must be remembered that tbe merchant's house 
 lay on the City end, so that Edward had to traverse 
 nearly the whole length of the Bridge before he 
 reached the Southwark Gate ; here he found that the 
 houses at that end were entirely enveloped in flames, 
 and there was, that way, neither ingress nor egress 
 possible. Knowing the combustible nature of tlie 
 greater portion of tlie houses on the Bridge, Edward's 
 first anxiety was to hurry back to his master's house, 
 to collect their valuable account books, and remove 
 them to some place of safety ; although he did not 
 much fear the fire reaching their dwelling, because 
 he calculated that at the first opening on the Brii'ge, 
 it would meet with a certain check. Yet just as 
 Edward was entering the Golden Tleece, he heard 
 the people say, that the flames bad passed the fiist 
 openmg, and that they feared the whole Bridge would 
 be destroyed. Not a moment was to be lost ; he 
 hurried from room to room, collecting every paper 
 that he thought could be of value to his master ; just 
 as he was about to carry his load away, notwithstand- 
 ing the danger, he could not resist the temptation of 
 rushing up to his own room, and secure his writing- 
 case, for in that were all the letters Anne had ever 
 written to him ; this delay, trifling as it really was, 
 had nearly cost him his life, for by the same time he 
 again descended, the roadway of the Bridge opposite 
 his door bad been so choked up with goods and 
 chattels, that he found it impossible to pass out. It 
 now struck him that the safer way to escape would 
 be by the roofs of the houses ; and to make the 
 attempt, he once more ascended to bis room, and 
 hastened to the roof, when a new cause of alarm met 
 his eye — the wind, !<t the beginning, had brought 
 flakes of burning wood across the Bridge, and these 
 had lodged upo.T, and ignited the northern end of the 
 Bridge, which now was burning almost as fiercely as 
 the Southwark end. 
 Edward, looking around, stood petrified at the 
 
318 EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 dreadful scene ; he saw no one but himself upon the 
 roofs, and had not the City end already caught fire, 
 escape that way might have been possible. But what 
 could he do ? — was he to stand there immoveable 
 ■ until the flames surrounded him ? At this moment 
 of despair, a new hope flnshed across his mind. — 
 "Yes, yes!" he exclaimed, almost overcome with the 
 sudden hope, " I know, I know the way ! if I can 
 gain the sterlings by the outlet beneath the Cardinal's 
 Hat, I may yet be saved." ■ He flew to the roof 
 door — another moment, and the skylight on the roof 
 was dashed in, and he found himself in the room be- 
 neath ; in this there was a lamp burning, but looking 
 round, he hod nearly dropped to the earth in surprise, 
 for on a couch he beheld the senseless body of the 
 merchant's child. He hastily raised her, and with 
 his precious burden had descended but a short way, 
 when further progress was stayed hy the flames burst- 
 ing through and rapidly devouring the stairs by which 
 he had hoped to escape. He flew into a room, the 
 dcor of which was open ; th's room looked out upon 
 the bridge ; he dashed the window out, and observing 
 a beam some distance below, reaching across to the 
 opposite side, which was not yet in flames, he with 
 great difficulty, at last succeeded in reaching it safely 
 with his precious charge ; the footing was so insecure, 
 that, laden as he was, he must have fallen, but for 
 the friendly aid of a single line that had been 
 stretched across to hang streamers from upon some 
 late festive occasion. 
 
 When oDce he had gained the opposite dwelling, 
 he lost not a moment, but hastened down ; one hope 
 btill remaining — the outlet by the sterling. He 
 passed as quickly as he could through the heap of 
 boxes, bales, and other things that lay about ; en- 
 tered the now-deserted Cardinal's Hat, he reached 
 the lower room, when, tp his surprise, he, heard a 
 groan, and then a cry for help ; for a moment he 
 deposited his treasure on a settle that stood by, and 
 
EBTELATIONS. 819 
 
 went to ths spot whence the cry bad issued, when 
 opening a door, be there found a female bound hand 
 and foot — it was the Italian girl ; in another moment 
 she was free, and quickly comprehending their danger, 
 she allowed not surprise to check her power to act. 
 The trap in the floor was soon raised, and, oh joy 
 beyond hope rea'ized, the very boat bereath was that 
 of the Bridge-shooter and the Cripple. The sleeping 
 Anne, and tl en Mora, was lowered into the boat, 
 Edward hanging, for an instant, by bis hands on the 
 edge of the opening, dropped into the bark, and 
 all were safe. 
 
 As they rowed towards the shore, they looked 
 back aghast at the fearful devastation going on upon 
 the Bridge ; at many parts the buildings were so un- 
 dermined by the fire, that no boats dare go near to 
 rescue those who, seeing no other chance of escape, 
 flung themselves into the stream. More than one 
 dwelling, almost entire, fell over into the river. If 
 aught could at that moment of thankfulness have 
 given a deeper joy to E J ward's heart, it was, that, 
 just after they bad reached a spot beyond the danger 
 from the burning timbers that were falling from the 
 Bridge, they run foul of the merchant's barge, and 
 they were soon all safely landed at the old Swaa 
 Stairs. 
 
 It would be impossible to express in words all the 
 varied feelings which filled the breasts of the inmates 
 of the merchant's mansion on that eventful night ; we 
 shall therefore pass over the scene in silence. 
 
320 XSWABS OSBOBKE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE EEOOTEET. 
 
 I neither may nor can 
 Longer the pleasure of mine hearte hide ; 
 If that thou Touchhsafe, what so betide, 
 Thy daughter will I take, ere that I wend. 
 As for my wife unto her livks end. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 Edwabs Obbobke'b anxiety on account of the state 
 of stupor in which Anne continued all the next day 
 after the fire, was so great, that as often as he could 
 leave the superintendence of searching the ruins of 
 the Golden Eleece, he had hastened to his master's 
 new mansion ; at his third visit, he learnt with de- 
 light that returning consciousness had began to 
 appear ; but this pleasure was considerably modified 
 when he learned that the merchant had gone to pay 
 his dutiful respects to Lord Talbot, and to thank his 
 lordship for the great interest be had shown upon the 
 occasion of Anne's abduction. 
 
 All the young nobleman had told him, again pre- 
 sented itself to his memory, and he felt little doubt, 
 but that Lord Talbot would at once disclose his in- 
 tentions to the father. So anxious was he that his 
 own secret should not be guessed at, that he deter- 
 mined at once to acquaint the merchant with his 
 intention to leave England for ever ; for as he said 
 to himself — " If I express my wishes before I am sup- 
 posed to know of the great honour intended to his 
 family, Master Hewet will not set down my sudden 
 determination to any disappointed hopes on my part." 
 
 When the merchant did return, he was in high 
 glee ; and upon hearing of the rapid progress his 
 child had made towards recovery, during his absence, 
 he exclaimed — " This I shall now for ever regard as 
 the most fortunate day of my life, excepting one, my 
 
THE BEOOVBET. 821 
 
 Alyce dear, and that one was the day on which you 
 consented to be mine !" 
 
 That the merchant should be thus happy did not 
 appear unnatural, considering it was the first day 
 Mter the finding his child. But Osborne, who de- 
 lighted in tormenting himself, believed that there was 
 another cause for the merchant's excessive joy, and 
 that was, the proposal, which he doubted not, had 
 already been made to Master Hewet, by the heir of 
 Shrewsbury. 
 
 When Anne recovered her senses, the first person 
 who met her dreaming gaze, was the Italian girJ, 
 Mona, watching by her couch, as sha had seen her 
 watching once before. All that had passed between 
 them, came vividly to her recollection ; nor could she 
 for some time be convinced that she was once again 
 beneath her father's roof, until Mona summoned the 
 merchant and Alyce into the room. 
 
 It was no longer possible to doubt ; she felt her 
 arms were really around the necks of her dear 
 parents — that their tears of joy, mingling with her 
 own, were the true outpourings of loving hearts. 
 
 When Edward entered, all the dangers from which 
 she had so miraculously escaped through his means, 
 were related to the happy girl ; and when she learnt 
 that her life had a second time been saved by him, 
 she cast upon him one look of intense gratitude, and 
 for an instant, he felt as if he could have endured the 
 agony of perishing in the flames, with less of anguish, 
 than he now knew he must endure at parting from 
 her for ever. 
 
 That very night, after all the other inmates of the 
 place had retired to rest, he prayed of the merchant 
 to grant him a few minutes of private converse. 
 
 So unusual a circumstance caused the merchant 
 unfeigned surprise. " And what," said he, smiling, 
 "is me mighty matter we have in hand, boy, that 
 should keep us from our couches at so late an hour 
 as this ? To-morrow, to-morrow, I'll be sworn, will 
 21 
 
322 EDWABD OSBOENE. 
 
 be time enougb, and there is a time for every tbing 
 you know." 
 
