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OLD SAINT PAUL'S: 
 
 gl Mt of 
 
 THE PLAGUE AND THE FIRE. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH. 
 
 A dreadful riaeue In London vtr 
 
 In the year sixty-Five, 
 'Which swept a hundred thousand tools 
 
 Away,— yet I alive." 
 
 Defoe, History of the Great Plague of Londm. 
 
 "Nor could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee long. 
 Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker s praise, 
 Though made immortal by a poet's song. 
 
 And pjets' 6ongs the Theban walls could rai*e. 
 
 ' The daring flames pept in, and saw from far 
 The awful beauties of thy sacred quire : 
 tut since it was profaned by Civil War, 
 Heaven thought it fit to have it purged bv fire." 
 
 Damn, Anma Mirntilii. " 
 
 KBttjj Illustrations bg gojm franklin tuib !». Jl $rofortt 
 
 LONDON 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited 
 
 BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL 
 
A- 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The portion of the ensuing Tale relating to the Grocer of Wood- 
 street, and his maimer of victualling his house, and shutting up 
 himself and his family within it during the worst part of the 
 Pestilence of ] 665, is founded on a narrative, which I have 
 followed pretty closely in most of its details, contained in a very 
 rare little volume, entitled, "Preparations against the Plague, 
 both of Soul and Body," the authorship of which I have no 
 hesitation in assigning to Defoe. Indeed, I venture to pro- 
 nounce it his masterpiece. It is strange that this matchless 
 performance should have hitherto escaped attention, and that it 
 should not have been reprinted with some one of the countless 
 impressions of the " History of the Plague of London," to which 
 it forms an almost necessary accompaniment. The omission, I 
 trust, will be repaired by Mr. Hazlitt the younger, Defoe's 
 last and best editor, in his valuable edition of the works of that 
 great novelist and political writer, now in the course of publica- 
 tion. It may be added, that a case precisely similar to that of 
 the Grocer, and attended with the same happy results, occurred 
 during the plague of Marseilles, in 1720. 
 
 For my acquaintance with this narrative, as well as for the 
 suggestion of its application to the present purpose, 1 am indebted 
 to my friend, Mr. James Crossley, of Manchester. 
 
 November ZOth, 1841. 
 
LIST OF PLATES. 
 
 Drink the Plague Frontispiece.. 
 
 The Dead Caet Vignette. 
 
 The Coffin Maker's Cakodsal Tofacepage 25 
 
 The Stake 31 
 
 Blaize tasting the Plague Medicine 44 
 
 Lilly and Quartremain digging for Treasure in Saint Faith's , 64 
 
 The Duel 76 
 
 The Grocer and his Family at Prayers 83 
 
 Blaize purchasing the Infallible Antidotes 95 
 
 The Smith threatening Leonard Holt 114 
 
 Leonard preventing the Earl of Rochester's Marriage with Amabel 
 in the Choir of Saint Paul's 122 
 
 Paul's Walk , 130 
 
 Leonard Holt conversing with the Masons before the Portico of 
 Saint Paul's 174 
 
 Solomon Eagle denouncing the City 177 
 
 The Dance of Death 189 
 
 The Plague-pit 201 
 
 Saint Paul's converted into a Pest-house 216 
 
 Leonard Holt conveying the Packet to the Grocer 276 
 
 Judith Malmayns meditating the Murder of Amabel 329 
 
 The Body of Amabel carried to the Dead-cart 339 
 
 The Burning of Saint Paul's 414 
 
 The Fall op Chotles and Judith 422 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 Dedication iii 
 
 ADVEBTISEMENT , iv 
 
 23oofc tije Jpfrst. 
 
 Chapteb APRIL, 1665. 
 
 I. The Grocer op Wood-street and his Family . 1 
 
 II. The Coffin Maker 13 
 
 III. The Gamester and the Bully 26 
 
 IV. The Intervd2W 34 
 
 V. The Pomander Box 39 
 
 VI. The Libertine Punished 46 
 
 VII. The Plague-Norse 52 
 
 VIII. The Mosaical Rods 59 
 
 IX. The Miniature 64 
 
 X. The Duel 73 
 
 33oofc tfje &ccon&. 
 
 MAY, 1665. 
 
 I. The Progress op the Pestilence 78 
 
 II. In what manner the Grocer victualled his House 86 
 
 III. The Quack Doctors 92 
 
 IV. The Two Watchmen 101 
 
 V. The Blind Piper and his Daughter 108 
 
 VI. Old London from Old Saint Paul's 116 
 
 VII. Paul's Walk 122 
 
 VIII. The Amulet 131 
 
 IX. How Leonard Holt was cured of the Plague 139 
 
 X. The Pest-house in Fixsburt-fields •. 147 
 
 XI. How the Gboceb shut up his House *.&, 164 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 23oofc t|)e ©fjtrti. 
 
 Chapter JUNE, 1665. page 
 
 I. The Imprisoned Family 162 
 
 II. How Fires were Lighted in the Streets 169 
 
 III. The Dance of Death 185 
 
 IV. The Plague-pit 193 
 
 V. How Saint Paul's was used as a Pest-house 209 
 
 VI. The Departure „„~~. —.»* 22* 
 
 VII. The Journey 239 
 
 VIII. Ashdown Lodge 246 
 
 IX. Kingston Lisle 263 
 
 23oofc tije Jpourt^. 
 
 SEPTEMBER, 1665. 
 
 I. The Plague at its Height 270 
 
 II. The Second Plague-pit 282 
 
 III. The House ln Nicholas-lane 296 
 
 IV. The Trials of Amabel 315 
 
 V. The Marriage and its Consequences 322 
 
 VI. The Certificate 330 
 
 23oofc tfje JFtftl). 
 
 DECEMBER, 1665. 
 
 I. The Decline of the Plague 342 
 
 II. The Midnight Meeting 353 
 
 23ook njE seixtf). 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 1666. 
 
 I. The Ftre-ball €61 
 
 II. The First Night of the Fire 368 
 
 III. Progress of the Fire 375 
 
 IV. Leonard's Interview with the King 383 
 
 V. How Leonard saved the King's Life 390 
 
 VI. How the Grocer's House was Burnt 398 
 
 VII. The Burning of Saint Paul's .... 406 
 
 VIII. How Leonard rescued the Lady Isabella 413 
 
 IX. What befel Chowles and Judith in the Vaults of Saint Faith's 419 
 X. Conclusion 423 
 
OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 APRIL, 1665. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE GROCER OF WOOD-STREET AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 One night, at the latter end of April, 1665, the family of a citizen 
 of London carrying; on an extensive business as a grocer in 
 Wood-street, Cbeapside, were assembled, according to custom, 
 at prayer. The grocers name was Stephen Bloundel. His 
 family consisted of his wife, three sons, and two daughters. He 
 had, moreover, an apprentice ; an elderly female serving as cook; 
 her son, a young man about five-and-twe \ty, filling the place of 
 porter to the shop and general assistant ; and a kitchen-maid. 
 The whole household attended ; for the worthy grocer, being a 
 strict observer of his religious duties, as well as a rigid dis- 
 ciplinarian in other respects, suffered no one to be absent, on any 
 plea whatever, except indisposition, from morning and evening 
 devotions ; and these were always performed at stated times. In 
 fact, the establishment was conducted with the regularity of 
 clock-work, it being the aim of its master not to pass a single 
 hour of the day unprofitably. 
 
 The ordinary prayers gone through, Stephen Bloundel offered 
 up a long and fervent supplication to the Most High for protec- 
 tion against the devouring pestilence with which the city was 
 then scourged. He acknowledged that this terrible visitation 
 had been justly brought upon it by the wickedness of its inha- 
 bitants ; that they deserved their doom, dreadful though it was; 
 that, like the dwellers in Jerusalem before it was given up to 
 ruin and desolation, they "had mocked the messengers of God 
 and despised his word ;" that, in the language of the prophet, 
 " they had refused to hearken, and pulled away the shoulder, and 
 stopped their ears that they should not hear; yea, had made their 
 heart like an adamant stone, lest they should hear the law and 
 
 B 
 
2 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 the words which the Lord of Hosts had sent in his spirit by the 
 former prophets." He admitted that great sins require great 
 chastisement, and that the sins of London were enormous ; that 
 it was filled with strifes, seditions, heresies, murders, drunk- 
 enness, revellings, and every kind of abomination ; that the 
 ordinances of God were neglected, and all manner of vice openly 
 practised; that, despite repeated warnings and afflictions less 
 grievous than the present, these vicious practices had been per- 
 sisted in. All this he humbly acknowledged. But he implored 
 a gracious Providence, in consideration of his few faithful servants, 
 to spare the others yet a little longer, and give them a last chance 
 of repentance and amendment; or, if this could not be, and their 
 atter extirpation was inevitable, that the habitations of the 
 devout might be exempted from the general destruction — might 
 be places of refuge, as Zoar was to Lot. He concluded by 
 earnestly exhorting those around him to keep constant watch 
 upon themselves ; not to murmur at God's dealings and dispen- 
 sations; but so to comport themselves, that " they might be able 
 to stand in the day of wrath, in the day of death, and in the day 
 of judgment." The exhortation produced a powerful effect upon 
 its hearers, and they arose, some with serious, others with ter- 
 rified looks. 
 
 Before proceeding further, it may be desirable to show in what 
 manner the dreadful pestilence referred to by the grocer com- 
 menced, and how far its ravages had already extended. Two 
 years before, namely, in 1663, more than a third of the popula- 
 tion of Amsterdam was carried off by a desolating plague. 
 Hamburgh was also grievously afflicted about the same time, and 
 in the same manner. Notwithstanding every effort to cut off 
 communication with these states, the insidious disease found its 
 way into England by means of some bales of merchandise, as it 
 was suspected, at the latter end of the year 1664, when two 
 persons died suddenly, with undoubted symptoms of the dis- 
 temper, in Westminster. Its next appearance was at a house in 
 Long Acre, and its victims two Frenchmen, who had brought 
 goods from the Levant. Smothered for a short time, like a fire 
 upon which coals had been heaped, it broke out with fresh fury 
 in several places. 
 
 The consternation now began. The whole city was panic- 
 stricken : nothing was talked of but the plague — nothing planned 
 but means of arresting its progress — one grim and ghastly idea 
 possessed the minds of all. Like a hideous phantom stalking 
 the streets at noon-day, and scaring all in its path, Death took 
 his course through London, and selected his prey at pleasure. 
 The alarm was further increased by the predictions confidently 
 made as to the vast numbers who would be swept away by the 
 visitation ; by the prognostications of astrologers ; by the pro- 
 phesyings of enthusiasts ; by the denunciations of preachers, and 
 
THE GROCER AND HIS FAMILY. H 
 
 by the portents and prodigies reported to have occurred. During 
 the long and frosty winter preceding this fatal year, a comet 
 appeared in the heavens, the sickly colour of which was supposed 
 to forebode the judgment about to follow. Blazing stars and other 
 meteors, of a lurid hue and strange and preternatural shape, were 
 likewise seen. The sun was said to have set in streams of blood, 
 and the moon to have shone without reflecting a shadow ; grisly 
 shapes appeared at night — strange clamours and groans were 
 heard in the air — hearses, coffins, and heaps of unburied dead 
 were discovered in the sky, and great cakes and clots of blood 
 were found in the Tower moat; while a marvellous double tide 
 occurred at London Bridge. All these prodigies were currently 
 reported, and in most cases believed. 
 
 The severe frost, before noticed, did not break up till the end 
 of February, and with the thaw the plague frightfully increased 
 in violence. From Drury-lanc it spread along Holborn, east- 
 ward as far as Great Turnstile, and westward to St. Giles's 
 Pound, and so along the Tyburn-road. Saint Andrew's, Holborn, 
 was next infected ; and as this was a much more populous parish 
 than the former, the deaths were more numerous within it. For 
 a while, the disease was checked by Fleet Ditch ; it then leaped 
 this narrow boundary, and ascending the opposite hill, carried 
 fearful devastation into St. James's, Clerkcnwell. At the same 
 time, it attacked Saint Bride's ; thinned the ranks of the thievish 
 horde haunting Whitefriars, and proceeding in a westerly course, 
 decimated Saint Clement Danes. 
 
 Hitherto, the city had escaped. The destroyer had not passed 
 Ludgate or Newgate, but environed the walls like a besieging 
 enemy. A few days, however, before the opening of this history, 
 fine weather having commenced, the horrible disease began to 
 grow more rife, and, laughing all precautions and impediments 
 to scorn, broke out in the very heart of the stronghold — namely, 
 in Bearbinder-lane, near Stocks' Market, where nine persons died- 
 
 At a season so awful, it may be imagined how an impressive 
 address, like that delivered by the grocer, would be received by 
 those who saw in the pestilence, not merely an overwhelming 
 scourge from which few could escape, but a direct manifestation 
 of the Divine displeasure. Not a word was said. Blaize Shot- 
 terel, the porter, and old Josyna, his mother, together with 
 Patience, the other woman-servanr, betook themselves silently, 
 and with troubled countenances, to the kitchen. Leonard Holt, 
 the apprentice, lingered for a moment to catch a glance from the 
 soft blue eyes of Amabel, the grocer's eldest daughter (for even 
 the plague was a secondary consideration with him when she wan 
 present), and failing in the attempt, he heaved a deep sigh, which 
 was luckily laid to the account of the discourse he had just 
 listened to by his sharp-sighted master, and proceeded to the shop, 
 where he busied himself in arranging matters for the night 
 
 B^2 
 
4 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 Having just completed his twenty-first year, and his appren* 
 ticeship being within a few months of its expiration, Leonard 
 Holt began to think of returning to his native town of Man- 
 chester, where he intended to settle, and where he had once 
 fondly hoped the fair Amabel would accompany him, in the 
 character of his bride. Not that he had ever ventured to declare 
 .lis passion, nor that he had received sufficient encouragement 
 to make it matter of certainty that if he did so declare himself, 
 he should be accepted; but being both "proper and tall," and 
 having tolerable confidence in his good looks, he had made him- 
 self, up to a short time prior to his introduction to the reader, 
 quite easy on the point. 
 
 His present misgivings were occasioned by Amabel's altered 
 manner towards him, and by a rival who, he had reason to fear, 
 had completely superseded him in her good graces. Brought up 
 together from an earl}' age, the grocer's daughter and the young 
 apprentice had at first regarded each other as brother and sister. 
 By degrees, the feeling changed; Amabel became more reserved, 
 and held little intercourse with Leonard, who, busied with his 
 own concerns, thought little about her. But, as he grew towards 
 manhood, he could not remain insensible to her extraordinary 
 beauty — for extraordinary it was, and such as to attract admira- 
 tion wherever she went, so that "the Grocer's Daughter" became 
 the toast among the ruffling gallants of the town, many of whom 
 sought to obtain speech with her. Her parents, however, were 
 far too careful to permit any such approach. Amabel's stature 
 was lofty; her limbs slight, but exquisitely symmetrical; her 
 features small, and cast in the most delicate mould ; her eyes of 
 the softest blue ; and her hair luxuriant, and of the finest texture 
 and richest brown. Her other beauties must be left to the imagi- 
 nation; but it ought not to be omitted that she was barely 
 eighteen, and had all the freshness, the innocence, and vivacity 
 of that most charming period of woman's existence. No wonder 
 she ravished every heart. No wonder in an age when love- 
 making was more general even than now, that she was beset by 
 admirers. No wonder her father's apprentice became despe- 
 rately enamoured of her, and proportionately jealous. 
 