 " And that this is the time for what I have to say," 
 replied OBborne, " I feel convinced ; for what I wish 
 to say, cannot be said too soon. Tou have always 
 treated — nay, loved me, as a son, and I have ever 
 honoured and loved you as a father — and you must 
 not think me ungrateful in what I am going to say ; 
 it arises from no selfish feeling — it springs from no 
 wayward love of change ; but — but — master, I intend 
 to leave you." 
 
 "Leave me!" exclaimed Hewet, leaning forward, 
 and looking Edward full in the face. 
 
 The youth's eyes filled to the brim ; and taking his 
 master's hand, he sank his head upon it, as he re- 
 peated, firmly as his agitation would permit — " Yes, 
 I intend to leave you." 
 
 " Did I not know your character too well," replied 
 the merchant, "I should receive such words with 
 doubt ; but as I am sure you would not thus pain 
 yourself or me, but for some potent reason, I will 
 listen to all you wish to say. Tell me first, what 
 has given birth to this thought ? Por I am sure 
 that, of all men, young as he is, Edward Osborne is 
 the last to wish to take such a step as that he now 
 proposes, without some strong motive. Tou have 
 called me father : speak openly as a son : tell me all, 
 and I will then advise you truly as a father." 
 
 " Alas !" replied Edward, "it is because I cannot 
 speak openly, that I have so long delayed to acquaint 
 you with my resolve. Master, do not press me upon 
 the question of my reason for wishing to quit your 
 roof J but, believe me, it is no whim — no cliildish 
 fancy. By what I have just said, you will perceive 
 it is my wish to quit England, and it is in your 
 power to let me do so, with bright prospects, as re- 
 gards my future fortune lying before me. The 
 management of the English factory at Autwtrp, is 
 the post I aspire to ; your name and influence will be 
 
THE RECOTEBT. 323 
 
 sufficient to secure it for whom you will. "Will you 
 exert that influence for your apprentice, Edward 
 Osborne, and thus, by opening a door, through which 
 he may escape for ever from this isle, render him as 
 happy as he can ever be, while he exists upon this 
 eartli ?;• 
 
 " This is a subject, from first to last," replied the 
 merchant, " requiring more than a mere thought ere 
 it be determined. But this far I will assure you at 
 once-— the idea of Antwerp is oce that I will not 
 oppose ; there is a sound judgment shown in it, and 
 if it be carried out, may one day lead to city fame, 
 and city fortune. I will think upon what you have 
 said, and in the morning we will again speak more 
 fully upon all its varied bearings : but I see you are 
 tired, and want to go to rest ; so good night, and in 
 the morning, as I have said before, we will speak 
 more fully upon these matters." 
 
 Osborne spent half the night in devising means of 
 avoiding Anne on the morrow, and for persuading 
 his master to send her at once to the Cottage of 
 the Heath. 
 
 The next morning the whole house was astir 
 betimes, for the Cripple and his vrife were that day to 
 commence a long journey to take possession of one 
 of Eoline's estates. 
 
 Notwithstanding the bustle in which the merchant ■ 
 was, Edward found the opportunity to express his 
 wish, that no notice might bs takeu, at present, of 
 their last night's conversation. The merchant too 
 thought, that, until further progress had been made 
 in the Antwerp business, strict silence upon the sub- 
 ject would be advisable ; but he promised Edward 
 that not one unnecessary moment should be wasted 
 in bringing about the end desired. So far, Osborne's 
 mind was relieved, but still more so, when the 
 merchant, just as the other was about to speak to the 
 same point, told him he had determiueJ that Aniie 
 should at once depart for the Cottage. 
 
324 SSTTABS OBBOBKIS. 
 
 " But come, astir, astir," said the merchant, " for 
 we all have our work to do. Come, "WiUy-of-the- 
 Bridge, mount, and away to your fortune, man ; or 
 mount and away with your fortune, I should say, for 
 I believe Eoline, in your eyes, is the only thing you 
 will deign to look upon as fortune. The Bridge- 
 shooter wiU with you. Flora must remain with my 
 spouse here." 
 
 " But who then," said Edward, " is to accompany 
 your daughter to the Heath !" 
 
 " Who !" exclaimed Hewet, " why, who is there but 
 you?" 
 
 " I !" ejaculated Osborne. 
 
 " You ! yes, you," replied the merchant ; " is there 
 anything so wonderful in such an arrangement that 
 you needs must stare your eyes out ? It is not the 
 first time you have protected Anne by some hundreds, 
 is it?" 
 
 If Edward Osborne had puzzled his brain for a whole 
 month to invent a more perplexing position for him- 
 self, be could not have conceived one half so 
 embarrassing as that in which he found himself. Kot 
 an hour before he had been congratulating himself 
 upon the almost certainty of being enabled to leave 
 England without even the pain of bidding Anne fare- 
 well, when, all at once, he found himself, not only in 
 her presence, but, as it were, actually shut up alone 
 with her in a little box ; for Anne, remaining still an 
 invalid, all the windows of the cabin of the barge 
 were closed, as well as the front doors. 
 
 It was quite astonishing to observe the altered con- 
 duct c^ each to the other, since each had discovered 
 a new turn of feeling. Had they been placed in such 
 a position but one little mouth before, and these two 
 had been the happiest, the gayest of human beings ; 
 but now they sat motionless, speechless, and all 
 because each loved the other, but dared not reveal 
 that love, fearful, nay, certain, it would find no refle? 
 in the other's heart. 
 
THE BIOOVERIr. S25 
 
 Dbey both remained silent for some time; till at 
 length they commenced talking about the events con- 
 nected with her disappearance, and Edward recounted 
 all the anxieties caused by her loss, and all their endea- 
 vours to recover her. So much interest did his fair com- 
 panion appear to feel in all he said, and so many kind 
 looks did she cast upon the narrator, that Osborne 
 felt inspired, and dilated so largely upon every point, 
 that just as he had arrived at the moment of his 
 placing her in her mother's longing arms, the barge 
 stopped, and they found themselves at Putney. 
 
 As they walked towards the Heath, their minds, 
 unknown to each other, turned upon exactly the 
 like reflection, namely, how often had they before 
 taken the self-same walk, but with what diiferent 
 feelings to those they experienced now. 
 
 When they reached the cottage, the first thing 
 Anne did was to hasten to her old friend, the old man 
 of the show. And it was a great relief to Osborne 
 when Anne returned, to see the old man with 
 her, and to learn that he would remain all the 
 evening, and tell them all that had passed, and of the 
 strange discovery he had made concerning his brother ; 
 for, although it was not yet made quite mani- 
 fest, yet there was but little doubt remaining of the 
 truth. 
 
 "We must now take the reader to a very different 
 scene. 
 
 It may be remembered that on one particular night 
 the Cripple, who had taken refuge in the ruined 
 dwelling over the Black Arch of the Clink, had seen 
 four wretches bearing the murdered body of Ray the 
 Clipper into one of the other houses near at hand ; 
 and it may also be remembered that Spikely had 
 intimated that the body should be buriod in the vault 
 beneath the street ; into this vault we will now lead 
 the reader, and there Horton was sitting upon some 
 damp straw ; his legs tied together, and fastened to 
 opposite wall in such a manner as to prevent him 
 
82G EDWAED OSBOENE. 
 
 drawing them up ; his body was fastened by a chain 
 that passed round his chest, just below his armpits, 
 thus rendering it impossibla, although his hands were 
 at liberty, for him to reach his ancles to loosen the 
 cords that bound his feet together. 
 
 Soon after he had left the court of justice, he had 
 been waylaid by some of Spikely's ruffians, and had 
 been brought to the miserable hole in which he was 
 now confined. 
 
 The first system pursued by Spikely to torture the 
 imfortunate wretch, was to introduce himself quietly 
 into the vault while it was in total darkness, and then 
 to work upon the other's fears, by speaking as though 
 from the grave, for Horton was not aware of Spikely's 
 escape from death. 
 
 A cold perspiration burst from every pore; he 
 listened until his ears seemed pained by the awful 
 silence; all was still — still and dark as the grave. 
 Such horrid pictures did his fancy now portray, that 
 they drove him to the brink of madness ; he raved 
 and screamed for help ; for some time not a sound 
 was heard ; at last a ray of light came through a chink 
 in tlie door, that seemed to him as a ray from heaven. 
 
 The door opened, and the gigantic ruffian, known 
 before as Bludgeon Billy, stood in the way, holding a 
 lamp — "What the devil ails you?" exclaimed the 
 ruffian ; " have you seen a ghost, that you shiver and 
 shake so?" 
 
 "No," replied Horton, "but if ever a voice came 
 from hell to torture a being of earth, that voice I have 
 heard but now." 
 
 " What are you staring at P" said the other, as 
 Horton riveted bis eyes upon something lying close 
 beside him ; he answered not, but kept his gaze still 
 rooted, as it were, upon the object of his fear ; it was 
 his own dagger, the one with which he knew he had 
 •lain Sir Filbut, but which he believed had been for 
 years buried beneath the flood. Before ie had power 
 to speak, he heard a horrid laugh come from the next 
 
THE RECOTEET. 327 
 
 vault, and in another moment Spikely stood before 
 him. 
 
 Horton at once saw that he had been duped— that 
 by some strange chance, unaccountable to him,Spikely 
 had escaped the intended doom. 
 
 " Have you no kind word," said Spikely, sneer- 
 ingly, " no burst of joy to welcome an old friend, who 
 owes you a heavy debt, and would have sought you 
 round the globe, rather than not repay you ? Do 
 you not remember our last meeting? It made such 
 an impression on me," ho said, pointing to a deep 
 scar in his throat, " that while this remains, my obli- 
 gation to good Harry Horton can never be forgotten." 
 
 " Tou mean to murder me?" said Horton, trembling. 
 
 " That may depend upon yourself, or, perhaps, upoa 
 my humour. But first, there is one upon whom I have 
 sworn to be avenged, and you must help me in the 
 matter. You know to whom I allude. 8be baffles 
 me still, although I know her hiding-place. You 
 must draw her forth. Here are the necessary imple- 
 ments for writing ; write what I shall dictate. 
 
 Horton, who never cared much about sacrificing 
 any one, if, by doing so, he served himself, made no 
 hesitation to write whatever Spikely desired. 
 
 The purport of the letter was to pray of Nan to 
 meet Horton that night at the Cardinal's Hat, and so 
 artfully and temptingly worded, that Spikely chuckled 
 again when it was finished, to think how certain he 
 now was of his long-sought revenge. 
 
 Horton having done all that Spikely had commanded, 
 most abjectly prayed for hia life; but to all hia 
 prayers, his oaths of sorrow for the past, his promises 
 of high reward — for he declared that he knew of a 
 store of valuables that still remained secreted, belong- 
 ing to the murdered knight — to all this Spikely would 
 make no positive reply, but merely muttered — " "We 
 shall see, we shall see ; but first let me fulfil my oath 
 to Nan, and then your turn shall come. Parewell 1" 
 
 Spikely turned upon his heels, and followed by 
 
328 EDWAEB OSBOEiril. 
 
 Bludgeon Billy, with tLe lamp, left Horton to his owa 
 miserable reflections. He gave himself up to despair, 
 for he knew his enemy's unrelenting temper too well 
 to hope for mercy. He made a desperate eflfort to 
 loosen the chain that bound him, but the effort proved 
 abortive; he felt about the wall behind him — the 
 bricks were old and rotten — had he some tool, with 
 which to work upon them, then it seemed yet possible 
 that he might still release himself from the chain : his 
 only hope now lay in the dagger — a strange hope for 
 him. 
 
 The instant Horton had formed the notion of a way 
 to escape, he felt about the ground in the direction 
 in which he knew the dagger lay, and having after 
 considerable difficulty secured it, he turned as well as 
 he could towards the wall, and set to work. It was 
 but a slow process, but still the progress he made held 
 forth a hope, and gave him courage to persevere. 
 After some hours of unceasing labour, the staple gave 
 way ; and, with the aid of the sharp edge of the 
 dagger, the cords that boimd his feet were soon 
 cut asimder. He stood erect, and felt as if 
 already free; but his greatest labour was still 
 to come. He had guessed, from so plainly hearing 
 every footfall that passed from the house into the 
 street above, that the crown of the vault was close 
 beneath the upper surface of the road. The only 
 chance of escape lay in scraping away the mouldering 
 mortar between the bricks of the arch, and thus form 
 an aperture laxge enough for him to force bis body 
 through ; even this he succeeded in accomplishing, but 
 not until many a weary hour had come and gone. 
 
 Upon finding himself really &ee, his first thought 
 was to seek Nan, and warn her of the plan laid for 
 her destruction. So he hastened from the Clink, and 
 we will now leave him on his road to Nan's abode. 
 
 Pate seemed to have armed herself against Edward 
 Osborne at every turn. His plan was to bave fled the 
 enchantment of Anne's charms — fate placed him 
 
*nE BEOOTEEt. 329 
 
 closer within their spell ; he sought every opportunity 
 to ayoid her presence— fate invented new opportunitiei 
 for continually placing her near him. 
 
 Next day, a messenger arrived with two letters 
 from the merchant — one for Osborne, telling him not 
 to expect his master until he saw him ; he might be at 
 the Heath the next day, or he might not be there for 
 a week. There was one short sentence, inserted by 
 the express desire of Alyce, which troubled Edward, 
 and that was, " That being so alarmed for the safety 
 of her child, Osborne was not to lose sight of her for 
 a single moment that it was possible for him to be 
 near her." The other letter was to the old man, now 
 addressed as Wilfred Mortley, desiring him to hasten 
 to London as speedily as possible, thus taking away 
 the only stay Edward felt he had to fall back 
 upon. 
 
 Osborne proposed accompanying the old man as far 
 as the Eerry ; but then the injunction " not to quit 
 his precious charge for a single moment," came across 
 his mind, so that if he went Anne must go too ; and 
 so she did, and Edward then determined, however 
 painful it might prove to him, to do his duty, and to 
 act up to the strict letter of his instructions ; there- 
 fore not one instant of that day did he quit her 
 presence ; and when the day was ended, he was 
 astonished to find how quickly it had passed, and how 
 much happier he had been than he could possibly 
 have expected. 
 
 Their constant contiguity was causing dreadful 
 havoc in both their hearts. Now when Anne placed 
 her arm through his as they strolled about the Heath, 
 it was done with that sweet dependence which tells of 
 love ; and then would Edward press that arm much 
 closer to his side than he was wont to do ; but so 
 gradually, so imperceptibly had this mutual change 
 grown upon them, that when on visiting the grave of 
 poor Lillia, Anne wept, and rested her head on 
 Edward's breast, and Edward kissed a tear from off 
 
330 EDWARD OSBOENE. 
 
 her cheek, neither he or she felt there was any thing 
 extraordinary in that kindliness of feeling. 
 
 Never was a more loving morning seen than that 
 which followed the night we have just past oTer. 
 
 A.8 they had not received any further news from 
 London, both Anne and Edward determined to spend 
 that morning in writing very long letters, one to the 
 merchant, the other to her mother. 
 
 When they had ended their labour, they were about 
 to prepare for a journey to the letter-carrier at the 
 l^erry, when who should arrive but the old man. His 
 face was so brimful of joy, that they felt sure that the 
 news he brought was of a happy nature. 
 
 " Tes, yes, my chUdren," said the old man, as they 
 led him to the most comfortable of all the easy seats, 
 " my news is indeed of a happy nature, and of a nature 
 to make us all thrice happy, for it concerns my little 
 Anne !" 
 
 " But of your own afiairs, grandfather," said Anne, 
 for she still always called him by that endearing name 
 " what fortune has befallen you, good or bad ?" 
 
 " Too good for my deserts," said the old man, " too 
 good, far too good. There is no longer doubt of Al- 
 gernon Mortley being my long-lost brother; and 
 although all is not quite settled, 'tis next to certain, 
 that the old beggar you purchased, your willing slave 
 of the iron ring, will yet be a wealthy man." 
 
 " Oh, that is happy news indeed !" said Anne. " And 
 how is my dear motber, and my dear father, and Plora, 
 and all ? And when are they to be here? and " 
 
 " Stop, stop, child," ejaculated the old man, smiling ; 
 "I shall have forgotten your first question, before you 
 roach your last, if you run on at that rate. First 
 then, your mother and father are well and happy ; and 
 I have got such good news for my dear little Anne — 
 for you must know that young Lord Talbot, the hand- 
 some Lord George, the heir to the earldom of Shrews- 
 bury, has formally demanded your hand in marriage !" 
 
 Anne screamed ou' right, and would have fallen to 
 
THE RECOVEET. 331 
 
 the ground, Lad not Edward sprang forward, and 
 caught her in his arms. — " It has come at laat !" he 
 exclaimed, " the dreaded hour is come ! Would to 
 Heaven the earth could open at this instant, and 
 swallow me up in death !" 
 
 "What means this folly?' said the old man. 
 " Why, Edward, Edward, surely you too do not love 
 her ?" 
 