 And this brings us to his rival. On the 10th of April, two 
 gallants, both richly attired, and both young and handsome, 
 dismounted before the grocer's door, and, leaving their steeds to 
 the care of their attendants, entered the shop. They made 
 sundry purchases of conserves, figs, and other dried fruit, chatted 
 familiarly with the grocer, ar>d tarried so long that at last he 
 began to suspect they must have some motive. All at once, 
 however, they disagreed on sutne slight matter — Bloundel could 
 not tell what, nor, perhaps, could the disputants, even if their 
 quarrel was not preconcerted — high words arose, and in another 
 moment, swords were drawn, and furious passes exchangecL 
 
THE GROCER AND HIS FAMILY. 5 
 
 The grocer called to his eldest son, a stout youth of nineteen, and 
 to Leonard Holt, to separate them. The apprentice seized his 
 cudgel — no apprentice in those days was without one — and rushed 
 towards the combatants, but before he could interfere, the fray 
 was ended. One of them had received a thrust through the 
 sword arm, and his blade dropping, his antagonist declared him- 
 self satisfied, and with a grave salute walked off. The wounded 
 man wrapped a lace handkerchief round his arm, but imme- 
 diately afterwards complained of great faintness. Pitying his 
 condition, and suspecting no harm, the grocer led him into the 
 inner room, where restoratives were offered by Mrs. Bloundel 
 and her daughter Amabel, both of whom had been alarmed by 
 the noise of the conflict. In a short time, the wounded man 
 was so far recovered as to be able to converse with his assistants, 
 especially the younger one ; and the grocer having returned to 
 the shop, his discourse became so very animated and tender, that 
 Mrs. Bloundel deemed it prudent to give her daughter a hint to 
 retire. Amabel reluctantly obeyed, for the young stranger 
 was so handsome, so richly dressed, had such a captivating 
 manner, and so distinguished an air, that she was strongly pre- 
 possessed in his favour. A second look from her mother, how- 
 ever, caused her to disappear, nor did she return. After waiting 
 with suppressed anxiety for some time, the young gallant 
 departed, overwhelming the good dame with his thanks, and 
 entreating permission to call again. This was peremptorily 
 refused, but, notwithstanding the interdiction, he came on th& 
 following day. The grocer chanced to be out at the time, and 
 the gallant, who had probably watched him go forth, deriding 
 the remonstrances of the younger Bloundel and Leonard, 
 marched straight to the inner room, where he found the dame 
 and her daughter. They were much disconcerted at his appear- 
 ance, and the latter instantly rose with the intention of retiring, 
 but the gallant caught her arm and detained her. 
 
 "Do not fly me, Amabel," he cried, in an impassioned tone, 
 " but suffer me to declare the love I have for you. I cannot 
 live without you." 
 
 Amabel, whose neck and cheeks were crimsoned with blushes, 
 cast down her eyes before the ardent regards of the gallant, and 
 endeavoured to withdraw her hand. 
 
 '•' One word only," he continued, " and I release you. Am I 
 wholly indifferent to you ! Answer me, — yes, or no?" 
 
 " Do not answer him, Amabel," interposed her mother. " He 
 is deceiving you. He loves you not. He would ruin you. 
 This is the way with all these court butterflies. Tell him you 
 hate him, child, and bid him begone." 
 
 " But I cannot tell him an untruth, mother," returned Amabel, 
 artlessly, " for I do not hate him." 
 
 " Then you love me," cried the young man, falling on his 
 
6 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 knee?, and pressing her hand to his lips. " Tell me so, and 
 make me the happiest of men." 
 
 But Amahel had now recovered from the confusion into 
 which she had been thrown, and, alarmed at her own indiscre- 
 tion, forcibly withdrew her hand, exclaiming in a cold tone, and 
 with much natural dignity. " Arise, sir. I will not tolerate 
 these freedoms. 3Iy mother is right — you have some ill design." 
 '•' By my soul, no !" cried the gallant, passionately. " I love 
 you, and would make you mine." 
 
 " Xo, doubt," remarked Mrs. Bloundel, contemptuously, u but 
 not by marriage." 
 
 " Yes, by marriage," rejoined the gallant, rising. " If she 
 will consent, I will wed her forthwith." 
 
 Both Amabel and her mother looked surprised at the young 
 man's declaration, which was uttered with a fervour that seemed 
 to leave no doubt of its sincerity; but the latter, fearing some 
 artifice, replied, " If what you say is true, and you really love 
 my daughter as much as you pretend, this is not the way to win 
 her ; for though she can have no pretension to wed with one of 
 your seeming degree, nor is it for her happiness that she should, 
 yet, where she sought by the proudest noble in the land, she 
 shall never, if I can help it, be lightly won. If your intentions 
 are honourable, you must address yourself, in the first place, to 
 her father, and if he agrees (which I much doubt) that you shall 
 become her suitor, I can make no objection. Till this is settled, 
 I must pray you to desist from further importunity." 
 
 " And so must I," added Amabel. " I cannot give you a 
 hope till you have spoken to my father." 
 
 " Be it so," replied the gallant. " I will tarry here till his 
 return." 
 
 So saying, he was about to seat himself, but Mrs. Bloundel 
 prevented him. 
 
 " I cannot permit this, sir," she cried. " Your tarrying here 
 may, for aught I know, bring scandal upon my house ; — I am 
 sure it will be disagreeable to my husband. I am unacquainted 
 with your name and condition. You may be a man of rank. 
 You may be one of the profligate and profane crew who haunt 
 the court. You may be the worst of them all, my Lord 
 Rochester himself. He is about your age, I have heard, and 
 though a mere boy in years, is a veteran in libertinism. But, 
 whoever you are, and whatever your rank and station may be, 
 unless your character will bear the strictest scrutiny, I am certain 
 Stephen Bloundel will never consent to your union with his 
 daughter." 
 
 " Nay, mother," observed Amabel, "you judge the gentleman 
 unjustly. I am sure he is neither a profligate gallant himself, 
 nor a companion of such — especially of the wicked Earl of 
 Rochester." 
 
THE GROCER AND HIS FAMILY. 7 
 
 "I pretend to be no better than I am," replied the young man, 
 repressing a smile that rose to his lips at Mrs. Bloundel's address; 
 "but I shall reform when I am married. It would be impossible 
 to be inconstant to so fair a creature as Amabel. For my rank, 
 I have none. My condition is that of a private gentleman, — my 
 name, Maurice Wyvil." 
 
 " What you say of yourself, Mr. Maurice Wyvil, convinces 
 me you will meet with a decided refusal from my husband,' 
 returned Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " I trust not," replied Wyvil, glancing tenderly at Amabel. " If 
 I should be so fortunate as to gain his consent, have I yours?" 
 
 "It is too soon to ask that question," she rejoined, blushing 
 deeply. " And now, sir, you must go, indeed you must. You 
 distress my mother." 
 
 " If I do not distress you, I will stay," resumed Wyvil, with an 
 imploring look. 
 
 " You do distress me," she answered, averting her gaze. 
 
 " Nay, then, I must tear myself away," he rejoined. "I shall 
 return shortly, and trust to find your father less flinty-hcartcd 
 than he is represented." 
 
 lie would have clasped Amabel in his arms, and perhaps 
 snatched a kiss, if her mother had not rushed between them. 
 
 "No more familiarities, sir," she cried, angrily; "no court 
 manners here. If you look to wed my daughter, you must 
 conduct yourself more decorously ; but I can tell you, you have 
 no chance — none whatever." 
 
 "Time will show," replied Wyvil, audaciously. "You had 
 better give her to me quietly, and save me the trouble of carrying 
 her off, — for have her I will." 
 
 "Mercy on us!" cried Mrs. Bloundel, in accents of alarm; 
 *' now his wicked intentions are out." 
 
 "Fear nothing, mother," observed Amabel, coldly. "He will 
 scarcely carry me off without my own consent ; and I am not 
 likely to sacrifice myself for one who holds me in such light 
 esteem." 
 
 " Forgive me, Amabel," rejoined Wyvil, in a voice so penitent 
 that it instantly effaced her displeasure; "I meant not to offend. 
 I spoke only the language of distraction. Do not dismiss me 
 thus, or my death will lie at your door." 
 
 "I should be sorry for that," she replied; "but inexperienced 
 as I am, I feel this is not the language of real regard, but of 
 furious passion." 
 
 A dark shade passed over Wyvil's handsome features, and the 
 almost feminine beauty by which they were characterized, gave 
 place to a fierce and forbidding expression. Controlling himsell 
 by a powerful effort, he replied, with forced calmness, " Amabel, 
 you know not what it is to love. I will not stir hence till I have 
 seen your father." 
 
8 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 "We will see that, sir," exclaimed Mrs. Bloundel, angrily. 
 "What, ho! son Stephen! Leonard Holt! I say. This gentle- 
 man will stay here, whether I like or not. Show him forth." 
 
 "That I will, right willingly." replied the apprentice, rushing 
 before the younger Bloundel, and flourishing his formidable 
 cudgel. " Out with you, sir ! Out with you !" 
 
 " Not at your bidding, you saucy knave," rejoined Wyvil, 
 laying his hand upon his sword; "and if it were not for the 
 presence of your mistress and her lovelv daughter, I would crop 
 your ears for your insolence." 
 
 " Their presence shall not prevent me from making my cudgel 
 and your shoulders acquainted, if you do not budge," replied the 
 apprentice, sturdily. 
 
 Enraged by the retort, Wyvil would have drawn his sword, 
 but a blow on the arm disabled him. 
 
 "Plague on you, fellow!" he exclaimed; "you shall rue this 
 to the last day of your existence." 
 
 "Threaten those who heed you," replied Leonard, about to 
 repeat the blow. 
 
 " Do him no further injury !" cried Amabel, arresting his hand, 
 and looking with the greatest commiseration at Wyvil. " You 
 have dealt with him far too rudely already." 
 
 " Since I have your sympathy, sweet Amabel," rejoined Wyvil, 
 "I care not what rude treatment I experience from this churl. 
 We shall soon meet again." And bowing to her, he strode out 
 of the room. 
 
 Leonard followed him to the shop-door, hoping some further 
 pretext for quarrel would arise, but he was disappointed. Wyvil 
 took no notice of him, and proceeded at a slow pace towards 
 Cheapside. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards, Stephen Bloundel came home. On 
 being informed of what had occurred, he was greatly annoyed, 
 though he concealed his vexation, and highly applauded his 
 daughter's conduct. Without further comment, he proceeded 
 about his business, and remained in the shop till it was closed. 
 Wyvil did not return, and the grocer tried to persuade himself 
 they should see nothing moro of him. Before Amabel retired to 
 rest, he imprinted a kiss on her snowy brow, and said, in a tone 
 of the utmost kindness, " You have never yet deceived me, child, 
 and I hope never will. Tell me truly, do you take any interest 
 in this young gallant?" 
 
 Amabel blushed deeply. 
 
 "I should not speak the truth, father," she rejoined, after a 
 pause, '■ if I were to say I do not." 
 
 " I am sorry for it," replied Bloundel, gravely. " But you 
 would not be happy with him. I am sure he is unprincipled 
 and profligate: — you must forget him." 
 
 " I will try 10 do so," sighed Amabel. And the conversatiou 
 droppea. 
 
THE GKOCEK AND HIS FAMILY. 9 
 
 On the following day, Maurice Wyvil entered the grocer'a 
 
 shop. He was more richly attired than before, and there was a 
 haughtiness in his manner which he had net hitherto assumed. 
 What passed between him and Bloundcl was not known, for the 
 latter never spoke of it; but the result may be gathered from the 
 fact that the young gallant was not allowed an interview with the 
 grocer's daughter. 
 
 From this moment the change previously noticed took place in 
 Amabel's demeanour towards Leonard. She seemed scarcely 
 able to endure bis presence, and sedulously avoided his regards. 
 From being habitually gay and cheerful, she became pensive and 
 reserved. Her mother more than once caught her in tears ; and 
 it was evident, from many other signs, that Wyvil completely 
 engrossed her thoughts. Fully aware of this, Mrs. Bloundel said 
 nothing of it to her husband, because the subject was painful to- 
 him ; and not supposing the passion deeply rooted, she hoped it 
 would speedily wear away. But she was mistaken — the flame was 
 kept alive in Amabel's breast in a manner of which she was totall ; 
 ignorant. Wyvil found means to deceive the vigilance of the 
 grocer and his wife, but he could not deceive the vigilance of a 
 jealous lover. Leonard discovered that his mistress had received 
 a letter. He would not betray her, but he determined to watch 
 her narrowly. 
 
 Accordingly, when she went forth one morning in company 
 with her younger sister (a little girl of some five years old), he 
 made an excuse to follow them, and, keeping within sight, per- 
 ceived them enter St. Paul's Cathedral, the mid aisle of which 
 was then converted into a public walk, and generally thronged 
 with town gallants, bullies, bona-robas, cut-purses, and rogues of 
 every description. In short, it was the haunt of the worst of 
 characters of the metropolis. When, therefore, Amabel entered 
 this structure, Leonard felt certain it was to meet her lover. 
 Rushing forward, he saw her take her course through the crowd, 
 and attract general attention from her loveliness — but he no- 
 where discerned Maurice Wyvil. 
 
 Suddenly, however, she struck off to the right, and halted near 
 one of the pillars, and the apprentice, advancing, detected his 
 rival behind it. He was whispering a few words in her ear, 
 unperceived by her sister. Maddened by the sight, Leonard 
 hurried towards them, but before he could reach the spot Wyvil 
 was gone, and Amabel, though greatly confused, looked at 
 the same time so indignant, that he almost regretted his pre- 
 cipitation. 
 
 " You will, of course, make known to my father what you 
 have just seen ?"she said, in a low tone. 
 
 "If you will promise not to meet that gallant again without 
 my knowledge, I will not," replied Leonard. 
 
 After a moment's reflection, Amabel gave the required promise, 
 
10 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 and they returned to Wood-street together. Satisfied she would 
 not break her word, the apprentice became more easy, and as 
 a week elapsed, and nothing was said to him on the subject, 
 he persuaded himself she would not attempt to meet her lover 
 again. 
 
 Things were in this state at the opening of our tale, but upon 
 the night in question, Leonard fancied he discerned some 
 agitation in Amabel's manner towards him, and in consequence 
 of this notion, he sought to meet her gaze, as before related, 
 after prayers. While trying to distract his thoughts by arranging 
 sundry firkins of butter, and putting other things in order, he 
 heard a light footstep behind him, and turning at the sound, 
 beheld Amabel. 
 
 " Leonard," she whispered, " I promised to tell you when I 
 should next meet Maurice Wy vil. He will be here to-night." 
 And without giving him time to answer, she retired. 
 
 For awhile, Leonard remained in a state almost of stupefaction, 
 repeating to himself, as if unwilling to believe them, the words he 
 had just heard. He had not recovered when the grocer entered 
 the shop, and noticing his haggard looks, kindly inquired if he 
 felt unwell. The apprentice returned an evasive answer, and half 
 determined to relate all he knew to his master ; but the next 
 moment he changed his intention, and, influenced by that 
 chivalric feeling which always governs those, of whatever condi- 
 tion, w r ho love profoundly, resolved not to betray the thoughtless 
 girl, but to trust to his own ingenuity to thwart the designs of 
 his rival, and preserve her. Acting upon this resolution, he 
 said he had a slight headache, and instantly resumed his 
 occupation. 
 