 " Love her !" exclaimed Edward, pressing the weep- 
 ing girl closer and closer to his heart, " love is a word 
 too weak, to paint the adoration, that fills my heart 
 for her ! Up to this moment, I have kept my secret 
 closely sealed within my hreast ; I would -not wrong 
 the heing I luved, by even di»eloaing to her my hope- 
 less passion, fearing that pity for my sufferings might 
 have moved her to forget herself. Surprise has wrung 
 from me that which no mortal torture should have 
 caused me me to confess ! 'Tis useless now to deny 
 my love ; but I will prove its proud sincerity ! This 
 moment shall see me fly from all that could render 
 life endurable ! Earewell, dear, dear, dear Anne, fare- 
 well !" 
 
 "Edward, Edward," Anne exclaimed, clinging to 
 him, " do not leave me thus ! you know not — cannot 
 know how dearly " 
 
 " Hush, child," said the old man, gently placing 
 himself between them, as he loosened her arms from 
 Edward's neck, and do you, Edward, go to jour room 
 — I will soon follow, and then my advice, though per- 
 haps not worthy the taking, shall be at least sin- 
 cere." 
 
 Edward did not speak ; hut taking the old man's 
 hand between both of his, pressed it fervently, and 
 burst from the apartment. 
 
 When he was gone, the old man approached Anne, 
 and seating himself by her side, took her hand kindly 
 in his own. — " Child," he said, why this strong, this 
 sudden burst of anguish F Lord Talbot is handsome, 
 talented, and great, and in my eyes he has no fault." 
 
332 EDWAED oaBOElTE. 
 
 " In mine," aaid Anne, " he has all faults in one— 
 his wish to wed me." 
 
 " I never knew a maiden yet," replied the old man, 
 ' who loathed a suitor, were he ne'er so worthless , if 
 you love another, and tell me, then, child, and tell me 
 with all the candour your used to speak your mind in 
 our olden times. 
 
 " I do," said Anne, looking the old man full in the 
 face, " Oh, grandfather," she continued, "I knew not 
 until I thought we were to part, how dearly I love 
 Edward. Nor did I know his love for me till now. 
 He knows not yet of mine. I want not to wed with 
 any. All I would pray is, that I may not be forced 
 to give my hand to one, while my heart is given to 
 another.'' 
 
 The old man promised to see her father again, and 
 "little doubted," he said, "that much as he knew the 
 merchant had set his heart upon the aggrandizement 
 of his child, he might yet persuade him to find some 
 means to avoid the promised union." Having relieved 
 her mind to a degree upon this point, the old man as- 
 cended to Osborne's room. 
 
 We will not relate all the arguments the old man 
 used to coDviace Edward how foolish he had been in 
 giving way to a passion so hopeless ; but we cannot 
 resist stating that he did this in a way that must ap- 
 pear to our readers the very opposite course to that 
 which he ought to have pursued, for notwithstanding 
 the caution given him by Anne, he told Osborne all 
 that had passed between them, and of his promise to 
 Anne, of again seeing the merchant, and said — " And 
 now, boy, as this will probably be the last evening you 
 will ever pass with poor Anne, I need not tell you to 
 be kind to her, and above all things, I charge . you, 
 drop not a hint that I have disclosed to you her secret." 
 
 Ifot long after this, the old man might be seen 
 trudging along on hi3 promised journey to London. 
 How far Osborne obeyed the old man's injunctions we 
 know not ; nor do we know whether Edward told 
 
THE DEAiH-aiBraaiE. 383 
 
 Anue, 01' Aane told Edward of her affection for him ; 
 nor indeed do we know, or if we do, we will not tell, 
 what sighs and tears — what hopes and fears were 
 mutually exchanged ; but this we do know, and this 
 we may tell, that after passing through many a year 
 of a long life, Edward always declared that that night 
 was the most miserably happy of his whole existence- 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIII. 
 
 THE DEATH- STEUaGLE. 
 
 And by the throate-bole be caught Aleiu ; 
 And he him heat dispiteously again, 
 And on the nose he smote him with his fist ; 
 Down ran the bloody stream upon his breast. 
 
 Ceattoes. 
 
 Wheit Horton reached Nan's abode it was broad day ; 
 and although it was only a few hours since he had 
 been compelled to write to her, he arrived too late to 
 warn her. He here learnt, that after the night had 
 somewhat advanced, a lad had brought a letter " from 
 Master Horton to Widow Spikely ;" as he said, and 
 that she had immediately quitted the place with the 
 lad. 
 
 " Then she is lost," eaid Horton to himself, as he 
 turned away ; " I must fly this land, for Spikely will 
 never rest again till I am hunted down." 
 
 We will now look into the Cardinal's Hat, and see 
 what strange things were happening there. 
 
 " I think we shall nab her now," said Spikely to 
 Brassinjaw, as he heard some one at the top of the 
 stairs, whistling a well-known air. 
 
 " She's caught ! by Heavens, she's caught 1" ex- 
 claimed Spikely, s-tarting up and hurrying towards 
 
334 EDWARD OSBOBNE. 
 
 the sliding panel, which be opened, and passed through. 
 
 The panel closed just as the door opened, and Nan 
 entered the room. 
 
 " 'Tis late at night to see a lady," said Brassinjaw, 
 rising with pretended politeness ; " what would you, 
 worthy dame ?" 
 
 " I am summoned here," replied Nan, " by one who 
 calls himself Harry Horton — is he here ?" 
 
 "He who expects you is already here," said Bras- 
 sinjaw ; " he is in the next apartment — you can pass 
 through here;" and he pushed aside the panel as he 
 spoke. 
 
 The little lamp that Spikely had with him sent forth 
 scarcely any light at all. Nan stopped at the opening 
 for an instant, but the moment she had passed, the 
 panel was violently shut from the inner side. Nan 
 uttered a loud shriek, and a violent struggle was heard, 
 succeeded by the sound as of some one suflfering in 
 strangulation. — "By Heavens," exclaimed Brassinjaw, 
 " he'll kill her ; and I shall be implicated in the mur- 
 der. I must try my strength 'gainst his — he shall 
 not murder her!" and he flew to the panel, and began 
 to try and burst it in, when it suddenly flew aside, 
 and Spikely was in the opening. Brassinjaw instinc- 
 tively drew out his knife — " You've killed her !" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " 'Tis a lie !" said the other, closing the panel be- 
 hind him ; " I have but given her a blow, not half so 
 hard as those she was used to once : 'twill silence her 
 for a time — and while she's quiet, I'll have a word or 
 two with you, mayhap a blow.urJess you at once give 
 me the clear half of the five hundred pounds you would 
 have sold me for. "What, fool ! I have surprised you, 
 have I? Dil you think to reach the merchant's un- 
 watched by me ? but for the chance of the fire on the 
 Bridge, you had learnt ere this the sort of man you 
 had to deal with. Tour money I know you keep in 
 yonder cupboard— give me the key I" 
 
 " Neither key, nor money will you have from me," 
 
THE DEATH-STEUGGLl!. 335 
 
 replied BrassiDJaw ; " nor shall you have that woman's 
 lite, either if I can prevent it." 
 
 " Hell-dog !" exclaimed Spikely, as with his uplifted 
 knife_ he sprang upon Brassinjaw ; there was no re- 
 treating for either ; the struggle was for life or death ; 
 like two thorough-bred bull-dogs, tbey made no bark- 
 ing in their fight, they each lost the hold of their 
 knives at the same moment, and their hands were in 
 an instant upon each other's throat ; they reeled, and 
 reeled again ; and just as they were falling, the floor 
 passed away from beneath their feet, and tkey sank 
 into the roaring waters that thundered beneath the 
 Bridge ; even this shock failed to make either let go 
 his hold. Over and over they tumbled as they went 
 dashing down the cataract, and still grasping each 
 other's throats they sunk beneath the waters and were 
 drowned. 
 
 HortoD, who was now, more than ever, in fear of 
 Spikely, and believing he should be safer at some dis- 
 tance from London until he had matured his plans, 
 strolled towards the City, intending to take the pas- 
 sage-boat, that ran regula ly at that time, to G-raves- 
 end. As he approached Billingsgate, he saw a crowd 
 close to the water's edge around two bodies that had 
 just been discovered half buried in the mud; the 
 throats of both firmly compressed in each other's 
 hands. 
 
 It was a considerable relief to Horton to discover 
 that Spikely was dead ; and Brassinjaw having been 
 recognised by the crowd, was carried to the Cardinal's 
 Hat, on opening which, and going into one of the 
 lower rooms, a sight met their eyes no less appalling 
 than that which they had just witnessed, for there they 
 discovered the lifeless body of Nan hanging to the rope 
 that came down from the roof of the closet. In her 
 despair, when she had somewhat recovered from the 
 ill-UBSge of her husband, she had mounted on a stool, 
 had tied the rope around her neck, then kicking away 
 the stool, which was found upset close by her, her 
 
336 EDWABD OSBOENE. 
 
 weight, in falling, had withdrawn the bolts, and thus 
 unconBciously she had sent the two vile miserable 
 wretches to their dread account. The body was imme- 
 diately cut dowD, but it was found to have been dead 
 for many hours. Thus ended three of the most de- 
 termined wretches of our eventful tale. 
 
 "We must now, once again, convey our readers to 
 the Cottage on the Heath. 
 
 It was scarcely mid-day, on the third day since the 
 old man left for London, that he presented himself at 
 the Cottage. As he approached the sitting-room, the 
 door of which was ajar, he heard the voice of Osborne 
 reading aloud ; the words were from the Bible. He 
 opened the door gently, and there beheld a sight 
 that, considering the exhortations he had given to 
 Edward at their parting, was one that clearly proved 
 his commands had not been quite strictly attended to, 
 for there sat Edward and Anne close together, her 
 one hand resting affectionately upon his shoulder, the 
 other hand closely locked in his own. They were 
 both intently perusing the Holy Book, but Osborne 
 was reading aloud. 
 
 He stood quietly contemplating the lovers, until the 
 reading ceased. He then gave a slight ahem ! which 
 caused Edward and Anne to start round. Poor Anne 
 felt her situation acutely, and so did what was, under 
 the embarrassing circumstances, perhaps the wisest 
 thing she could do — namely, ran, and throwing her 
 arms round his neck, hid her blushes in his bosom. 
 Osborne felt confused too — not alone because the old 
 man had come upon them so unexpectedly, but 
 because he scarcely knew how to commence what he 
 had determined to say, and which he had said over and 
 over again to himself admirably when alone ; but now 
 he comd not conjure up a single word. 
 
 "Edward," said the old man, shaking his head at 
 Osborne, whUe he still held the lovely Anne close to 
 his heart, " is this well ? Is this the way in which 
 you ever keep your promises ?" 
 
THE DEATH-STKUQGLE. 337 
 
 " I made no promises," replied Osborne ; " I would 
 Dot promise ; and if we have done wrong in laying 
 open to each other our hopes, you alone should bear 
 the blame ; for did you not divulge to me the love 
 Anne bore me ?" 
 
 " Be not angry with Edward, dear grandfather," 
 said Anne, looking up in the old man's face implor- 
 ingly. " If any one be to blame, 'tis I — indeed it is.'' 
 
 " Of course it is," said the old man, slightly smiling ; 
 " I never yet found maid who loved, but ever took all 
 blame upon herself. But I want not to find fault ; I 
 want to find out the reason for this sudden change. 
 Speak, Edward, tell me how thia has come to pass P" 
 
 " How can you ask ?" replied Osborne. " It is self- 
 evident — I betrayed myself, in telling my love for her ; 
 you betrayed her, in telling her love for me ; and we 
 have resolved never to wed but with each other ; we 
 have plighted our troth ; we have broken this riog 
 together ;" and, saying this, he enfolded the willing 
 girl in his arms. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! oh, dear 1 oh, dear !" said the old man, 
 beating his hands against the sides of his own head ; 
 " this comes of leaving them — this all comes of leaving 
 them together — how w!U it end, — how will it end P" 
 
 " Well, depend on it, if you will befriend us," said 
 Edward. 
 
 " I befriend you — 1 1 how can I do so, knowing as 
 I do the merchant's fixed resolve to marry Anne to the 
 Lord Talbot ; for, as he told me, ' he should then be 
 sure he had not been duped by some artful beggar, 
 who would play the lover to get his gold." I dare say 
 I have done wrong," said the old man, " but I thought 
 to serve you both ; so I told the merchant Edward's 
 love for you." 
 
 " And what said he ?" enquired Edward, eagerly. 
 
 " Said !" replied the other, " he burst into a laugh, 
 
 and then exclaimed, -Love her ! pooh, pooh ! he loves 
 
 her money-bags. None shall wed with Anne, but he who 
 
 loves her, and can put that love beyond a douW by 
 
 23 
 
838 BDTTAED OSBOENl!. 
 
 bringing more to her than she to him.' I then 
 thought I might do something by working upon his 
 fears, so hinted gently, that if he took not greater 
 care, I verily believed that you would wed without his 
 consent at all." 
 
 " And to that, how did he reply P" exclaimed Os- 
 borne, more anxiously than before. 
 
 " By another laugh," replied the' old man ; " and 
 then be added, ' Prove him, old man I place him at the 
 altar with my girl, and fifty priests all willing to unite 
 them— then let but Edward know he took her with- 
 out my consent, and he'd refuse her at the altar's foot ; 
 for he would be sure that instead of wedding with 
 rich Hewet's daughter, he had married with a beggar.' " 
 
 "Did he say that?" exclaimed Edward, drawing 
 himself up proudly ; " but thank Heaven he did, for 
 now 1 have the opportunity to prove the real sincerity 
 of my love. All I wish is to show that I lure her for 
 herself alone." 
 
 " And I," said Anne, " since he is willing to receive 
 a beggar's baud, would willingly be a beggar to 
 become his wife." 
 
 " Tou are mad, you are both stark staring mad, to 
 talk thus !" ejacualated the old man. 
 
 " No, grandfather, no," said Anne ; " and if you 
 would not see us really mad, devise some plan to 
 aid us." 
 
 " "What plan can be better than the one I formed, 
 dtar Anne r" said Osborne. 
 
 " And what mighty plan was that ?" enquired the 
 old man. 
 
 " To tempt the pastor of the ruined chapel," said 
 Edward, " to unite us privily ; I am willing then to 
 keep our marriage secret, and knowing she is mine, to 
 pay farewell in the ruined aisle — to accept the appoint- 
 ment in -a foreign land — to labour night and day to 
 achieve an independence, and then, and not till then, 
 would I return to claim my heart's treasure. I hava 
 already, more than once, prayed of Anne to agree to 
 
THE DEATII-STEOGGLE. 839 
 
 this ; 1 liave spoken to tlio pastor, but, alas ! he hesi- 
 tates. You might do mucli with him; you might 
 persuade him— tempt him with all I have of earthly 
 value." 
 
 "And would you really," interrupted the old man, 
 addressiog Anne, be willing to forego all your bright 
 prospects ? But waittuntil to-morrow, your father 
 will then be here, and with him, I believe, the young 
 Lord Talbot. But now listen to me ; 1 will promise 
 nothing ; I will, to ease your minds, see the pastor ; 
 but it must be on one condition — that whatever be my 
 decision, when I return, you will then abide by it." 
 
 Poor Osborne, and Anne too, had so wrought up 
 their feelings, that they scarcely knew what they did 
 or said ; but fancying there was a sound of hope in 
 the old man's words, they eagerly assented, and the 
 old man immediately left the cottage. 
 
 He had not been gone long, before they were sur- 
 prised at hearing the voice of Flora, singing gaily 
 along the garden. When she entered the parlour, she 
 started at seeing Anne weeping bitterly, and reclining 
 upon Edward's shoulder, his arm around her waist. 
 
 " Halloo '.'•'said Mora. " Master Edward, do you 
 know what you are doing ? Oh, fie ! oh, fie !" 
 
 " This is no momeut for jesting, Flora," said 
 Osborne. " But how is it you are here ? Are you 
 alone ?" 
 
 " Alone !" she replied, " to be sure I am. But what 
 does all this crying and sobbing mean ? do one of you 
 speak. Here have I been sent on with a whole boat- 
 load of things ; lor I suppose you know that the mer- 
 chant and our good dame, and Willy-of-the-Bridge, 
 and Eoline, and somebody Mistress Anne will be 
 delighted to see, are coming here to-morrow, and that 
 somebody is young Lord Talbot; and I understand 
 that we are to have a wedding. Why, good gracious, 
 Mistress Anne, you look as if you were fainting — 
 what is tlie matter ? " 
 
 Osborne who believed that Plora sincerely loved 
 
240 ED"#AED OSEOENi;. 
 
 ber young mistress, told her all that had passed, even 
 to the present mission of the old man. 
 
 " And I'm glad of it," said Flora, " and I hope to 
 heaven that nothing will happen to prevent so proper 
 a scheme being carried out. I'll be after him," she 
 continued, " and I'll bring back some good news, 
 depend upon it ; and if the pastor refuses to marry you, 
 I'll do it myself: bo cheer up till I come back." Flora 
 waited not for a reply, but hurried from the Cottage. 
 
 At least an hour had elapsed since the old man's 
 departure, when suddenly he entered the room. He 
 was greatly agitated. 
 
 " Why have you drawn me into this terrible per- 
 plexity ?" he said, "' I have done wrong, I know I 
 have done wrong, but ask me no questions ; — the pas- 
 tor has consented." 
 
 " Bless him ! bless him !" exclaimed Anne, as she 
 flung herself upon the old man's neck ; " and bless you, 
 dear grandfather, for you alone have worked this 
 miracle." 
 