 At nine o'clock, the whole family assembled at supper. The 
 board was plentifully though plainly spread, but the grocer 
 observed, with some uneasiness, that his apprentice, who had a 
 good appetite in ordinary, ate little or nothing. He kept his eye 
 constantly upon him, and became convinced from his manner 
 that something ailed him. Not having any notion of the truth, 
 and being filled with apprehensions of the plague, his dread was 
 that Leonard was infected by the disease. Supper was generally 
 the pleasantest meal of the day at the grocer's house, but on this 
 occasion it passed off cheerlessly enough, and a circumstance 
 occurred at its close which threw all into confusion and distress 
 Before relating this, however, we must complete our description 
 of the family under their present aspect. 
 
 Tall, and of a spare frame, with good features, somewhat 
 austere in their expression, and of the cast which we are apt to 
 term precise and puritanical, but tempered with great benevo- 
 lence, Stephen Bloundel had a keen deep-seated eye, over- 
 shadowed by thick brows, and suffered his long-flowing gray hair 
 to descend over his shoulders. His forehead was high and 
 
THE GROCEB AND HIS FAMILY. 11 
 
 ample, his chin square and well-defined, and his general appear- 
 ance exceedingly striking. In age he was about fifty. His 
 integrity and fairness of dealing, never once called in question 
 for a period of thirty years, had won him the esteem of all who 
 knew him ; while his prudence and economy had enabled him, 
 during that time, to amass a tolerable fortune, llis methodical 
 habits, and strong religious principles, have been already men- 
 tioned. His eldest son was named after him, and resembled 
 him both in person and character, promising to tread in his foot- 
 steps. The younger sons require little notice at present. One 
 was twelve, and the other only half that age ; but both appeared 
 to inherit many of their father's good qualities. Basil, the elder, 
 was a stout, well-grown lad, and had never known a day's ill- 
 health ; while Hubert, the younger, was thin, delicate, and 
 constantly ailing. 
 
 3Irs. Bloundel was a specimen of a city dame of the best kind. 
 She had a few pardonable vanities, which no arguments could 
 overcome — such as a little ostentation in dress — a little pride in 
 the neatness of her house — and a good deal in the beauty of her 
 children, especially in that of Amabel — as well as in the wealth 
 and high character of her husband, whom she regarded as the 
 most perfect of human beings. These slight failings allowed for, 
 nothing but good remained. Her conduct was exemplary in all 
 the relations of life. The tendcrest of mothers, and the most 
 affectionate of wives, she had as much genuine piety and strictness 
 of moral principles as her husband. Short, plump, and well- 
 proportioned, though somewhat, perhaps, exceeding the rules of 
 symmetry — she had a rich olive complexion, fine black eyes, 
 beaming with good nature, and an ever-laughing mouth, orna- 
 mented by a beautiful set of teeth. To wind up all, she was a 
 few years younger than her husband. 
 
 Amabel has already been described, The youngest girl, 
 Christiana, was a pretty little, dove-eyed, flaxen haired child, 
 between four and five years old, and shared the fate of most younger 
 children, being very much caressed, and not a little spoiled by 
 her parents. 
 
 The foregoing description of the grocer's family would be 
 incomplete without some mention of his household. Old Josyna 
 Shotterel, the cook, who had lived with her master ever since 
 his marriage, and had the strongest attachment for him, was a 
 Dale, stout dame, of about sixty, with few infirmities foi bet 
 years, and with less asperity of temper than generally belongs to 
 servants of her class. She was a native of Holland, and came to 
 England early in life, where she married Blaize's father, who 
 died soon after their union. An excellent cook in a plain way — ■ 
 indeed, she had no practice in any other — she would brew strong 
 ale and mead, or mix a sack-posset with any innkeeper in the city. 
 Moreover, she was a careful and tender nurse, if her services 
 
12 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 were ever required in that capacity. The children looked upon 
 her as a second mother; and her affection for them, which was 
 unbounded, deserved their regard. She was a perfect storehouse 
 of what are termed " old women's receipts ;" and there were few 
 complaints (except the plague) for which she did not think her- 
 self qualified to prescribe and able to cure. Her skill in the 
 healing art was often tested by her charitable mistress, who 
 required her to prepare remedies, as well as nourishing broths, 
 for such of the poor of the parish as applied to her for relief at 
 times of sickness. 
 
 Her son, Blaize, was a stout, stumpy fellow, about four feet 
 ten, with a head somewhat too large for his body, and extremely 
 long arms. Ever since the plague had broken out in Drury-lane, 
 it haunted him like a spectre, and scattered the few faculties he 
 possessed. In vain he tried to combat his alarm, — in vain his 
 mother endeavoured to laugh him out of it. Nothing would do. 
 He read the bills of mortality daily ; ascertained the particulars 
 of every case ; dilated upon the agonies of the sufferers ; watched 
 the progress of the infection ; and calculated the time it would 
 take to reach Wood-street. He talked of the pestilence by day, 
 and dreamed of it at night; and more than once alarmed the 
 house by roaring for assistance, under the idea that he was 
 suddenly attacked. By his mother's advice, he steeped rue, 
 wormwood, and sage, in his drink, till it was so abominably 
 nauseous that he could scarcely swallow it, and carried a small 
 ball in the hollow of his hand, compounded of wax, angelica, 
 camphor, and other drugs. He likewise chewed a small piece of 
 Virginian snake-root, or zedoary, if he approached any place 
 supposed to be infected. A dried toad was suspended round his 
 neck, as an amulet of sovereign virtue. Every nostrum sold by 
 the quacks in the streets, tempted him ; and a few days before, 
 he had expended his last crown in the purchase of a bottle of 
 plague-water. Being of a superstitious nature, he placed full 
 faith in all the predictions of the astrologers, who foretold that 
 London should be utterly laid waste, that grass should grow in 
 the streets, and that the living should not be able to bury the 
 dead. He quaked at the terrible denunciations of the preachers, 
 who exhorted their hearers to repentance, telling them a judg- 
 ment was at hand, and shuddered at the wild and fearful 
 prophesying of the insane enthusiasts who roamed the streets. 
 His nativity having been cast, and it appearing that he would 
 be in great danger on the 20th of June, he made up his mind 
 that he should die of the plague on that day. Before he was 
 assailed by these terrors, he had entertained a sneaking attach- 
 ment fur Patience, the kitchen-maid, a young and buxom 
 damsel, who had no especial objection to him. But of late, his 
 love had given way to apprehension, and his whole thoughts 
 Were centred in one idea, namely, self-preservation. 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. 13 
 
 By this time, supper was over, and the family were about to 
 separate for the night, when Stephen, the grocer's eldest son, 
 having risen to quit the room, staggered, and complained of a 
 strange dizziness and headache, which almost deprived him of 
 sight, while his heart palpitated frightfully. A dreadful suspicion 
 seized his father. He ran towards him, and assisted him to a seat. 
 Scarcely had the young man reached it, when a violent sickness 
 seized him ; a greenish-coloured froth appeared at the mouth, and 
 he began to grow delirious. Guided by the convulsive efforts 
 of the sufferer, Bloundcl tore off his clothes, and, after a moment's 
 search, perceived under the left arm a livid pustule. He uttered 
 a cry of anguish. His son was plague-stricken. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TIIE COFFIN-MAKER. 
 
 The first shock over, the grocer bore the affliction manfully, and 
 like one prepared for it. Exhibiting little outward emotion, 
 though his heart was torn with anguish, and acting with the 
 utmost calmness, he forbade his wife to approach the sufferer, 
 and desired her instantly to retire to her own room with her 
 daughters ; and not to leave it on any consideration whatever, 
 without his permission. 
 
 Accustomed to regard her husband's word as law, Mrs. 
 Bloundcl, for the first time in her life, disputed his authority, 
 and, falling on her knees, besought him, with tears in her eyes, 
 to allow her to nurse her son. But he remained inflexible, and 
 she was forced to comply. 
 
 He next gave similar directions to old Josyna respecting his 
 two younger sons, with this difference only, that when they were 
 put to rest, and the door was locked upon them, she was to 
 return to the kitchen and prepare a posset-drink of canary and 
 spirits of sulphur, together with a poultice of mallows, lily-roots, 
 figs, linseed, and palm-oil, for the patient. 
 
 These orders given and obeyed, with Leonard Holt's assistance, 
 — for Blaize, who had crept into a corner, in extremity of terror, 
 was wmolly incapable of rendering any help, — he conveyed his 
 son to an adjoining room, on the ground floor, where there was 
 a bed, and placing him within it, heaped blankets upon him to 
 promote profuse perspiration, while the apprentice lighted a fire. 
 
 Provided with the most efficacious remedies for the distemper, 
 nnd acquainted with the mode of treating it prescribed by the 
 College of Physicians, Bloundel was at no loss how to act, but, 
 rubbing the part affected Vith a stimulating ointment, he admi- 
 nistered at the same time doses of mithridate, Venice treacle* 
 and other potent alexipharmics. 
 
14 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 He had soon the satisfaction of perceiving that his son became 
 somewhat easier ; and after swallowing the posset-drink prepared 
 by old Josyna, who used all the expedition she could, a moisture 
 broke out upon the youth's skin, and appeared to relieve him so 
 much, that, but for the ghastly paleness of his countenance, and 
 the muddy look of his eye, his father would have indulged a 
 hope of his recovery. 
 
 Up to this time, the grocer had acted for himself, and felt con* 
 fklent he had acted rightly, but he now deemed it expedient to 
 call in advice, and, accordingly, commissioned his apprentice to 
 fetch Doctor Hodges, a physician, residing in Great Knightrider- 
 street, Doctors' Commons, who had recently acquired consider- 
 able reputation for his skilful treatment of those attacked by the 
 plague, and who (it may be incidentally mentioned) afterwards 
 gave to the medical world a curious account of the ravages of 
 the disorder, as w T ell as of his own professional experiences during 
 this terrible period. He likewise told him — and he could not 
 repress a sigh as he did so, — to give notice to the Examiner of 
 Health (there were one or two officers, so designated, appointed 
 to every parish, at this awful season, by the city authorities) that 
 his house was infected. 
 
 While preparing to set out, Leonard again debated with him- 
 self whether he should acquaint his master with Maurice Wyvil's 
 meditated visit. But conceiving it wholly impossible that 
 Amabel could leave her mother's room, even if she were dis- 
 posed to do so, he determined to let the affair take its course. 
 On his way to the shop he entered a small room occupied by 
 Blaize, and found him seated near a table, with his hands upon 
 his knees, and his eyes fixed upon the ground, looking the 
 very image of despair. The atmosphere smelt like that of an 
 apothecary's shop, and was so overpowering, that Leonard could 
 scarcely breathe. The table was covered with pill-boxes and 
 phials, most of which were emptied, and a dim light was afforded 
 by a candle with a most portentous crest of snuff. 
 
 " So you have been poisoning yourself, I perceive,' 5 observed 
 Leonard, approaching him. 
 
 " Keep off!" cried the porter, springing suddenly to his feet. 
 "Don't touch me, I say. Poisoning myself! I have taken 
 three rufuses, or pestilential pills ; two spoonfuls of alexiteral 
 water; the same quantity of anti-pestilential decoction; half as 
 much of Sir Theodore May erne's electuary; and a large dose of 
 orvietan. Do you call that poisoning myself? / call it taking 
 proper precaution, and would recommend you to do the same. 
 Besides this I have sprinkled myself with vinegar, fumigated my 
 clothes, and rubbed my nose, inside and out, till it smarted so 
 intolerably, I was obliged to desist, with balsam of sulphur." 
 
 u Well, well, if you don't escape the plague, it wont be your 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. 15 
 
 fault," returned Leonard, scarcely able to refrain from laughing 
 " But I have something to tell you before I go." 
 
 " What is the matter?" demanded Blaize, in alarm. " Where, 
 — where are you going?" 
 
 " To fetch the doctor," replied Leonard. 
 " Is Master Stephen worse ?" rejoined the porter. 
 " On the contrary, I hope he is better," replied Leonard. " I 
 shall be back directly, but as I have to give notice to the 
 Examiner of Health that the house is infected, I may be 
 detained a few minutes longer than I anticipate. Keep the 
 street-door locked ; I will fasten the yard-gate, and do not for 
 your life let any one in, except Dr. Hodges, till I return. Do 
 you hear? — do you understand what I say ?" 
 
 "Yes, I hear plain enough," groaned Blaize. "You say that 
 the house is infected, and that we shall all be locked up." 
 
 " Dolt !" exclaimed the apprentice, " I said no such thing." 
 And he repeated his injunctions, but Blaize was too much terri- 
 fied to comprehend them. At last, losing all patience, Leonard 
 cried, in a menacing tone, " If you do not attend to me, I will 
 cudgel you within an inch of your life, and you will find the 
 thrashing harder to bear even than the plague itself. Rouse 
 yourself, fool ! and follow me." 
 
 Accompanied by the porter, he hurried to the yard-gate, saw 
 it bolted within-side, and then returned to the shop, where, 
 having found his cap and cudgel, he directed Blaize to lock the 
 door after him, cautioning him, for the third time, not to admit 
 any one except the doctor. "If I find, on my return, that you 
 have neglected my injunctions," he concluded, "as sure as I now 
 stand before } T ou, I'll break every bone in your body." 
 
 Blaize promised obedience, adding, in a supplicating tone, 
 " Leonard, if I were you, I would not go to the Examiner of 
 Health. Poor Stephen may not have the plague, after all. It's 
 a dreadful thing to be imprisoned for a month, for that's the 
 time appointed by the Lord Mayor. Only a week ago I passed 
 several houses in Holborn, shut up on account of the plague, 
 with a watchman at the door, and I never shall forget the 
 melancholy faces I saw at the windows. It was a dreadful 
 spectacle, and has haunted me ever since." 
 
 "It cannot be helped," rejoined Leonard, with a sigh. "If 
 we disobey the Lord Mayor's orders, and neglect giving infor- 
 mation, we shall all be sent to Newgate, while poor Stephen will 
 be taken to the pest-house. Besides, the searchers will be here 
 before morning. They are sure to learn what has happened from 
 Doctor Hodges." 
 
 " True, true," replied Blaize ; " I had forgotten that. Let me 
 go with you, dear Leonard. I dare not remain here longer." 
 "What! would you leave your kind, good master, at a time 
 
16 old saint paul's. 
 
 like this, when he most needs your services ?" rejoined Leonard, 
 reproachfully. " Out, cowardly hound ! I am ashamed of you. 
 Shake off your fears, and be a man. You can but die once ; and 
 what matters it whether you die of the plague or the cholic ?" 
 
 " It matters a great deal," replied Blaize. " I am afraid of 
 nothing but the plague. I am sure I shall be its next victim in 
 this house. But you are right — I cannot desert my kind master, 
 nor my old mother. Farewell, Leonard. Perhaps we may never 
 meet again. I may be dead before you come back — I feel verv 
 ill already." 
 
 " No wonder, after all the stuff you have swallowed," returned 
 Leonard : " but pluck up your courage, or you will bring on the 
 very thing you are anxious to avoid. As many people have died 
 from fear as from any other cause. — One word before I go. If 
 any one should get into the house by scaling the yard-wall, or 
 through the window, instantly alarm our master." 
 
 " Certainly," returned Blaize, with a look of surprise. " But 
 do you expect any one to enter the house in that way ?" 
 
 " Ask no questions, but do as I bid you," rejoined Leonard, 
 opening the door, and about to go forth. 
 
 " Stop a moment," cried Blaize, detaining him, and drawing 
 from his pocket a handful of simples. " Wont you take some of 
 these with you to guard against infection ? There's wormwood, 
 woodsorrel, masterwort, zedoary, and angelica ; and, lastly, there's 
 a little bottle of the sovereign preservative against the plague, as 
 prepared by the great Lord Bacon, and approved by Queen 
 Elizabeth. Wont you take that ?" 
 