 " Now," said the old man, " your own fates are ia 
 your own hands ; once more I pray of you — I beseech 
 of you to reflect, while yet there is time. In a wordly 
 point of view, this marriage will bring ruin on you 
 both ; remember, Edward, the moment you are mar- 
 ried you are to leave the country, and never to divulge 
 this pncret union, until you can come and claim your 
 bride with ample independence." 
 
 " I know all," said Edward ; " and if but Anne con- 
 sent to forego all for me, can you believe that I would 
 hesitate one moment in foregoing all for her ?" 
 
 " Well then," sighed the old man, " fate must work 
 its way. Eetire, children, to your separate rooms, and 
 in holy meditation prepare your minds for the step you 
 are about to take ; in one hour all will be prepared." 
 
 The lovers did as the old man desired. What 
 passed in the minds of Osborne and Anne, when left 
 to cool reflection, it would be difficult to describe. 
 Whatever reflections came of a painful nature, they 
 
THE MABBIAQX. 841 
 
 ■were easily dispelled by calling up the vision of the 
 one beloved object. By the time the hour had elapsed, 
 they both met the old man with countenances thought- 
 ful, it is true, but smiling ; and they could not help 
 feeling cheered by seeing a slight smile also upon the 
 old man's face. 
 
 " Come," he said, " my children, I will not check 
 the happiness that your hearts might feel, upon this 
 most eventful day of your lives, by seeming sad j come 
 then, my children, come to the ruined chapel." 
 
 In another minute and they were on their road to 
 happiness or misery for life. 
 
 Tney had not been gone but scarcely a short half- 
 hour, when along the road leading from London, a 
 rather extensive cavalcade might be seen approach- 
 ing which, had the lovers beheld, would have cast them 
 into hopeless despair. It was the merchant and his 
 party, all but Lord Talbot ! The effect this unlocked 
 for arrival had upon the fates of our hero and heroine, 
 we must leave to a future chapter to disclose: 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 THE MABBIAan. 
 
 My lad; and my lore, and wife bo dear, 
 
 I put me in your wise governanoej 
 
 Chooseth yourself which may be most pleaianc* 
 
 And most honour to you and me also ; 
 
 I do no force the whether of the two. 
 
 For as you liketh it sufficeth me. 
 
 Chauobb. 
 
 Let us now briefly tell the subsequent proceedings 
 and fate of Horton. 
 
 When he saw that his two enemies were dead, there 
 still remained a fear that Spikely had denounced him 
 
342 EDWAEB OSBOBNE. 
 
 as the murderer of Sir EJbut ; and when he learned 
 that such really was the case, he determined to leave 
 England and escape across the Border. Th« first 
 thing he had to do was to secure a horse fur the 
 journey, and he went to the market in Smithfleld for 
 the purpose of making a purchase. Selecting one that 
 seemed within the compass of his means, he addressed 
 the owBer of a vicious-looking animal : — 
 
 " You seem to have an awkward customer there, 
 friend," said he, " he has, evidently, more of the devil 
 than the dove about him." 
 
 " Hang me," said the man, " if I don't think he is 
 the devil himself." 
 
 " There are a good many good points about him," 
 observed Horton, " and when yoimg, must have been 
 a sightly beast ; would you sell him." 
 
 " Sell him," exclaimed the man, " that I would, if I 
 could find a fool great enough to buy ; but he's too 
 well known in Smithfield to find a customer here ! He 
 won't work but when he likes, and won't let any body 
 mount him." 
 
 " Well," said Horton, " I have never seen a Iwrse 
 that could conquer me yet ; put on a saddle, and let 
 me try him." 
 
 " You'll take all the blame to yourself, then," said 
 the man, as he saddled the horse,; to which operation 
 the animal very quietly submitted ; " but I don't mind 
 betting you a silver groat that you don't get on at all ; 
 and another silver groat that if you do you'll be oflf 
 again before you can say Billy-the-bird-catcher." 
 
 " Done," said Horton. His first care was to examine 
 the girths,' the stirrup leathers, and the bridle ; and 
 having satisfied himself of tbeir soundness, he cleverly 
 vaulted into the saddle. 
 
 For a moment the animal, taken by surprise, was 
 quiet, when suddenly he began to plunge, and rear, and 
 kick violently ; but was unable to throw his rider. 
 " There goes your groats," said Horton, triumphantly, 
 " You see I have conquered him j" but scarcely were 
 
THE MAEBIAQB. 3i3 
 
 the words uttered, ere the vicious brute, taking the 
 bit in hia teeth, dashed off ; Horton. in vain tried to 
 pull him in ; the horse continued his mad career ; and 
 when Horton was beginning to hope that it must soon 
 give in, the reins broke, and he was pitched from the 
 saddle, and hia foot being caught ia the stirrup, he 
 was dragged along tbe ground, till the horse, from 
 sheer eethaustion fell, and beside it lay Horton's life- 
 less body — a shapeless mass of torn and bloody flesh. 
 
 A very different scene was taking place in the ruins 
 of the old chapel. Wlien our hero and heroine de- 
 scended into the old crypt, they found the assistant 
 there, but the pastor was absent. A single lamp hung 
 from the roof, which lighted but a very scanty space 
 round ; and many parts were in total darkness. They 
 seated themselves on an old stone seat, and then a long 
 deathlike silence ensued. 
 
 After a time, the old man rose, and went to the 
 assistant, who was attentively reading from an iron- 
 bound massive Bible, and whispered eomething in 
 his ear ; the man immediately quitted his seat, and re- 
 tired, and then another lengthened silence ensued. 
 
 Not long after the good pastor arrived, and with 
 him Plora and several of his flock, principally country 
 laSourers, and a few substantial-looking farmers. The 
 only persons that came within the range of the lamp's 
 feeble rays, were the pastor, the assistant, the kneeling 
 lovers, Flora, who stood on one side, and the old man 
 who rested against a tomb in the riar. Osborne 
 and the lovely Anne never raised their eyes for a, 
 moment from the earth ; so strange, so unaccountable 
 seemed their positions. The only time when Osborne 
 for a moment regained his confidence, and hia voice no 
 longer trembled, was as he uttered the vow to love 
 and cherish her he was then making his own for ever. 
 It had, of course, been settled that the old man was 
 to act as the father to give away the bride ; and when 
 the moment had arrived to place the hand of Anne in 
 that of Edward's, it was a moment of real pain to Anne, 
 
3i4 EDWAED OBBOBNE. 
 
 for the thought flew through her heart, of " why was 
 not her own father there to perform the act." She 
 felt the hand that took hers tremble as violently as 
 her own ; but when hers was placed in that of Osborne, 
 the pressure of true affection acted like a spell, to 
 banish all thoughts but one, and that thought was — 
 he is my husband ! 
 
 The moment the ceremony was finished, the cougre- 
 gation hurried away to their various avocations ; but 
 the pastor kept the young pair some time longer, lis- 
 tening to an exhortation and holy lecture for their 
 governance in their future altered state of being. 
 
 As they returned to the cottage, Plora would not 
 allow them to be sad, at least she endeavoured to pre- 
 vent them, by continually addressing Anne as " Dame 
 Osborne," and said, " she was perfectly astonished to 
 see how much older she looked since she had become a 
 married woman." 
 
 "When they reached the cottage and entered the 
 sitting-room, Osborne and Anne were surprised to find 
 the merchant, Alyce, and the whole party there. 
 
 " Why, Edward," eaid the merchant, " you look as 
 deadly pale as though you had just committed murder, 
 or matrimony ; but I bring; you good news, boy— take 
 that," saying which, he placed a sealed packet in 
 Edward's hand ; " there are your credentials ; I have 
 settled everything, I am sure, to your satisfaction. 
 But you must start this very night. There now, no 
 thanks ; and while the repast is being prepared — do 
 you and Anne take a stroll, and bid each other good 
 bye, for your stay abroad will perhaps be a lengthy 
 one." 
 
 These few words seemed to remove a mountain off 
 Edward's breast : he would still have a few moments 
 alone with Anne, when they could arrange how they 
 might hear from each other. When they were alone 
 together, they could no longer blind themselves to the 
 misery of their position. At one moment Anne would 
 Have braved all, rather than endure the pain of parting ,• 
 
THE MABKIAQE. 345 
 
 ing ; but the nei.t she shuddered at the thought 
 of the storm, that would surely follow such a re- 
 velation. 
 
 Over all the vows, the sighs, the prayers, the pro- 
 mises, the oaths they mutually breathed from tneir 
 inmost hearts, we must draw a veil ; such secrets are 
 too sacred to be lightly dealt with. 
 