 "I have no fear," replied Leonard, shutting the door in his 
 face. And as he lingered for a moment while it was locked, he 
 heard Blaize say to himself, "I must go and take three more 
 rufuses and a large dose of diascordium." 
 
 It was a bright moonlight night, and as the apprentice turned 
 to depart, he perceived a figure hastily retreating on the other 
 side of the way. Making sure it was Maurice Wyvil, though he 
 could not distinguish the garb of the person — that side of the 
 street being in shade, — and stung by jealousy, he immediately 
 started in pursuit. The fugitive struck down Lad-lane, and ran 
 on till he came to the end of Lawrence-lane, where, finding 
 himself closely pressed, he suddenly halted, and pulling his hat 
 over his brows to conceal his features, fiercely confronted his 
 pursuer. 
 
 " Why do you follow me thus, rascal ?" he cried, drawing his 
 
 sword. " Would you rob me ? Begone, or I will call the watch." 
 
 " It is his voice !" cried the apprentice. " I have news fcr 
 
 you, Mr. Maurice Wyvil. You will not see Amabel to-night. 
 
 The plague is in her father's house." 
 
 " The plague !" exclaimed Wyvil, m an altered tone, and 
 dropping the point ol his sword. "Is she smitten by it g " 
 
TTIL' COFFIX-MAKEB. 17 
 
 The apprentice answered by a bitter laugh, and without tarry- 
 ing longer to enjoy his rival's distress, set off towards Cheapsidc. 
 Before reaching the end of Lawrence-lane, however, he half- 
 repented his conduct, and halted to see whether Wyvil was 
 following him; but as he could perceive nothing of him, he 
 continued his course. 
 
 Entering Cheapside, he observed, to his surprise, a crowd of 
 persons collecte 1 near the Cross, then standing a little to the 
 east of Wood-st/eet. This cross, which was of great antiquity, 
 and had undergone many mutilations and alterations since its 
 erection in 1486, when it boasted, amongst other embellishments, 
 images of the Virgin and Saint Edward the Confessor, was still 
 not without some pretensions to architectural beauty. In form 
 it was hexagonal, and composed of three tiers, rising from one 
 another like the divisions of a telescope, each angle being sup- 
 ported by a pillar surmounted by a statue, while the intervening 
 niches were filled up with sculptures, intended to represent sonic 
 of the sovereigns of England. The structure was of considerable 
 height, and crowned by a large gilt cross. Its base was protected 
 by a strong wooden railing. About a hundred yards to the east, 
 there stood a smaller hexagonal tower, likewise ornamented with 
 carvings, and having a figure on its conical summit blowing a 
 horn. This was the Conduit. Midway between these buildings 
 the crowd alluded to above was collected. 
 
 As Leonard drew near, he found the assemblage was listening 
 to the exhortations of an enthusiast, whom he instantly reco- 
 gnised from a description he had heard of him from Blaize. The 
 name of this half-crazed being was Solomon Eagle. Originally 
 a quaker, upon the outbreak of the plague he had abandoned his 
 home and iriends, and roamed the streets at night, denouncing 
 doom to the city. He was a tall gaunt man, with long jet-black 
 hair hanging in disordered masses over his shoulders. His eyes 
 were large and black, and blazed with insane lustre, and his looks 
 were so wild and terrific, that it required no great stretch of 
 imagination to convert him into the genius of the pestilence. 
 Entirely stripped of apparel, except that his loins were girt with 
 a sheep- skin, in imitation of Saint John in the "Wilderness, he 
 bore upon his head a brazier of flaming coals, the lurid light of 
 which falling upon his sable locks and tawny skin, gave him an 
 unearthly appearance. 
 
 Impelled by curiosity, Leonard paused for a moment to listen, 
 and heard him thunder forth the following denunciation : — 
 " And now, therefore, as the prophet Jeremiah saith, ( I have 
 this day declared it to you, but ye have not obeyed the voice of 
 the Lord your God, nor anything for the which he hath sent me 
 unto you. Now, therefore, know certainly that ye shall die by 
 the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence.' Again, in the 
 words of the prophet Amos, the Lord saith unto you by my 
 
 G 
 
18 old saint paul's. 
 
 mouth, ' I have sent among you the pestilence after the manner 
 of Egypt, yet have you not returned unto me. Therefore, will I 
 do this unto thee, O Israel ; and because I will do this unto thee, 
 prepare to meet thy God !' Do you hear this, O sinners? God 
 will proceed against you in the day of his wrath, though he hath 
 borne with you in the day of his patience ? O how many hun- 
 dred years hath he spared this city, notwithstanding its great 
 provocations and wickedness ! But now he will no longer show 
 it pity, but will pour out his wrath upon it ! Plagues shall come 
 upon it, and desolation; and it shall be utterly burnt with fire, — 
 for strong is the Lord who judgeth it !" 
 
 His address concluded, the enthusiast started off at a swift 
 pace, shrieking, in a voice that caused many persons to throw 
 open their windows to listen to him, " Awake ! sinners, awake ! 
 — the plague is at your doors ! — the grave yawns for you I — 
 awake, and repent!" And followed by the crowd, many of 
 whom kept up with him, he ran on vociferating in this manner 
 till he was out of hearing. 
 
 Hurrying forward in the opposite direction, Leonard glanced 
 pt the ancient and picturesque houses on either side of the way, — > 
 now bathed in the moonlight, and apparently hushed in repose 
 and security, — and he could not repress a shudder as he reflected 
 that an evil angel was, indeed, abroad, who might suddenly 
 arouse their slumbering inmates to despair and death. His 
 thoughts took another turn as he entered the precincts of 
 Saint Paul's, and surveyed the venerable and majestic fabric 
 before him. His eyes rested upon its innumerable crocketed 
 pinnacles, its buttresses, its battlements, and upon the mag- 
 nificent rose-window terminating the choir. The apprentice 
 had no especial love for antiquity, but being of an imaginative 
 turn, the sight of this reverend structure conjured up old recol- 
 lections, and brought to mind the noble Collegiate Church of his 
 native town. 
 
 " Shall I ever see Manchester again ?" he sighed i — " shall I 
 take Amabel with me there ? Alas ! I doubt it. If I survive 
 the plague, she, I fear, will never be mine." 
 
 Musing thus, he scanned the roof of the cathedral, and noticing 
 its stunted central tower, could not help thinking how much more 
 striking its effect must have been, when the lofty spire it once 
 supported was standing. The spire, it may be remarked, was 
 twice destroyed by lightning; first, in February, 1444, and 
 subsequently in June, 1561, when it was entirely burnt down, 
 and never rebuilt. Passing the Convocation House, which then 
 stood at one side of the southern transept, Leonard struck down 
 Paul's Chain, and turning to the right, speeded along Great 
 Knightrider-street, until he reached an old habitation at the 
 corner of the passage leading to Doctors' Commons. 
 
 Knocking at the door, an elderly servant presently appeared, 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. 19 
 
 and in answer to his inquiries whether Doctor Hodges was at 
 home, stated that he had gone out, about half an hour ago, to 
 attend Mr. Fisher, a proctor, who had been suddenly attacked by 
 the plague at his residence in Bartholomew-close, near Smithficld. 
 
 " I am come on the same errand," said Leonard, " and must 
 see your master instantly." 
 
 " If you choose to go to Bartholomew-close," replied the 
 servant, " you may possibly meet with him. Mr. Fisher's house 
 is the last but two, on the right, before you come to the area in 
 front of the church." 
 
 " I can easily find it," returned Leonard, " and will run there 
 as fast as I can. But if your master should pass me on the road, 
 beseech him to go instantly to Stephen Bloundel's, the grocer, 
 in Wood-street. 
 
 The servant assenting, Leonard hastily retraced his steps, and 
 traversing Blow-bladder-street, and Saint Martin's-le- Grand, 
 passed through Aldersgate. lie then shaped his course through 
 the windings of Little Britain and entered Duck-lane. He was 
 now in a quarter fearfully assailed by the pestilence. Most of the 
 houses had the fatal sign upon their doors — a red cross, of a foot 
 long, with the piteous words above it, " 3Lor"rj fiabc mrrrmipon us!*' 
 in characters so legible that they could be easily distinguished by 
 the moonlight, while a watchman, with a halbert in his hand, 
 kept guard outside. 
 
 Involuntarily drawing in his breath, Leonard quickened his 
 pace. But he met with an unexpected and fearful interruption. 
 Just as he reached the narrow passage leading from Duck-lane 
 to Bartholomew- close, he heard the ringing of a bell, followed 
 by a hoarse voice, crying, " Bring out your dead — bring out your 
 dead !" he then perceived that a large, strangely-shaped cart 
 stopped up the further end of the passage, and heard a window 
 open, and a voice call out that all was ready. The next moment 
 a light was seen at the door, and a coffin was brought out and 
 placed in the cart. This done, the driver, who was smoking a 
 pipe, cracked his whip, and put the vehicle in motion. 
 
 Shrinking into a door-way, and holding a handkerchief to his 
 face, to avoid breathing the pestilential effluvia, Leonard saw that 
 there were other coffins in the cart, and that it was followed by 
 two persons in long black cloaks. The vehicle itself, fashioned 
 like an open hearse, and of the same sombre colour, relieved by 
 fantastical designs, painted in white, emblematic of the pestilence, 
 Mas drawn by a horse of the large black Flanders breed, and 
 decorated with funeral trappings. To Leonard's inexpressible 
 horror, the cart again stopped opposite him, and the driver 
 ringing his bell, repeated his doleful cry. While another coffin 
 was brought out, and placed with the rest, a window in the next 
 house was opened, and a woman looking forth screamed, " Is 
 Anselm Chowles, the coffin-maker, there?" 
 
 c2 
 
20 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Yes, here I am, Mother Malmayns," replied one of the men 
 in black cloaks, looking up as he spoke, and exhibiting features 
 so hideous, and stamped with such a revolting expression, that 
 Leonard's blood curdled at the sight. " What do you want with 
 me?" he added. 
 
 " I want you to carry away old Mike Norborough," replied 
 the woman. 
 
 " What, is the old miser gone at last ?" exclaimed Chowles, 
 with an atrocious laugh. " But how shall I get paid for a coffin ?" 
 
 " You may pay yourself with what you can find in the house," 
 replied Mother Malmayns; " or you may carry him to the grave 
 without one, if you prefer it. w 
 
 " No, no, that wont do," returned Chowles. " I've other cus- 
 tomers to attend to who will pay ; and, besides, I want to get 
 home. I expect friends at supper. Good-night, Mother Mal- 
 mayns. You know where to find me, if you want me. Move on, 
 Jonas, or you will never reach Saint Sepulchre's." 
 
 The woman angrily expostulated with him, and some further 
 parley ensued, — Leonard did not tarry to hear what, but rushing 
 past them, gained Bartholomew-close. 
 
 He soon reached the proctor's house, and found it marked with 
 the fatal cross. Addressing a watchman at the door, he learnt, to 
 his great dismay, that Doctor Hodges had been gone more 
 than a quarter of an hour. " He was too late," said the man. 
 " Poor Mr. Fisher had breathed his last before he arrived, and 
 after giving some directions to the family as to the precautions 
 they ought to observe, the doctor departed." 
 
 " How unfortunate 1" exclaimed Leonard, "I have missed him 
 a second time. But I will run back to his house instantly." 
 
 " You will not find him at home," returned the watchman. 
 " He is gone to St. Paul's, to attend a sick person." 
 
 " To St. Paul's at this hour !" cried the apprentice. " Why, 
 no one is there, except the vergers or the sexton." 
 
 " He is gone to visit the sexton, who is ill of the plague," re- 
 plied the watchman. " I have told you all I know about him. 
 You can do what you think best." 
 
 Determined to make another effort before giving in, Leonard 
 hurried back as fast as he could. While threading Duck-lane, he 
 heard the doleful bell again, and perceived the dead-cart stand- 
 ing before a house, from which two small coffins were brought. 
 Hurrying past the vehicle, he remarked that its load was fearfully 
 increased, but that the coffin-maker and his companion had left 
 it. Another minute had not elapsed before he reached Alders- 
 gate, and passing through the postern, he beheld a light at the 
 end of Saint Anne's-lane, and heard the terrible voice of Solomon 
 Eagle, calling to the sleepers to awake and repent. 
 
 Shutting his ears to the cry, Leonard did not halt till he reached 
 the great western door of the cathedral, against which he knocked. 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER, £] 
 
 His first summons remaining unanswered, he repeated it, and a 
 wicket was then opened by a gray-headed verger, with a lantern 
 in his hand, who at first was very angry at being disturbed, but 
 on learning whom the applicant was in search of, and that the 
 case was one of urgent necessity, he admitted that the doctor 
 was in the cathedral at the time. 
 
 w Or rather, I should say," he added, " he is in St. Faith's. I 
 will conduct you to him, if you think proper. Doctor Hodges is 
 a good man, — a charitable man," — he continued, " and attends 
 the poor for nothing. He is now with Matthew Malmayns, the 
 sexton, who was taken ill of the plague yesterday, and will get 
 nothing but thanks, — if he gets those for his fee. But, follow 
 me, young man, follow me." 
 
 So saying, he shut the wicket, and led the way along the transept. 
 The path was uneven, many of the flags having being removed, 
 and the verger often paused to throw a light upon the ground, 
 and warn his companion of a hole. 
 
 On arriving at the head of the nave, Leonard cast his eyes 
 down it, and was surprised at the magical effect of the moon- 
 light upon its magnificent avenue of pillars ; the massive shafts 
 on the left being completely illuminated by the silvery beams, 
 while those on the right lay in deep shadow. 
 
 " Ay, it is a noble structure," replied the old verger, noticing 
 his look of wonder and admiration, " and, like many a proud 
 human being, has known better days. It has seen sad changes in 
 my time, for I recollect it when good Queen Bess ruled the land. 
 But come along, young man, — you have something else to think 
 of now." 
 
 Bestowing a momentary glance upon the matchless choir, with 
 its groined roof, its clerestory windows, its arched openings, its 
 carved stalls, and its gorgeous rose-window, Leonard followed his 
 conductor through a small doorway on the left of the southern 
 transept, and descending a flight of stone steps, entered a dark 
 and extensive vault, for such it seemed. The feeble light of the 
 lantern fell upon ranks of short heavy pillars, supporting a 
 ponderous arched roof. 
 
 " You are now in Saint Faith's," observed the verger, " and 
 above you is the choir of Saint Paul's." 
 
 Leonard took no notice of the remark, but silently crossing the 
 nave of this beautiful subterranean church (part of which still 
 exists), traversed its northern aisle. At length the verger stopped 
 before the entrance of a small chapel, once dedicated to Saint John 
 the Baptist, but now devoted to a less sacred purpose. As they 
 advanced, Leonard observed a pile of dried sculls and bones in 
 one corner, a stone coffin, strips of woollen shrouds, fragments of 
 coffins, mattocks, and spades. It was evidently half a charnel, — 
 half a receptacle for the sexton's tools. 
 
 " If you choose to open that door," said the verger, pointing 
 
22 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 to one at the lower end of the chamber, " you will find him you 
 seek. I shall go no further." 
 
 Summoning up all his resolution, Leonard pushed open the 
 door. A frightful scene met his gaze. At one side of a deep, 
 low-roofed vault, the architecture of which was of great antiquity, 
 and showed that it had been a place of burial, was stretched a 
 miserable pallet, and upon it, covered by a single blanket, lay a 
 wretch, whose groans and struggles proclaimed the anguish he 
 endured. A lamp was burning on the floor, and threw a sickly 
 light upon the agonized countenance of the sufferer. He was a 
 middle-aged man, with features naturally harsh, but which now, 
 contracted by pain, had assumed a revolting expression. An old 
 crone, w 7 ho proved to be his mother, and a young man, who held 
 him down in bed by main force, tended him. He was ram- 
 bling in a frightful manner ; and as his ravings turned upon the 
 most loathly matters, it required some firmness to listen to 
 them. 
 
 At a little distance from him, upon a bench, sat a stout, shrewd- 
 looking, but benevolent little personage, somewhat between forty 
 and fifty. This was Doctor Hodges. He had a lancet in his hand, 
 with which he had just operated upon the sufferer, and he was in 
 the act of wiping it on a cloth. As Leonard entered the vault, 
 the doctor observed to the attendants of the sick man, " He will 
 recover. The tumour has discharged its venom. Keep him as 
 warm as you can, and do not let him leave his bed for two days. 
 All depends upon that. I will send him proper medicines and 
 some blankets shortly. If he takes cold, it will be fatal." 
 
 The young man promised to attend to the doctor's injunctions, 
 and the old woman mumbled her thanks. 
 
 " Where is Judith Malmayns ?" asked Doctor Hodges ; " I 
 am surprised not to see her. Is she afraid of the distemper ?" 
 
 " Afraid of it ! — not she," replied the old woman. " Since the 
 plague has raged so dreadfully, she has gone out as a nurse to the 
 sick, and my poor son has seen nothing of her." 
 
 Leonard then recollected that he had heard the womon, who 
 called out of the miser's house, addressed as Mother Malmayns by 
 the coffin-maker, and had no doubt that she was the sexton's wife. 
 His entrance having been so noiseless that it passed unnoticed, he 
 now stepped forward, and, addressing Doctor Hodges, acquainted 
 him with his errand. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the doctor, as soon as he concluded, "a 
 son of Stephen Bloundel, the worthy grocer of Wood-street, 
 attacked by the plague ! I will go with you instantly, young man. 
 I have a great regard for your master — a very great regard. 
 There is not a better man living. The poor lad must be saved, 
 if possible." And hastily repeating his instructions to the 
 attendants of the sick man, he left the vault with the apprentice, 
 
 They found the verger in the charnel, and before quitting it, 
 
THE COFFIX-MAKER. 23 
 
 the doctor drew a small flask of canary from his pocket, and 
 applied it to his lips. 
 
 " This is my anti-pestilential drink," he remarked, with a smile 
 u and it has preserved me from contagion hitherto. You must lei 
 us out of the south door, friend," he added to the verger, " for I 
 shall be obliged to step home for a moment, and it will save time. 
 Come with me, young man, and tell me what has been dune for 
 the grocer's son." 
 
 As they traversed the gloomy aisle of Saint Faith, and mounted 
 to the upper structure, Leonard related all that had taken place 
 since poor Stephen's seizure. The doctor strongly expressed his 
 approval of what had been done, and observed, " It could not 
 be better. With Heaven's help, I have no doubt we shall save 
 him, and I am truly glad of it for his father's sake." 
 
 By this time they had reached the southern door, and the verger 
 having unlocked it, they issued forth. It was still bright moon- 
 light, and Leonard, whose mind was greatly relieved by the 
 assurances of the physician, felt in some degree reconciled to 
 the delay, and kept up his part in the conversation promoted by 
 his companion. The doctor, who was an extremely kind-hearted 
 man, and appeared to have a great regard for the grocer, made 
 many inquiries as to his family, and spoke in terms of the highest 
 admiration of the beauty of his eldest daughter. The mention 
 of Amabel's name, while it made Leonard's cheek burn, rekindled 
 all his jealousy of Wyvil, and he tried to make some excuse to 
 get away, but his companion would not hear of it. 
 
 "I tell you there is no hurry," said the doctor; "all is going 
 on as well as possible. I will make .your excuses to your master." 
 
 On reaching the doctor's house they were ushered into a large 
 room, surrounded with bookshelves and cases of anatomical pre- 
 parations. Hodges seated himself at a table, on which a shaded 
 lamp was placed, and writing out a prescription, desired his 
 servant to get it made up at a neighbouring apothecary's, and to 
 take it, with a couple of blankets, to the sexton of St. Paul's. 
 He then produced a bottle of medicated canary, and pouring out 
 a large glass for the apprentice, drained another himself. 
 
 " I will answer for its virtue," he said: " it is a sure preserva- 
 tive against the plague." 
 
 Having furnished himself with several small packets of simples, 
 a few pots of ointment, one or two phials, and a case of surgical 
 instruments, he told Leonard he was ready to attend him. 
 
 "We will go round by Warwick-lane," he added. "I must 
 call upon Chowles, the coffin-maker. It will not detain us a 
 moment; and I have an order to give him." 
 
 The mention of this name brought to Leonard's mind the 
 hideous attendant on the dead-cart, and he had no doubt he was 
 the person in question. It did not become him, however, to 
 make a remark, and they set out. 
 
24 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 Mounting Addle-hill, and threading Ave -Maria -lane, they 
 entered Warwick-lane, and about half-way up the latter thorough- 
 nre, the doctor stopped before a shop, bearing on its immense 
 projecting sign the representation of a coffin lying in state, 
 and covered with scutcheons, underneath which was written, 
 "Anselm Chowles, Coffin-maker." 
 
 " I do not think you will find Mr. Chowles at home," observed 
 Leonard: "for I saw him with the dead -cart not half-an-hour 
 ago. 
 
 " Very likely," returned the doctor ; " but I shall see one of 
 his men. The coffin-maker's business is now carried on in the 
 night time," he added, with a sigh ; "and he drives a flourishing 
 trade. These sad times will make his fortune." 
 
 As he spoke, he rapped with his cane at the door, which, after 
 a little delay, was opened by a young man in a carpenter's dress, 
 ■with a hammer in his hand. On seeing who it was, this person 
 exhibited great confusion, and would have retired; but the 
 doctor, pushing him aside, asked for his master. 
 
 "You cannot see him just now, sir," replied the other, 
 evidently considerably embarrassed. "He is just come home 
 greatly fatigued, and is about to retire to rest." 
 
 " No matter," returned the doctor, entering a room, in which 
 three or four other men were at work, hastily finishing coffins; 
 " I must see him." 
 
 No further opposition being offered, Hodges, followed by the 
 apprentice, marched towards an inner room. Just as he reached 
 the door, a burst of loud laughter, evidently proceeding from a 
 numerous party, arose from within, and a harsh voice was heard 
 chanting the following strains: — 
 
 SONG OF THE PLAGUE. 
 
 i. 
 To others the Plague a foe may be, 
 To me 'tis a friend, — not an enemy; 
 My coffins and coflers alike it fills, 
 And the richer I grow, the more it kills. 
 
 Drink the Plague! Drink the Plague 1 
 
 n. 
 
 For months, for years, may it spend its rage 
 On lusty manhood and trembling age ; 
 Though half mankind of the scourge should die, 
 My coffins will sell, — so what care I ? 
 
 Drink the Plague! Drink the Plague! 
 
 Loud acclamations followed the song, and the doctor, who was 
 filled with disgust and astonishment, opened the door. He 
 absolutely recoiled at the scene presented to his gaze. In the 
 midst of a large room, the sides of which were crowded with 
 coffins piled to the very coiling, sat about a dozen personages, 
 with pipes in th~jf mouths, and flasks and glasses before them. 
 Their seats were coffins, and their table was a coffin set upon a 
 
'-J 
 
 
 & 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. 25 
 
 bier. Perched on a pyramid of coffins, gradual])' diminishing in 
 size as the pile approached its apex, Chowles was waving a glass 
 in one hand, and a bottle in the other, when the doctor made 
 his appearance. 
 
 A more hideous personage cannot be imagined than the coffin- 
 maker. He was clothed in a suit of rustly black, whicli made 
 his skeleton limbs look yet more lean and cadaverous. His head 
 was perfectly bald, and its yellow skin, divested of any artificial 
 covering, glistened like polished ivory. His throat was long and 
 scraggy, and supported a head unrivalled for ugliness. His nose 
 had been broken in his youth, and was almost compressed flat 
 with his face. His few remaining teeth were yellow and dis- 
 coloured, with large gaps between them. His eyes were bright, 
 and set in deep cavernous recesses, and, now that he was more 
 than half intoxicated, gleamed with unnatural lustre. The friends 
 by whom he was surrounded were congenial spirits, — searchers, 
 watchmen, buriers, apothecaries, and other wretches, who, like 
 himself, rejoiced in the pestilence, because it was a source of 
 profit to them. 
 
 At one corner of the room, with a part-emptied glass before 
 her, and several articles in her lap, which she hastily pocketed on 
 the entrance of the doctor, sat the plague nurse, Mother Mal- 
 mayns; and Leonard thought her, if possible, more villanous- 
 looking than her companions. She was a rough, raw-boned 
 woman, with sandy hair and light brows, a sallow, freckled com- 
 plexion, a nose with wide nostrils, and a large, thick-lipped 
 mouth. She had, moreover, a look of mingled cunning and 
 ferocity inexpressibly revolting. 
 
 Sharply rebuking Chowles, who, in springing from his lofty 
 scat, upset several of the topmost coffins, the doctor gave him 
 some directions, and, turning to the nurse, informed her of her 
 husband's condition, and ordered her to go to him immediately. 
 Mother Malmayns arose, and glancing significantly at the coffin- 
 maker, took her departure. 
 
 Repeating his injunctions to Chowles in a severe tone, the 
 doctor followed; and seeing her take the way towards Saint 
 Paul's, proceeded at a brisk pace along Paternoster-row with 
 the apprentice. In a few minutes they reached Wood-street, 
 and knocking at the door, were admitted by Blaize. 
 
 "Heaven be praised, you are come at last!" exclaimed the 
 porter. " Our master began to think something had happened 
 to you." 
 
 " It is all my fault," returned Doctor Hodges ; " but how is 
 the young man ?" 
 
 " Better, much better, as I understand," replied Blaize ; " but 
 I have not seen him." 
 
 " Come, that's well," rejoined Hodges. — " Lead me to his 
 room." 
 
26 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Leonard will show you the way," returned the porter, hold- 
 ing back. 
 
 Glancing; angrily at Blaize, the apprentice conducted the 
 doctor to the inner room, where they found the grocer, with the 
 Bible on his knee, watching by the bedside of his son. He was 
 delighted with their appearance, but looked inquisitively at his 
 apprentice for some explanation of his long absence. This 
 Hodges immediately gave ; and, having examined the sufferer, 
 he relieved the anxious father by declaring, that, with due care, 
 he had little doubt of his son's recovery. 
 
 " God be praised !" exclaimed Bloundel, falling on his knees. 
 
 Hodges then gave minute directions to the grocer as to how 
 he was to proceed, and told him it would be necessary for some 
 time to keep his family separate. To this Bloundel readily 
 agreed. The doctor's next inquiries were, whether notice had 
 been given to the Examiner of Health, and the grocer referring 
 to Leonard, the latter acknowledged that he had forgotten it, 
 but undertook to repair his omission at once. 
 
 With this view, he quitted the room, and was hastening 
 towards the shop, when he observed a figure on the back-stairs. 
 Quickly mounting them, he overtook on the landing Maurice 
 WyviL 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE GAMESTER AND THE BULLY. 
 
 Before proceeding further, it will be necessary to retrace onr 
 steps for a short time, and see what was done by Maurice Wyvil 
 after the alarming announcement made to him by the apprentice. 
 Of a selfish nature and ungovernable temper, and seeking only 
 in the pursuit of the grocer's daughter the gratification of his 
 lawless desires, he was filled, in the first instance, with furious 
 disappointment at being robbed of the prize, at the very moment 
 he expected it to fall into his hands. But this feeling was 
 quickly effaced by anxiety respecting his mistress, whose charms, 
 now that there was every probability of losing her (for Leonard's 
 insinuation had led him to believe she was assailed by the pesti- 
 lence), appeared doubly attractive to him; and scarcely under 
 the governance of reason, he hurried towards Wood-street, 
 resolved to force his way into the house, and see her again, at all 
 hazards. His wild design, however, was fortunately prevented. 
 As he passed the end of the court leading to the ancient inn (for 
 it was ancient even at the time of this history), the Svvan-with- 
 two-Necks, in Lad-lane, a young man, as richly attired as him- 
 self, and about his own age, who had seen him approaching, 
 suddenly darted from it, and grasping his cloak, detained him. 
 " I thought it must be you, Wyvil," cried this person. 
 
THE GAMESTER AND THE BULLY. 27 
 
 "Where are you running; so quickly? I see neither angry 
 father, nor jealous apprentice, at your heels. What has become 
 of the girl ? Are you tired of her already ?" 
 
 "Let me go, Lydyard," returned Wyvil, trying to extricate 
 himself from his companion's hold, who was no other than the 
 gallant that had accompanied him on his first visit to the 
 grocer's shop, and had played his part so adroitly in the scheme 
 devised between them to procure an interview with Amabel, — 
 " let me go, I sav r , I am in no mood for jesting." 
 
 " Why, what the plague is the matter?'' rejoined Lydyard. 
 " Has your mistress played you false ? Have you lost your 
 wager ?" 
 
 " The plague is the matter," replied Wyvil, sternly, " Amabel 
 is attacked by it. I must see her instantly." 
 
 " The devil !" exclaimed Lydyard. " Here is a pretty termi- 
 nation to the affair. But if this is really the case, you must not 
 see her. It is one thing to be run through the arm, — which 3-011 
 must own I managed as dexterously as the best master of fence 
 could have done, — and lose a few drops of blood for a mistress, 
 but it is another to brave the plague on her account." 
 " I care for nothing," replied Wyvil ; " I will sec her." 
 "This is madness !" remonstrated Lydyard, still maintaining 
 his grasp. " What satisfaction will it afford you to witness her 
 sufferings — to see the frightful ravages made upon her charms 
 by this remorseless disease, — to throw her whole family into 
 consternation, and destroy the little chance she may have of 
 recovery, by your presence ? What goodwill this do? No. — 
 You must pay your wager to Sedley, and forget her." 
 
 '* I cannot forget her," replied Wyvil. " My feelings have 
 undergone a total change. If I am capable of real love, it is for 
 her." 
 
 "Real love !*' exclaimed Lydyard, in an incredulous tone. "If 
 the subject were not too serious, I should laugh in your face. 
 No doubt you would marry her, and abandon your design upon 
 the rich heiress, pretty Mistress Mallett, whom old Rowley 
 recommended to your attention, and whom the fair Stewart has 
 more than half won tor you?" 
 
 " I would," replied the other, energetically. 
 " Nay, then, you are more insane than I thought you," rejoined 
 Lydyard, relinquishing his hold; "and the sooner you take the 
 plague the better. It may cure your present brain fever. I shall 
 go back to Parravicin, and the others. You will not require my 
 assistance further." 
 
 "I know not," replied Wyvil, distractedly; "I have not yet 
 given up my intention of carrying off the girl." 
 
 " If you carry her off in this state, ?> rejoined the other, " it 
 must be to the pest-house. But who told you she was attacked 
 by the plague ?" 
 
28 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Her father's apprentice," replied Wyvil. 
 
 " And you believed him ?" demanded Lydyard, with a derisive 
 laugh. 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied Wyvil. '< Why not ?" 
 
 " Because it is evidently a mere trick to frighten you from the 
 house," rejoined Lydyard. " I am surprised so shallow a device 
 should succeed with you" 
 
 "I wish I could persuade myself it was a trick," returned 
 Wyvil. " But the fellow's manner convinced me he was ill 
 earnest." 
 