 During the whole ot the repast, the merchant would 
 keep joking, and was more than usually merry. He 
 laughing, told the company, that before Osborne should 
 return from abroad, he hoped to have a right worthy 
 son-in-law — one that he might be proud of — "So, 
 Edward, boy, look at your sister well, for you will 
 never again see her unmarried." 
 
 The Cripple too was wondrous jocular ; but he could 
 now afford to be right merry, for he was rich in all 
 that could bring happiness to man ; and the Bridge- 
 shooter with Flora were as wild and foolish as playful 
 kittens. 
 
 When the moment for Edward's departure arrived, 
 Anne could no longer restrain her tears ; but the mer- 
 chant only laughed at her for her weakness, and told 
 her that she ought to be delighted, for her brother was 
 entering upon the road to fortune and to happiness. 
 Edward could not trust himself to say "farewell!" to 
 any one ; but biting his lips, as if he thought that 
 would keep down his swelling heart, he seized his cap, 
 his hand was on the fastening of the door — he cast one 
 look back upon Anne, and was about to rush forth, 
 when he was called back by the merchant. 
 
 " Why, boy," exclaimed the merchant, " you have 
 forgotten the most important thing of all !" 
 
 Osborne turned, and there he saw the sealed packet 
 " I had indeed," he said ; and then once more ap- 
 proached the door. 
 
 " Well," again exclaimed the merchant, "you will 
 forget your head next, I imagine. Do you think you 
 can travel half round the world without money ? 
 Tliere is a well-stocked purse — take it, and what mora 
 
346 EDWAEB 03B0ENE. 
 
 you require, when in a foreign laad, my agents will 
 supply." 
 
 Edward felt almost as much pain at finding how 
 willingly all but one could see him depart, as he did at 
 parting with all he now wished to live for; but he was 
 determined to suppress his feelings until he might give 
 vent to them in secret. Once more his hand was on 
 the door, and once more, as if to torture him still fur- 
 ther, the merchant exclaimed — " Why, the boy will 
 drive one mad with his forgetfulness ; the moat par- 
 ticular thing of all he has again forgotten ?" 
 
 " What have I now forgotten, master ?" said Edward, 
 in an imploring tone ; " what have I still forgotten ?" 
 
 " What have you still forgotten ?" replied the mer- 
 chant, imitating Edward's tone of voice, " why, that 
 which few men are ever allowed to forget, you have 
 forgotten your wife !" 
 
 "In Heaven's name what mean you ?" exclaimed 
 Edward Osborne, his eyes staring with astonishment. 
 
 Anne clung trembling to her mother, and became 
 ashy pale. 
 
 " What mean I ?" replied the merchaut. " Master 
 Hewet is one of those who generally means exactly 
 what he says. Come hither, and if you can do so, deny 
 what I have said. Have you, or have you not a wife ?" 
 
 " I have," replied Edward. 
 
 " And that wife was my child," said Hewet. " Now, 
 mark me, Edward; what you have done, you have done, 
 you have done not blindly ; you knew my thoughts 
 upon that subjeot, as clearly as I did myself; I have 
 often and often told you, that were she ever to wed 
 witliout my full knowledge and consent, that from that 
 hour she was no longer a child of mine." Again Anno 
 clung more closely to her mother. "Do you remember 
 hearing me utter that determination ?" 
 
 " I do," replied Osborne, v. \>, now all hope seemed 
 past, felt a powerful return ol nis self-popseasion ; " I 
 do remembiT it, for you feared, you said, that your 
 fortune, not your daughter's loire, would be the aim of 
 
THE MABEIAaE. 347 
 
 him who wedded her. It was that very knowledge 
 which first inspired me with hope, for I felt " 
 
 " How little I care for what you felt," observed the 
 merchant, " you will discover when you read the con- 
 tents of the packet you now hold. Break the seals at 
 once, for it were better th:it you know the worst at 
 once." 
 
 Osborne with trembling hands tore open the packet, 
 and upon reading but a single line, became more be- 
 wildered than ever. 
 
 " Good Heavens !" he exclaimed, turning his implor- 
 ing gaze upon his master, " sp ak to me, and tell me, 
 am I in a dream, or is all that I see and hear, and feel, 
 reality?" 
 
 " If the boy is too great a dunce," observed Hewet, 
 " to read such a plain document as that, do you, "Willy- 
 of-the-Bridge, read it for him." 
 
 The Cripple took the parchment, when the whole 
 mystery was made clear ; it was a deed of partnership 
 between "William Hewet and Edward Osborne, in 
 every way completed but the signatures. 
 
 " And have I forfeited all this goodness," exolaimed 
 Osborne, 'by my mistaken hope of proving my dis- 
 interested love for her ?" 
 
 " You would have done so," replied the merchant, 
 " had you married her without my knowledge and 
 consent ; but know, to your astonishment, that the 
 hand which placed her haod in yours, was that of her 
 father. You were both too deeply absorbed to per- 
 ceive, that instead of our old fri«nd there approaching 
 t!ie altar, that it was her father who took his place. 
 It was I, her father, who wdlingly gave her to you j it 
 is I, her father, who now open my arms to receive a 
 son !" 
 
 Never were such happy faces seen, as those that 
 now smiled upon one another. In the evening the 
 ceremony of signing the deed of partnership took 
 place, and every one present witnessed it. Even the 
 Bweet and gentle Eoline made a mark upon the deed, 
 
343 ESWABD OS£OENX. 
 
 and then kissing the newly-made bride, placed upon 
 her neck a golden chain, to which was attached a 
 splendid diamond ornament. 
 
 In a few days, Osborne was on his way to a foreign 
 shore, but not as he so lately dreaded he should be, 
 for now he was sailing as a princely merchant, in one 
 of their own ships, and with him his adored wife and 
 Plora. They were to be away for a long time ; and 
 while they are on their tour, we will pause awhile, ere 
 we say farewell to our gentle readers. 
 
 It is perhaps in Ufe, as it generally is in books, that 
 when once marriage takes place, the romanee is at an 
 end ; but with regard to Osborne and Anne, in losing 
 the romance of love, they found its reality. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXV. 
 
 CONCLUSIOlf. 
 
 The fruit of every tale is for to say 
 Th^ eat, and dnnk, and dance, and sing, and play. 
 
 Ceauces. 
 
 Ik the time of Edward the Sixth, there stood an old 
 house at the end of Chancery Lane, and it was from 
 this house Dame Spikely was conducted by Hortoo, 
 when she went to give evidence in the Law Court of 
 "Westminster. It was soon destined, however, to be- 
 come the home of a very different character, for it had 
 lately been purchased by Master Hewet for the pur- 
 pose of carrying out one of his long-premeditated 
 plans. But of that anon. 
 
 So very long had Edward, with Anne and Flora, 
 been abroad, that ere they returned to Old England 
 again, wonderful changes had taken place. Old Lon- 
 don Bridge had been restored to its former magnifi- 
 cence, and the G-olden Fleece was now one of the most 
 •uperb houses upon it; but perhaps the greatest 
 
OONOLrSION. Sdif) 
 
 change of all, was to hear the Bridge-shooter's altered 
 t«ne of voice, as he proudly addressed his master as 
 — " My lord, and Alyce as my lady." By this it may 
 be guessed, that Master Hewet was now Lobd 
 Matob ov London ; and William elevated to the 
 dignity of master of the Lord Mayor's barge. Never 
 before had coat and badge been worn with greater 
 pride, than it was by the Bridge-shooter, when he 
 attended his master upon state occasions. Perhaps 
 the proudest day of his whole barge-man's life, 
 which, by-the-by only lasted a year, was when he 
 attended the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress as 
 far as Q-reenwich, to receive on board their splendid 
 boat the Lord Mayor's daughter, with her husband, 
 and his own dear Flora, when they returned from the 
 continent. 
 
 After the first burst of joy had subsided, the mer- 
 chant began to inform Osborne of the plans he had 
 been arranging for their future modes of life. " Tes," 
 he said, " the house on the Bridge has been rebuilt, 
 and furnished with all the luxuries that the four 
 quarters of tlie globe can bestow, and there you and 
 Anne will live ; for upon you will now devolve all the 
 profits of our trade. I and Alyce shall remain in 
 the house we now inhabit, and William is to " 
 
 Here the merchant was interrupted by Flora enter- 
 ing the saloon of the barge, in a violent fit of laughter. 
 She was followed by William, who was evidently an- 
 noyed about something ; but the more he appeared so, 
 the more did Flora laugh, and insisted upon telling 
 them the cause. 
 
 " Now, Flora, It's too bad — it is upon my life !" 
 paid William. " But never mind, you are master now, 
 but J shall be after Christmas." 
 
 This made Flora laugh still louder. 
 
 " But what can have made the girl so mad ?" en- 
 quired Alyce. 
 