 "Well, I will not dispute the point, though I am sure I am 
 right," returned Lydyard. " But be not too precipitate. Since 
 the apprentice has seen you, some alteration may be necessary 
 in your plans. Come with me into the house. A few minutes 
 can make no difference." 
 
 Wyvil suffered himself to be led up the court, and passing 
 through a door on the left, they entered a spacious room, across 
 which ran a long table, furnished at one end with wine and 
 refreshments, and at the other with cards and dice. 
 
 Three persons were seated at the table, the most noticeable of 
 whom was a dissipated-looking young man, dressed in the extre- 
 mity of the prevailing mode, with ruffles of the finest colbertine, 
 three inches in depth, at his wrists ; a richly-laced cravat round 
 his throat; white silk hose, adorned with gold clocks; velvet 
 shoes of the same colour as the hose, fastened with immense 
 roses ; a silver-hilted sword, supported by a broad embroidered 
 silk band ; and a cloak and doublet of carnation-coloured velvet, 
 woven with gold, and decorated with innumerable glittering 
 points and ribands. He had a flowing wig of flaxen hair, and a 
 broad-leaved hat, looped with a diamond buckle, and placed 
 negligently on the left side of his head. His figure was slight, 
 but extremely well formed ; and his features might have been 
 termed handsome, but for their reckless and licentious expression 
 He was addressed by his companions as Sir Paul Parravicin. 
 
 The person opposite to him, whose name was Disbrowe, and 
 who was likewise a very handsome young man, though his fea. 
 tures were flushed and disturbed, partly by the wine he had 
 drunk, and partly by his losses at play, was eouipped in the 
 splendid accoutrements of a captain in the King's body-guard. 
 His left hand convulsively clutched an empty purse, and his 
 eyes were fixed upon a large sum of money, wnich he had just 
 handed over to the knight, and which the latter was carelessly 
 transferring to his pocket. 
 
 The last of the three, whose looks betrayed his character, — 
 that of a sharper and a bully, — called himself Major Pillichody, 
 his pretensions to military rank being grounded upon his service 
 (so ran his own statement, though it was never clearby substan- 
 tiated) in the King's army during the civil wars. Major Pilli- 
 
THE GAMESTER AND THE EULT.T. 29 
 
 chody was a man of remarkably fierce exterior. Seamed with 
 many scars, and destitute of the left eye, the orifice of which was 
 covered with a huge black patch ; his face was of a deep mulberry 
 colour, clearly attesting his devotion to the bottle; while his nose, 
 which was none of the smallest, was covered with " bubukle?, and 
 whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire." lie was of the middle 
 size, stoutly built, and given to corpulency, though not so much 
 so as to impair his activity. His attire consisted of a cloak and 
 doublet of scarlet cloth, very much stained and tarnished, and 
 edged with gold lace, likewise the worse for wear ; jack-boots, 
 with huge funnel tops; spurs, with enormous rowels, and a rapier 
 of preposterous length. He wore his own hair, which was swart 
 and woolly, like that of a negro ; and had beard and moustaches 
 to match. His hat was fiercely cocked ; his gestures swaggering 
 and insolent; and he was perpetually racking his brain to invent 
 new and extraordinary oaths. 
 
 " So soon returned I" cried Parravicin, as Wyvil appeared. 
 " Accept my congratulations !" 
 
 "And mine !" cried Pillichody. " We wild fellows have but 
 to be seen to conquer. Sugar and spice, and all that's nice I" he 
 added, smacking his lips, as he filled a glass from a long-necked 
 bottle on the table; "may the grocer's daughter prove sweeter 
 than her father's plums, and more melting than his butter I Is 
 she without? Are we to see her?" 
 
 Wyvil made no answer, but, walking to the other end of the 
 room, threw himself into a chair, and covering his face with his 
 nands, appeared wrapped in thought. Lydyard took a seat 
 beside him, and endeavoured to engage him in conversation. 
 But, finding his efforts fruitless, he desisted. 
 
 " Something is wrong," observed Parravicin, to the major. 
 "He has been foiled in his attempt to carry off the girl. Sedley 
 has won his wager, and it is a heavy sum. Shall we resume our 
 play ?" he added, to Disbrowe. 
 
 " I have nothing more to lose," observed the young man, filling 
 a large goblet to the brim, and emptying it at a draught. " You 
 are master of every farthing I possess." 
 
 "Hum !" exclaimed Parravicin, taking up a pack of cards, and 
 snapping them between his finger and thumb. " You are married, 
 Captain Disbrowe?" 
 
 " What if I am ?" cried the young man, becoming suddenly 
 pale ; " what if I am ?" he repeated. 
 
 " I am told your wife is beautiful," replied Parravicin. 
 
 "Beautiiul!" ejaculated Pillichody: "by the well-filled coffers 
 of the widow of Watling-street ! she is an angel. Beautiful is^ 
 not the word. Mrs. Disbrowe is divine I" 
 
 " You have never seen her," said the young man, sternly. 
 
 " Ha ! — fire and fury ! my word doubted," cried the major, 
 fiercely " I have seen her at the play-houses, at the Mulberry- 
 
30 old saint paul's. 
 
 garden, at court, and at church. Not seen her! By the onp eye 
 of a Cyclops but I have ! You shall hear my description of her, 
 and judge of its correctness. Imprimis, she has a tall and majestic 
 figure, and might be a queen for her dignity." 
 
 " Go on," said Disbrowe, by no means displeased with the 
 commencement. 
 
 "Secondly," pursued Pillichody, "she has a clear olive com- 
 plexion, bright black eyes, hair and brows to match, a small foot, 
 a pretty turn-up nose, a dimpling cheek, a mole upon her throat, 
 the rosiest lips imaginable, an alluring look — " 
 
 " No more," interrupted Disbrowe. " It is plain you have 
 never seen her." 
 
 " Unbelieving Pagan !" exclaimed the major, clapping his hand 
 furiously upon his sword. " I have done more — I have spoken 
 with her." 
 
 " A lie !" replied Disbrowe, hurling a dice-box at his head. 
 
 " Ha !" roared Pillichody, in a voice of thunder, and pushing 
 back his chair till it was stopped by the wall. "Death and 
 fiends ! I will make mince-meat of your heart, and send it as a 
 love-offering to your wife." 
 
 And, whipping out his long rapier, he would have assaulted 
 Disbrowe, if Sir Paul had not interposed, and commanded him 
 authoritatively to put up his blade. 
 
 " You shall have your revenge in a safer way," he whispered. 
 
 " Well, Sir Paul," rejoined the bully, with affected reluctance, 
 «'as vou desire it, I will spare the young man's life. I must wash 
 away the insult in burgundy, since I cannot do so in blood." 
 
 With this, he emptied the flask next him, and called to a 
 drawer, who was in attendance, in an imperious tone, to bring 
 two more bottles. 
 
 Parravicin, meanwhile, picked up the dice-box, and, seating 
 himself, spread a large heap of gold on the table. 
 
 " I mentioned your wife, Captain Disbrowe," he said, address- 
 iug the young officer, who anxiously watched his movements., 
 " not with any intention of giving you offence, but to show you 
 that, although you have lost your money, you have still a valuable 
 stake left." 
 
 " I do not understand you, Sir Paul," returned Disbrowe, with 
 a look of indignant surprise. 
 
 " To be plain, then," replied Parravicin, " I have won from 
 you two hundred pounds — all you possess. You are a ruined 
 man, and as such will run any hazard to retrieve your losses. I 
 give you a last chance. I will stake all my winnings, nay, double 
 the amount, against your wife. You have a key of the house 
 you inhabit, by which you admit yourself at all hours ; so at least 
 the major informs me. If I win, that key shall be mine. I will 
 take my chance for the rest. Do you understand me now ?" 
 
 " I do," replied the young man, with concentrated fury. " I 
 
THE GAMESTER AND THE BULLY. 31 
 
 understand that you are a villain. You have robbed me of ray 
 money, and would rob me of my honour." 
 
 " These are harsh words, sir," replied the knight, calmly ; 
 " but let them pass. We will play first, and fight afterwards. 
 But you refuse my challenge?" 
 
 " It is false !" replied Disbrowe, fiercely, " I accept it." And 
 producing a key, he threw it on the table. " My lite is, in truth, 
 set on the die," he added, with a desperate look, — " for if I lose. 
 I will not survive my shame." 
 
 " You will not forget our terms," observed Parravicin. " I 
 am to be your representative to-night. You can return home 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Throw, sir, — throw," cried the } T oung man, fiercely. 
 
 " Pardon me," replied the knight; " the first cast is with you. 
 A single main decides it." 
 
 " Be it so," returned Disbrowe, seizing the box. And as he 
 shook the dice with a frenzied air, the major and Lydyard drew 
 near the table, and even Wyvil roused himself to watch the 
 result. 
 
 " Twelve 1" cried Disbrowe, as he removed the box. " My 
 honour is saved ! My fortune retrieved — Huzza !" 
 
 " Not so fast," returned Parravicin, shaking the box in his 
 turn. "You were a little too hast}'," he added, uncovering the 
 dice. " I am twelve, too. We must throw again." 
 
 " This to decide," cried the young officer, again rattling the 
 dice.— "Six!" 
 
 Parravicin smiled, took the box, and threw ten. 
 
 " Perdition !" ejaculated Disbrowe, striking his brow with his 
 clenched hand. "What devil tempted me to my undoing?— 
 My wife trusted to this profligate 1 Horror I — it must not be !'' 
 
 " It is too late to retract," replied Parravicin, taking up the key, 
 and turning with a triumphant look to his friends. 
 
 Disbrowe noticed the smile, and stung beyond endurance, 
 drew his sword, and called to the knight to defend himself. 
 
 In an instant, passes were exchanged. But the conflict was 
 brief. Fortune, as before, declared herself in favour of Par- 
 ravicin. He disarmed his assailant, who rushed out of the room, 
 uttering the wildest ejaculations of rage and despair. 
 
 "I told you you should have your revenge," observed the 
 knight to Pillichody, as soon as Disbrowe was gone. " Is his 
 wife really as beautiful as you represent her?" 
 
 " Words are too feeble to paint her charms," replied the major. 
 «* Shafts of Cupid I she must be seen to be appreciated." 
 
 " Enough I" returned Parravicin. "I have not made a bad 
 night's work of it, so far. I'faith, Wyvil, I pity you. To lose a 
 heavy wager is provoking enough — but to lose a pretty mistress 
 b the devil." 
 
 " I have lost neither yet," replied Wyvil, who had completely 
 
32 OLD SAINT TAUL'S. 
 
 recovered his spirits, and joined in the general merriment occa- 
 sioned by the foregoing occurrence. " I have been baffled, not 
 defeated. What say you to an exchange of mistresses ? I am 
 so diverted with your adventure, that I am half-inclined to give 
 you the grocer's daughter for Disbrowe's wife. She is a superb 
 creature — languid as a Circassian, and passionate as an Anda- 
 usian." 
 
 " I can't agree to the exchange, especially after your rapturous 
 description,*' returned Parravicin, " but I'll stake Mrs. Disbrowe 
 against Amabel. The winner shall have both. A single cast 
 shall decide, as before." 
 
 " No," replied Wyvil, " I could not resign Amabel, if I lost. 
 And the luck is all on your side to-night." 
 
 "As vou please," rejoined the knight, sweeping the glittering 
 pile into his pocket. " Drawer, another bottle of burgundy. A 
 health to our mistresses !" he added, quaffing a brimmer. 
 
 " A health to the grocer's daughter I" cried Wyvil, with dif- 
 ficulty repressing a shudder, as he uttered the pledge. 
 
 " A health to the rich widow of Watling-street," cried Pilli- 
 chody, draining a bumper, " and may I soon call her mine !" 
 
 " I have no mistress to toast," said Lydyard ; "and I have drunk 
 wine enough. Do not forget, gentlemen, that the plague ia 
 abroad." 
 
 " You are the death's-head at the feast, Lydyard," rejoined 
 Parravicin, setting down his glass. " I hate the idea of the 
 plague. It poisons all our pleasures. We must meet at noon 
 to-morrow, at the Smyrna, to compare notes as to our successes. 
 Before we separate, can I be of any further service to you, 
 Wyvil? I came here to enjoy your triumph; but, egad, I have 
 found so admirable a bubble in that hot-headed Disbrowe, whom 
 I met at the Smyrna, and brought here to while away the time, 
 that I must demand your congratulations upon mine? 
 
 " You have certainly achieved an easy victory over the hus- 
 band," returned Wyvil ; " and I trust your success with the wife 
 will be commensurate. I require no further assistance. What I 
 have to do must be done alone. Lydyard will accompany me to 
 the house, and then I must shift for myself." 
 
 " Nay, we will all see you safe inside," returned Parravicin. 
 " We shall pass by the grocer's shop. I know it well, having 
 passed it a hundred times, in the vain hope of catching a glimpse 
 of its lovely inmate." 
 
 " I am glad it was a vain hope," replied Wyvil. " But I must 
 scale a wall to surprise the garrison." 
 
 " In that case, you will need the rope-ladder," replied Lyd- 
 yard ; " it is in readiness." 
 
 " I will carry it," said Pillichody, picking up the ladder which 
 was lying in a corner of the room, and throwing it over his 
 shoulder. " Bombs and batteries I I like to be an escalade* 
 when the forts of love are stormed.** 
 
THE GAMESTER AND THE BULLY. 33 
 
 The party then set out. As they proceeded, Parravicin ascer- 
 tained from the major that Disbrowe's house was situated in a 
 small street leading out of Piccadilly, but as he could not be 
 quite sure that he understood his informant aright, he engaged 
 him to accompany him and point it out. 
 
 By this time the} 7 had reached Wood-street, and, keeping in 
 the shade, reconnoitred the house. But though Wyvil clapped 
 his hands, blew a shrill whistle, and made other signals, no 
 answer was returned, nor was a light seen at any of the upper 
 windows. On the contrary, all was still and silent as death. 
 
 The grocer's was a large, old-fashioned house, built about the 
 middle of the preceding century, or perhaps earlier, and had four 
 stories, each projecting over the other, till the pile seemed com- 
 pletely to overhang the street. The entire front, except the upper 
 story, which was protected by oaken planks, was covered with 
 panels of the same timber, and the projections were supported by 
 heavy beams, embellished with grotesque carvings. Three 
 deeply-embayed windows, having stout wooden bars, filled with 
 minute diamond panes, set in leaden frames, were allotted to 
 each floor: while the like number of gables, ornamented with 
 curiously-carved coignes, and long-moulded leaden spouts, shoot- 
 ing far into the street, finished the roof. A huge sign, with the 
 device of Noah's Ark, and the owner's name upon it, hung 
 before the aooi. 
 
 After carefully examining the house, peeping tnrough the 
 chinks in the lower shutters, and discovering the grocer seated 
 by the bedside of his son, though he could not make out the 
 object of his solicitude, Wyvil decided upon attempting an 
 entrance by the back-yard. To reach it, a court and a narrow 
 alley, leading to an open space surrounded by high walls, had to 
 be traversed. Arrived at this spot, Wyvil threw one end of the 
 rope-ladder over the wall, which was about twelve feet high, and 
 speedily succeeding in securing it, mounted, and drawing it up 
 after him, waved his hand to his companions, and disappeared 
 on the other side. After waiting for a moment to listen, and 
 hearing a window open, they concluded he had gained admit- 
 tance, and turned to depart. 
 
 "And now for Mrs. Disbrowe I" cried Parravicin. "We shall 
 find a coach or a chair in Cheapside. Can I take you westward, 
 Lydyard?" 
 
 But the other declined the offer, saying, " I will not desert 
 Wyvil. I feel certain he will get into some scrape, and may 
 need me to help him out of it. Take care of yourself, Parravicin. 
 Beware of the plague, and of what is worse than the plague, an 
 injured husband. Good-night, major." 
 
 " Farewell, sir," returned Pillichody, raising his hat. "A merry 
 watching, and a good catching, as the sentinels were wont to say, 
 vben I served King Charles the First. Six Paul, I attend you." 
 
 D 
 
34 OLD SAINT PAUL'S, 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 Maurice Wyvil, as his friends conjectured, had found his way 
 into the house. Creeping through the window, and entering a 
 passage, he moved noiselessly along till he reached the head of 
 the kitchen-stairs, where, hearing voices below, and listening to 
 what was said, he soon ascertained from the discourse of the 
 speakers, who were no other than old Josyna and Patience, that 
 it was not the grocer's daughter, but one of his sons, who was 
 attacked by the plague, and that Amabel was in perfect health, 
 though confined in her mother's bedroom. 
 
 Overjoyed at the information he had thus acquired, he retired 
 as noiselessly as he came, and, after searching about for a short 
 time, discovered the main staircase, and ascended it on the points 
 of his feet. He had scarcely, however, mounted a dozen steps, 
 when a door opened, and Blaize crawled along the passage, 
 groaning to himself, and keeping his eyes bent on the ground. 
 Seeing he was unnoticed, Wyvil gained the landing, and, tread- 
 ing softly, placed his ear at every door, until at last the musical 
 accents of Amabel convinced him he had hit upon the right 
 one. 
 
 His heart beat so violently, that, for a few seconds, he was 
 unable to move. Becoming calmer, he tried the door, and finding 
 it locked, rapped with his knuckles against it. The grocer's wife 
 demanded who was there. But Wyvil, instead of returning an 
 answer, repeated his application. The same demand followed, 
 and in a louder key. Still no answer. A third summons, how- 
 ever, so alarmed Mrs. Bloundel, that, forgetful of her husband's 
 injunctions, she opened the door and looked out; but, as Wyvil 
 had hastily retired into a recess, she could see no one. 
 
 Greatly frightened and perplexed, Mrs. Bloundel rushed to the 
 head of the stairs, to see whether there was any one below; and, 
 as sh^ did so, Wyvil slipped into the room, and locked the door. 
 The only object he beheld — for he had eyes for nothing else — - 
 was Amabel, who, seeing him, uttered a faint scream. Clasping 
 her in his arms, Wyvil forgot, in the delirium of the moment, the 
 jeopardy in which he was placed. 
 
 " Do you know what has happened ?" cried Amabel, extricating 
 herself from his embrace. 
 
 "I know all," replied her lover; "I would risk a thousand 
 deaths for your sake. You must fly with me." 
 
 "Fly!" exclaimed Amabel; "at such a time as this? — my 
 brother dying — the whole house, perhaps, infected ! How can 
 you ask me to fly? Why have you come hither? You will 
 destroy me. r 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 35 
 
 " Not so, sweet Amabel," replied Wyvil, ardently. " I would 
 bear you from the reach of this horrible disease. I am come to 
 save you, and will not stir without you." 
 
 " What shall I do ?" cried Amabel, distractedly. " But I am 
 rightly punished for my disobedience and ingratitude to my dear 
 father. Oh ! Wyvil, I did not deserve this from you." 
 
 " Hear me, Amabel," cried her lover ; " I implore your 
 forgiveness. What I have done has been from irresistible passion, 
 and from no other cause. You promised to meet me to-night. 
 Nay, you half-consented to fly with me. I have prepared all for 
 it. I came hither burning with impatience for the meeting. I 
 received no signal, but encountering your father's apprentice, 
 was informed that you were attacked by the plague. Imagine 
 my horror and distress at the intelligence. I thought it would 
 have killed me. I determined, however, at all risks, to see you 
 once more — to clasp you in my arms before you died — to die 
 with you, if need be. I accomplished my purpose. I entered 
 the house unobserved. I overheard the servants say it was } T our 
 brother who was ill, not you. I also learnt that you were in 
 your mother's room I found the door, and by a fortunate device, 
 obtained admittance. Now you know all, and will you not fly 
 with me ?" 
 
 " How can I fly ?" cried Amabel, gazing wildly round the 
 room, as if in search of some place of refuge or escape, and, 
 noticing her little sister, Christiana, who was lying asleep in the 
 bed — " Oh ! how I envy that innocent !" she murmured. 
 
 " Think of nothing but yourself," rejoined Wyvil, seizing her 
 hand. " If you stay here, it will be to perish of the plague. 
 Trust to me, and I will secure your flight." 
 
 " I cannot — I dare not," cried Amabel, resisting him with all 
 her force. 
 
 " You must come," cried Wyvil, dragging her along. 
 
 As he spoke, Mrs. Bloundel, who had been down to Blaize's 
 room to ascertain what was the matter, returned. Trying the 
 door, and finding it fastened, she became greatly alarmed, and 
 called to Amabel to open it directly. 
 
 " It is my mother," cried Amabel. " Pity me, Heaven ! I 
 shall die with shame." 
 
 " Heed her not," replied Wyvil, in a deep whisper ; " in her 
 surprise and confusion at seeing me, she will not be able to stop 
 us. Do not hesitate. There is not a moment to lose." 
 
 "What is the matter, child?" cried Mrs. Bloundel. "Why 
 have you fastened the door ? Is there any one in the room with 
 you?" 
 
 " She hears us ?" whispered Amabel. " What shall I do ? You 
 must not be seen." 
 
 " There is no use in further concealment," cried Wyvil. " You 
 are mine, and twenty mothers should r»ot bar the way." 
 
36 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Hold !" cried Amabel, disengaging herself by a sudden effort. 
 ** I have gone too far — but not so far as you imagine. I am not 
 utterly lost." 
 
 And before she could be prevented, she rushed to the door, 
 threw it open, and flung herself into her mother's arms, who 
 uttered an exclamation of terror at beholding Wyvil. The latter, 
 though filled with rage and confusion, preserved an unmoved 
 exterior, and folded his arms upon his breast. 
 
 " And so it was you who knocked at the door !" cried Mrs. 
 Bloundel, regarding the gallant with a look of fury — " it was you 
 who contrived to delude me into opening it ! I do not ask why 
 you have come hither like a thief in the night, because I require 
 no information on the subject. You are come to dishonour my 
 child — to carry her away from those who love her, and cherish 
 her, and would preserve her from such mischievous serpents as 
 you. But, Heaven be praised ! I have caught you before your 
 wicked design could be effected. Oh ! Amabel, my child, my 
 child !" she added, straining her to her bosom, " I had rather — 
 far rather — see you stricken with the plague, like your poor 
 brother, though I felt there was not a hope of your recovery, 
 than you should fall into the hands of this Satan !" 
 
 " I have been greatly to blame, dear mother," returned Amabel, 
 bursting into tears ; " and I shall neither seek to exculpate myself, 
 nor conceal what I have done. I have deceived you and my 
 father. I have secretly encouraged the addresses of this 
 gentleman. Nay, if the plague had not broken out in our house 
 to-night, I should have flown from it with him." 
 
 " You shock me greatly, child," returned Mrs. Bloundel ; " but 
 you relieve me at the same time. Make a clean breast, and hide 
 nothing from me." 
 
 (t I have nothing more to tell, dear mother," replied Amabel, 
 " except that Maurice Wyvil has been in the room ever since you 
 left it, and might, perhaps, have carried me off in spite of my 
 resistance, if you had not returned when you did." 
 
 " It was, indeed, a providential interference," rejoined Mrs. 
 Bloundel. " From what a snare of the Evil One — from what a 
 pitfall have you been preserved !" 
 
 "I feel I have had a narrow escape, dear mother," replied 
 Amabel. " Pardon me. I do not deserve your forgiveness. 
 But I will never offend you more." 
 
 "I forgive you from my heart, child, and will trust you," 
 returned Mrs. Bloundel, in a voice broken by emotion. 
 
 " That is more than / would," thought Maurice Wyvil. " A 
 woman who has once deceived those she holds dear, will not fail to 
 do so a second time. The fairest promises are forgotten when 
 the danger is past." 
 
 K Mr. Wyvil, if you have a particle of regard for me, you will 
 instantly leave the house," said Amabel, turning to him. 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 37 
 
 "If I had my own way, he should leave it through the 
 window," said Mrs. Bloundel; "and if he tarries a minute 
 longer, I will give the alarm." 
 
 " You hear this, sir," cried Amabel : — "go, I entreat you." 
 
 "I yield to circumstance, Amabel," replied Wyvil ; "but think 
 not I resign you Come what will, and however I may be foiled, 
 I will not desist till I make you mine." 
 
 " I tremble to hear him," cried Mrs. Bloundel, " and could not 
 have believed such depravity existed. Quit the house, sir, 
 directly, or I will have you turned out of it." 
 
 " Do not remain another moment," implored Amabel. " Do 
 not, do not !" 
 
 " Since I have no other way of proving my love, I must 
 perforce obey," returned Wyvil, trying to snatch her hand and 
 press it to his lips ; but she withdrew it, and clung more closely 
 to her mother. " We part," he added, significantly, " only for a 
 time." 
 
 Quitting the room he was about to descend the stairs, when 
 Mrs. Bloundel, who had followed to see him safely off the 
 premises, hearing a noise below, occasioned by the return of 
 Leonard with the doctor, cautioned him to wait. A further 
 delay was caused by Blaize, who, stationing himself at the foot of 
 the stairs, with a light in his hand, appeared unwilling to move. 
 Apprehensive of a discovery, Mrs. Bloundel then directed the 
 gallant to the back staircase, and he had got about half-way 
 down, when he was surprised by Leonard Holt, as before 
 related. 
 
 At the very moment that Wyvil was overtaken on the landing 
 by the apprentice, Amabel appeared at the door of her chamber 
 with a light. The different emotions of each party at this 
 unexpected recontre may be imagined. Leonard Holt, with a 
 breast boiling with jealous rage, prepared to attack his rival. 
 He had no weapon about him, having left his cudgel in the shop, 
 but he doubled his fists, and, nerved by passion, felt he had the 
 force of a Hercules in his arm. Wyvil, in his turn, kept his hand 
 upon his sword, and glanced at his mistress, as if seeking instruc- 
 tions how to act. At length, Mrs. Bloundel, who formed one 
 of the group, spoke. 
 
 "Leonard Holt," she said, "show this person out at the door. 
 Do not lose sight of him for an instant; and, as soon as he is 
 gone, tr} 7 to find out how he entered the hou^o." 
 
 " He entered it like a robber," returned Leonard, looking 
 fiercely at the gallant, " and if I did my strict duty, I should 
 seize him and give him in charge to the watch. He has come 
 here for the purpose of stealing my master's chief valuable — 
 his daughter." 
 
 "I am aware of it," replied Mrs. Bloundel, "and nothing 
 but consideration for my husband prevents my delivering him 
 
38 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 up to justice. As it is, he may go free. But should he re- 
 turn — " 
 
 " If 1 catch him here again," interrupted Leonard, " I will 
 shoot him as I would a dog, though I should be hanged for the 
 deed. Have you considered well what you are doing, madam ? 
 I would not presume beyond my station, but there are seasons 
 when an inferior may give wholesome advice. Are you 
 certain you are acting as your worthy husband would, in allowing 
 this person to depart ? If you have any doubt, speak. Fear 
 nothing. Unarmed as I am, I am a match for him, and will 
 detain him." 
 
 " Do not heed what Leonard says, dear mother," interposed 
 Amabel. " For my sake, let Mr. Wy vil go." 
 
 " I have considered the matter, Leonard," returned Mrs. 
 Bloundel, u and trust I am acting rightly. At all events, I am 
 sure I am sparing my husband pain." 
 
 "It is mistaken tenderness," rejoined Leonard, "and Heaven 
 grant you may not have cause to repent it. If I had your per- 
 mission, I would so deal with this audacious intruder, that he 
 should never venture to repeat his visit." 
 
 " You know that you speak safely, fellow," rejoined Wyvil, 
 " and you, therefore, give full licence to your scurril tonrue. 
 But a time will come when I will chastise your insolence." 
 
 u No more of this," cried Mrs. Bloundel. " Do as I bid you, 
 Leonard; and, as you value my regard, say nothing of what has 
 occurred to your master." 
 
 Sullenly acquiescing, the apprentice preceded Wyvil to the 
 shop, and opened the door. 
 
 As the other passed through it, he said, " You spoke of chas- 
 tising me just now. If you have courage enough — which I 
 doubt — to make good your words, and will wait for me for five 
 minutes, near Saint Alban's church in this street, you shall have 
 the opportunity." 
 
 Wyvil did not deign a reply, but wrapping his cloak around 
 him, strode away. He had not proceeded far, when it occurred 
 to him that, possibly, notwithstanding his interdiction, some of 
 his companions might be waiting for him, and hurrying down 
 the passage leading to the yard, he found Lydyard, to whom he 
 recounted his ill-success. 
 
 " I shall not, however, abandon my design," he said. " These 
 failures are only incentives to further exertion." 
 
 " In the meantime, you must pay your wager to Sedley," 
 laughed Lydyard, " and as the house is really infected with the 
 plague, it behoves you to call at the first apothecary's shop we 
 find open, and get your apparel fumigated. You must not 
 neglect due precautions." 
 
 " True," replied Wyvil, " and as I feel too restless to go home 
 at present, suppose we amuse ourselves by calling on some astro- 
 
THE POMANDER-BOX. 39 
 
 loger, to see whether the stars are favourable to my pursuit oi 
 this girl." 
 
 " A good idea," replied Lydyard. " There are plenty of the 
 ' Sons of Urania,' as they term themselves, hereabouts." 
 
 " A mere juggler will not serve my turn," returned Wyvil. 
 
 " William Lilly, the almanack-maker, who predicted the 
 plague, and, if old Rowley is to be believed, has great skill in 
 the occult sciences, lives somewhere in Friday-street, not a 
 stone's throw from this place. Let us go and find him out." 
 
 " Agreed," replied Lydyard. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE POMANDER-BOX. 
 
 Any doubts entertained by Leonard Holt as to the manner in 
 which his rival entered the house, were removed by discovering 
 the open window in the passage, and the rope-ladder hanging to 
 the yard-wall. Taking the ladder away, and making all as 
 secure as he could, he next seized his cudgel, and proceeded tc» 
 Blaize's room, with the intention of inflicting upon him the 
 punishment he had threatened ; for he naturally enough attri- 
 buted to the porter's carelessness all the mischief that had just 
 occurred. Not meeting with him, however, and concluding he 
 was in the kitchen, he descended thither, and found him in such 
 a pitiable plight, that his wrath was instantly changed to com- 
 passion. 
 
 Stretched upon the hearth before a blazing sea-coal fire, which 
 seemed large enough to roast him, with his head resting upon 
 the lap of Patience, the pretty kitchen-maid, and his left hand 
 upon his heart, the porter loudly complained of a fixed and 
 burning pain in that region ; while his mother, who was kneel- 
 ing beside him, having just poured a basin of scalding posset- 
 drink down his throat, entreated him to let her examine his side 
 to see whether he had any pestilential mark upon it, but he 
 vehemently resisted her efforts. 
 
 " Do you feel any swelling, myn lief zoon ?" asked old Josyna, 
 trying to remove his hand. 
 
 " Swelling !" ejaculated Blaize, — " there's a tumour as big as 
 an egg." 
 
 " Is id possible ?" exclaimed Josyna, in great alarm. " Do let 
 me look ad id." 
 