 " Why, when I found," said Flora, " that the mer- 
 chant--! mean his lordihip—h&i determined that 
 
350 edWabd osboeKB. 
 
 many William I must, why, I consented ; and as 1 
 wisheJ him not to look quite so silly as some people 
 do when they are being married, by not knowing what 
 they are to say or do, I made him begin to practice. 
 ' Now, William,' said I, ' you will have to say — I 
 William so and so ' 
 
 " By-the-by," interrupted Edward, " it never struck 
 rae before ; but I really believe that not one person 
 here ever heard his other name ; for he has always 
 been called either Billy, or William, or the Bridge- 
 shooter. So tell us, William, what is your name ?" 
 
 At this, William blushed up to his eyes, and Flora 
 began again to laugh. 
 
 " I asked him the same question ; and what do you 
 think was his reply ? He said — ' he didn't know his 
 own name, but he'd go and ask his mother." 
 
 This caused a general laugh, at the B.idge-shooter's 
 expense. They were now very near the Bridge ; so he 
 seized upon this circumstance as an excuse for leaving 
 them in their mirth. He now took the guidance of 
 the boat into his own bands. When they were almost 
 dose upon the Bridge, he gave a signal. Every oar 
 was in an instant shipped, and in another moment the 
 barge shot gallantly down the fall. The oars, like a 
 fi.ish of Ught, once again were in the flood ; and in live 
 minutes more they had all landed at Old Swan Stairs. 
 
 It had been settled that William and Flora should 
 be married on the day before Christmas-day, so that 
 a right merry wedding it was sure to be ; tor the 
 Christmas merrymakings in the olden time may be 
 said to have been quite serious affairs. The Christ- 
 mas holidays had already commenced, and this being 
 the case, mirth and jollity reigned fi om one end of the 
 kingdom to the other.' 
 
 When the Bridge-shootcT returned from having 
 asked his mother what his nartie was, he told Flora, 
 that there never was a name so cut out for a water- 
 man as his, for it was Flood — "And uncommon well 
 it looks over the door." 
 
Cnis^CLtJsioJf. 851 
 
 " Over what door r" iuqu'red Plora. 
 
 " What door !" replied William ; " why, over onr 
 own door, to be sure, in front of our house, at the 
 end of Chancery Lane." 
 
 " Why, William," said Flora, "you must be mad 
 to talk this nonsense !" 
 
 " If it is nonsense, it's uncommon pleasant non- 
 sense ; and you only come and see it," said thg 
 I'ridge-shooter ; and as he would take no denial, 
 Flora and be strolled towards Chancery Lane. 
 
 When they arrived there, it was all quite true ; for 
 there she saw, on a board over the door, " William 
 Flood, Clothseller." 
 
 William now made her heart jump for joy, for he 
 lold her, that the merchant had given that house to 
 his wife, and his wife was going to give it to Flora, 
 as a wedd'ng-present ; and that the merchant was 
 st 5cking the place with all sorts of clothier's goodi, 
 and was going to set William up as a retail dealer. 
 
 When the morrow did come, the bells were set 
 ringing merrily. The expect' d marriage of the 
 Bridge-shooter had made a great noise in and about 
 the neighbourhood of Philpot Lane, and also amongt^t 
 the inhabitants on Old London Bridge ; so that, 
 when he and Flora went to the church, they were 
 attended by an enormous crowd of persons, all de- 
 claring they were intimate friends of the bride or 
 bridegroom. 
 
 Luckily, the mansion of the mercbant Hewet was 
 an irnmense building, and the great hall in which the 
 Christmas-eve revelries were to take place, was of a 
 prodigious size. It was profusely decorated with ivy 
 and holly, and lighted by nearly a thousand tapers. 
 A large gallery was crowded with musicians, who 
 filled the air with sweetest, and merriest strains. 
 
 The moment William and his pretty bride entered 
 beneath the roof, they were seized by his bargeman, 
 and straightway placed, side by side, upon the Yule- 
 log, which had been kept near the door on purpose. 
 
852 EDWABD OSBOEKK, 
 
 Then a shout was raised, both within and without the 
 houBe. Some of the bargemen acted the part of 
 horses, to drag the Yule-log along, while the rest 
 marched at the side, as a guard of honour. 
 
 In this way did worthy Master "William Flood and 
 his smiling dame enter the presence of the Lord 
 Mayor of London and his beloved Alyce. Behind 
 them stood Edward and Anne ; and by Hewet's side 
 sat the old man of the show. 
 
 The merriment increased prodieiiously, and a general 
 dance took place. Even the merchant and bis Alyce 
 were not permitted to decline joining; in this part of 
 the delights of a Christmas-eve. Nor did Edward 
 and Anne refuse^, but the happiest aud merriest 
 couple there, was Flora and her newly-made husband. 
 
 All seemed joy around, so while they are thus 
 happily engaged we will let fall the curtain upon 
 Old Londow Beidgb. 
 
 TEX XITD 
 
TTLcuui 'JTU^/e^T" 
 
 It ynight Have Been." 
 
 i\e.r Joy toas Dqty 
 And Love coas Laco. 
 
 For one of the brightest poetic gems. P. TO. 
 
Maud Mullkh, on a summer's day, raked the meadow sweet with hay. 
 
 Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth of simple beauty and rustic health. 
 
 Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee the mock-bird echoed from his tree. 
 
 Bat when she glanced to the far-off town, white from its hill slope looking down, 
 
 The sweet song died, and a vague unrest and a nameless longing filled her breast, — 
 
 A wish, that she hardly dare to own, for something better than sue bad known. 
 
 The Judge rode slowly down the lane, smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 
 
 He drew his bridle in the shade of the apple-trees to greet the maid, 
 
 And asked a draught from the spring that flowed through the meadow across the road. 
 
 She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, and filled for him her small tin cup, 
 
 And blushed as she gave it, looking down on her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 
 
 *' Thanks I " said the Judge ; " a sweeter draught from a fairer hand was never quaffed." 
 
 He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, of the singing birds and the humming bees ; 
 
 Tliea talked of the haying, and wondered whether the cloud in the west would bring foul 
 
 And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, and her gtaceful ankles bare and brown [weather 
 
 And listened, while a pleased surprise looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 
 
 At last, like one who for delay seeks a vain excuse, he rode away, 
 
 Maud MuUer looked and sigbed : "Ah me I That I the Judge's oride might bel 
 
 " He would dress me up in silks so fine, and praise and toast me at his wine. 
 
 '* My father' should wear a broadcloth coat ; my brother should sail a painted boat. 
 
 " I'd dress my mother so grand and gay^andtbe baby should have a new toy each day. 
 
 "And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, and all should bless me who left our door." 
 
 The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, and saw Maud MuUer standing still. 
 
 " A form more fair, a face more sweet, ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 
 
 " And her modest answer and graceful air show her wise and good as she is ^air. 
 
 "Would she were mine, and I to-day, like her, a harvester of nay ; 
 
 " No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 
 
 " But low of cattle and song of birds, and health and quiet and loving words." 
 
 But he thought of his sisters proud and cold, and his mother vain of her rack and gold. 
 
 So, closing bis heart the Judge rode on and Maud was left in the field alone. 
 
 But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, when he hummed in Court an old love tune ; 
 
 And the young ^irl mused besides the well till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 
 
 He wedded a wife of richest dower, who lived for fashion, as he for power. 
 
 Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, he watched a picture come aUd go ; 
 
 And sweet Maud Multer's hazel eyes looked out in their innocent surprise. 
 
 Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, he longed for the wayside well instead : 
 
 And closed his eyes.on his garnished rooms to dream of meadows and clover-blooms. 
 
 And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, " Ah, that I was free again ! 
 
 " Free as when I rode that day, where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." 
 
 She wedded a man unlearned and poor, and many children played round her door. 
 
 But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, left their traces on heart and brain. 
 
 And oft, when the summer sun shone hot on the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, 
 
 And she heard the little spring brook fall over the road side, through (he wall, 
 
 In the shade of the apple-tree again she saw a rider draw hjs rein. 
 
 And, gazing down with timid grace, she felt his pleased eyes read her face. 
 
 Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls stretched away into stately halls ; 
 
 The weary wheel to a spi&net turned, the tallow candle an astral burned, 
 
 And for him who sat by the chimney lu^, dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 
 
 A manly form at her side she saw, and joy was duty and love was law. 
 
 Then she took up her burden of life again, saying only, " It might have been." 
 
 Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, for rich repiner and household drudge I 
 
 God pity them both I and pity us all, who vainly the dreams of youth recall. 
 
 For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these : " It might have been." 
 
 Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies deeply burled from human eyes ; 
 
 And, in the hereafter, angels may roll the stone from its grave away t Whxttier. 
 
 What Higher aim can Man attain than Conquest over Human Pain ? 
 
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