 " No, no, leave me alone," rejoined Blaize. M Don't disturl 
 me further. You will catch the distemper if you touch the 
 Bore." 
 
 "Dat wond hinder me from drying to zaave you," replied his 
 
40 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 mother, affectionately. I must see vad is de madder vid you, or 
 I cannod cure you." 
 
 " I am past your doctoring, mother," groaned Blaize. " Leave 
 me alone, I say. You hurt, me shockingly !" 
 
 ' " Poor child !" cried Josyna, soothingly, " I'll be as dender as 
 possible. I'll nod give you de leasd pain — nod de leasd bid." 
 
 " But I tell you, vou do give me a great deal," rejoined Blaize. 
 " I can't bear it. Your fingers are like iron nails. Keep them 
 away." 
 
 " Bless us ! did I ever hear de like of dad !" exclaimed Josyna. 
 " Iron nails I if you think so, myn arm zoon, you musd be very 
 ill indeed." 
 
 " I am very ill," groaned her son. " I am not long for this 
 world." 
 
 " Oh ! don't say so, dear Blaize," sobbed Patience, letting fall 
 a plentiful shower of tears on his face. Don't say so. I can't 
 bear to part with you." 
 
 " Then don't survive me," returned Blaize. " But there's 
 little chance of your doing so. You are certain to take the 
 plague." 
 
 " I care not what becomes of myself, if I lose you, Blaize," 
 responded Patience, bedewing his countenance with another 
 shower; "but I hope you wont die yet." 
 
 " Ah ! it's all over with me — all over," rejoined Blaize. " I 
 told Leonard Holt how it would be. I said I should be the next 
 victim. And my words are come true." 
 
 "You are as clever as a conjurer," sobbed Patience; "but I 
 wish you hadn't been right in this instance. However, comfort 
 yourself. I'll die with you. We'll be carried to the grave in the 
 same plague-cart." 
 
 " That's cold comfort," returned Blaize, angrily. " I beg 
 you'll never mention the plague-cart again. The thought of it 
 makes me shiver all over — oh !" And he uttered a dismal and 
 prolonged groan. 
 
 At this juncture, Leonard thought it time to interfere. 
 
 " If you are really attacked by the plague, Blaize," he said, 
 advancing, " you must have instant advice. Doctor Hodges is 
 still upstairs with our master. He i^ust see you." 
 
 " On no account," returned the porter, in the greatest alarm, 
 and springing to his feet. I am better — much better. I don't 
 think I am ill at all." 
 
 "For the first time, I suspect the contrary," replied the 
 apprentice, "since you are afraid of owning it. But this is not 
 a matter to be trilled with. Doctor Hodges will soon settle the 
 point." And he hurried out of the room to summon the physi- 
 cian. 
 
 " Oh ! mother ! — dear Patience J" roared Blaize, capering 
 about in an ecstasy of terror ; " don't let the doctor come near 
 
THE POMANDER-BOX. 41 
 
 me. Keep me out of his sight. You don't know what horrid 
 things are done to those afflicted with my complaint. But I do, 
 — for I have informed myself on the subject. Their skins are 
 scarified, and their sores blistered, lanced, cauterized, and some- 
 times burned away with a knob of red-hot iron, called ' the 
 button.' " 
 
 " But iv id is necessary, myn goed Blaize. you musd submid," 
 replied his mother. " Never mind de hod iron or de lance, or de 
 blisder, iv dey make you well. Never mind de pain. It will 
 soon be over." 
 
 " Soon over !" bellowed Blaize, sinking into a chair. " Yes, I 
 feel it will. But not in the way you imagine. This Doctor 
 Hodges will kill me. lie is fond of trying experiments, and will 
 make me his subject. Don't let him, — for pity's sake, don't." 
 
 " But I musd, myn lief jonger," replied his mother, " I musd." 
 
 " Oh, Patience 1" supplicated Blaize, " you were always fond 
 of me. My mother has lost her natural affection. She wishes 
 to get rid of me. Don't take part with her. My sole depend- 
 ence is upon you." 
 
 " I will do all I can for }'ou, dear Blaize," blubbered the 
 kitchenmaid. "But it is absolutely necessary you should see 
 the doctor." 
 
 " Then I wont stay here another minute," vociferated Blaize. 
 "I'll die in the street rather than under his hands." 
 
 And bursting from them, he would have made good his retreat, 
 but for the entrance of Leonard and Hodges. 
 
 At the sight of the latter, Blaize ran back and endeavoured to 
 screen himself behind Patience. 
 
 "Is this the sick man?" remarked Hodges, scarcely able to 
 refrain from laughing. " I don't think he can be in such immi- 
 nent danger as you led me to suppose." 
 
 " No, I am better — much better, thank you," returned Blaize, 
 still keeping Patience between him and the doctor. " The very 
 sight of you has frightened away the plague." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Hodges, smiling, " then it is the most 
 marvellous cure I ever yet effected. But, come forward, young 
 man, and let us see what is the matter with you?" 
 
 " You neither lance, nor cauterize an incipient tumour, do 
 you, doctor?" demanded Blaize, without abandoning his position. 
 
 " Eh, day 1" exclaimed Hodges, " have we one of the faculty 
 here ? I see how it is, friend. You have been reading some 
 silly book about the disease, and have frightened yourself into 
 the belief that you have some of its symptoms. I hope you 
 haven't been doctoring yourself, likewise. What have you taken?" 
 
 " It would be difficult to say what he has not taken," remarked 
 Leonard. " His stomach must be like an apothecary's shop." 
 
 " I have only used proper precautions," rejoined Blaize, 
 testily. 
 
42 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " And what may ttiose be — eh ?" inquired the doctor. " I am 
 curious to learn." 
 
 " Come from behind Patience," cried Leonard, " and don't act 
 the fool longer, or I will see whether your disorder will not yield 
 to a sound application of the cudgel." 
 
 "Don't rate him thus, good Master Leonard," interposed 
 Patience. " He is very ill, — he is, indeed." 
 
 " Then let him have a chance of getting better," returned the 
 apprentice. " If he is ill, he has no business near you. Come 
 from behind her, Blaize, I say. Now speak," he added, as the 
 porter crept tremblingly forth, "and let us hear what nostrums 
 you have swallowed. I know you have dosed yourself with pills, 
 electuaries, balsams, tinctures, conserves, spirits, elixirs, decoc- 
 tions, and every other remedy, real or imaginary. What else 
 have you done ?" 
 
 " What Dr. Hodges, I am sure, will approve," replied Blaize, 
 confidently. " I have rubbed myself with vinegar, oil of sulphur, 
 extract of tar, and spirit of turpentine." 
 
 " What next?" demanded Hodges. 
 
 "I placed saltpetre, brimstone, amber, and juniper upon a 
 chafing-dish, to fumigate my room," replied Blaize ; " but the 
 vapour was so overpowering, I could not bear it." 
 
 "I should be surprised if you could," replied the doctor. 
 " Indeed, it is astonishing to me, if you have taken half the 
 remedies Leonard says you have, — and which, taken in this 
 way, are no remedies at all, since they counteract each other, — 
 that you are still alive. But let us see what is the matter with 
 you. What ails you particularly ?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied Blaize, trembling ; " I am quite well." 
 
 " He complains of a fixed pain near de haard, docdor," inter- 
 posed his mother, " and says he has a large dumour on his side. 
 But he wond let me examine id." 
 
 " That's a bad sign," observed Hodges, shaking his head. " I 
 am afraid it's not all fancy, as I at first supposed. Have you felt 
 sick of late, young man ?" 
 
 "Not of late," replied Blaize, becoming as white as ashes; 
 " but I do now." 
 
 " Another bad symptom," rejoined the doctor. "Take off 
 your doublet and open your shirt." 
 
 " Do as the doctor bids you," said Leonard, seeing that Blaize 
 hesitated, " or I apply the cudgel." 
 
 "Ah! bless my life! what's this?" cried Hodges, running his 
 hand down the left side of the porter, and meeting with a large 
 lump. " Can it be a carbuncle ?" 
 
 " Yes, it's a terrible carbuncle," replied Blaize ; " but don't 
 cauterize it, doctor." 
 
 " Let me look at it," cried Hodges, " and I shall then know 
 how to proceed." 
 
THE POMANDER BOX. 43 
 
 And as he spoke, he tore open the porter's shirt, and a silver 
 ball, about as large as a pigeon's egg, fell to the ground. Leonard 
 picked it up, and found it so hot, that he could scarcely hold it. 
 
 " Here is the terrible carbuncle," he cried, with a laugh, in 
 which all the party, except Blaize, joined. 
 
 " It's my pomander-box," said the latter. " I filled it with a 
 mixture of citron-peel, angelica-seed, zedoary, yellow saunders, 
 aloes, benzoin, camphor, and gum-tragacanth, moistened with 
 spirit of roses; and after placing it on the chafing-dish to heat 
 it, hung it by a string round my neck, next my dried toad. I 
 suppose, by some means or other, it dropped through my doublet, 
 and found its way to my side. I felt a dreadful burning there, 
 and that made me fancy I was attacked by the plague." 
 
 "A very satisfactory solution of the mystery." replied the 
 doctor, laughing; "and you may think yourself well oft' with the 
 blister which your box has raised. It will be easier to bear than 
 the cataplasm I should have given you, had your apprehensions 
 been well founded. As yet, you are free from infection, young 
 man ; but if you persist in this silly and pernicious practice of 
 quacking yourself, you will infallibly bring on some fatal disorder 
 — perhaps the plague itself. If your mother has any regard for 
 you, she will put all your medicines out of your reach. There 
 are few known remedies against this frightful disease ; and what 
 few there are, must be adopted cautiously. My own specific is sack." 
 
 " Sack !" exclaimed Blaize, in astonishment. " Henceforth, I 
 will drink nothing else. I like the remedy amazingly." 
 
 "It must be taken in moderation," said the doctor: "other- 
 wise, it is as dangerous as too much physic." 
 
 "I have a boddle or doo of de liquor you commend, docdor, 
 in my privade cupboard," observed Josyna. " Will you dasde id?" 
 
 "With great pleasure," replied Hodges, "and a drop of it will 
 do your son no harm." 
 
 The wine was accordingly produced, and the doctor pro- 
 nounced it excellent, desiring that a glass might always be 
 brought him when he visited the grocer's house. 
 
 " You may rely upon id, mynheer, as long as my small sdore 
 lasds," replied Josyna. 
 
 Blaize, who, in obedience to the doctor's commands, had 
 drained a large glass of sack, felt so much inspirited by it, that 
 he ventured, when his mother's back was turned, to steal a kiss 
 from Patience, and to whisper in her ear, that if he escaped the 
 plague, he would certainly marry her — an assurance that seemed 
 to give her no slight satisfaction. His new-born courage, how- 
 ever, was in some degree damped by Leonard, who observed to 
 him, in an under tone, 
 
 " You have neglected my injunctions, sirrah, and allowed the 
 person I warned you of to enter the house. When a fitting 
 season arrives, I will not fail to pay off old scores." 
 
44 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 Blaize would have remonstrated, and asked for some expla- 
 nation, but the apprentice instantly left him, and set out upon 
 his errand to the Examiner of Health. Accompanied b} r his 
 mother, who would not even allow him to say good-night to 
 Patience, the porter then proceeded to his own room, where the 
 old woman, to his infinite regret, carried off his stores of medicine 
 in a basket which she brought with her for that purpose, and 
 locked the door upon him. 
 
 " This has escaped her," said Blaize, as soon as she was gone, 
 opening a secret drawer in the cupboard. " How fortunate that 
 I kept this reserve. I have still a tolerable supply in case of 
 need. Let me examine my stock. First of all, there are plague- 
 lozenges, composed of angelica, liquorice, flower of sulphur, 
 myrrh, and oil of cinnamon. Secondly, an electuary of bole- 
 armoniac, hartshorn-shavings, saffron, and syrup of wood-sorrel. 
 I long to taste it. But then it would be running in the doctor's 
 teeth. Thirdly, there is a phial labelled Aqua Tkeriacalis Stil- 
 latitia — in plain English, distilled treacle-water. A spoonful of 
 this couldn't hurt me. Fourthly, a packet of powders, entitled 
 Manus Christi — an excellent mixture. Fifthly, a small pot of 
 diatesseron, composed of gentian, myrrh, bayberries, and round 
 aristolochia. I must just taste it. Nevermind the doctor! He 
 does not know what agrees with my constitution as well as I do 
 myself. Physic comes as naturally to me as mother's milk. Sixthly, 
 there is Aqua Epidemica, commonly called the Plague- Water of 
 Matthias— delicious stuff! I will only just sip it. What a fine 
 bitter it has ! I'm sure it must be very wholesome. Next, for 
 I've lost my count, comes salt of vipers — next, powder of unicorn's 
 horn — next, oil of scorpions from Naples — next, dragon-water — 
 all admirable. Then there are cloves of garlic — sovereign for- 
 tifiers of the stomach — and, lastly, there is a large box of my 
 favourite rufuses. How many pills have I taken ? Only half- 
 a-dozen ! Three more may as well go to keep the others com- 
 pany." 
 
 And hastily swallowing them, as if afraid of detection, he care- 
 fully shut the drawer, and then crept into bed, and, covering 
 himselfwith blankets, endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. 
 
 Doctor Hodges, meantime, returned to the grocer, and ac- 
 quainted him that it was a false alarm, and that the porter was 
 entirely free from infection. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Bloundel ; " but I expected as 
 much. Blaize is like the shepherd's boy in the fable ; he has 
 cried ' wolf so often, that when the danger really arrives, no one 
 will heed him." 
 
 " I must now take my leave, Mr. Bloundel," said Hodges. 
 " I will be with you the first thing to-morrow, and have little 
 doubt I shall find your son going on well. But you must not 
 aaerely take care of him, but of yourself, and your household* 
 
i!3Lir,c tasting tin* |.Huuur Hfiedicmear, 
 
THE POMANDER-BOX. 45 
 
 It will be well to set a chafing-dish in the middle of the room, 
 and scatter some of these perfumes occasionally upon it ;" anC 
 producing several small packets, he gave them to the grocer 
 " If you ever smoke a pipe, I would advise you to do so now." 
 
 "I never smoke," replied Bloundel, "and hold it as a filthy 
 and mischievous habit, which nothing but necessity should induce 
 me to practise." 
 
 " It is advisable now," returned Hodges, " and you should 
 neglect no precaution. Take my word for it, Mr. Bloundel, the 
 plague is only beginning. When the heats of summer arrive, 
 its ravages will be frightful. Heaven only knows what will 
 become of us all !" 
 
 " If my poor son is spared, and we escape contagion," returned 
 Bloundel, " I will put into execution a scheme which has occurred 
 to me, and which (under Providence !) will, I trust, secure my 
 family from further hazard." 
 
 " Ah, indeed 1 what is that ?" inquired Hodges. 
 
 ** We must talk of it some other time," returned Bloundel. 
 " Good-night, doctor, and accept my thanks for your attention. 
 To-morrow, at as early an hour as you can make convenient, 
 I shall hope to see you." And with a friendly shake of the 
 hand, and a reiteration of advice and good wishes, Hodges 
 departed. 
 
 Soon after this, the apprentice returned, and by his master's 
 directions, placed a chafing-dish in the middle of the room, 
 supplying it with the drugs and herbs left by the doctor. About 
 four o'clock, a loud knocking was heard. Instantly answering 
 the summons, Leonard found four men at the shop-door, two of 
 whom he knew, by red wands they carried, were searchers ; while 
 their companions appeared to be undertakers, from their sable 
 habits and long black cloaks. 
 
 Marching unceremoniously into the shop, the searchers desired 
 to see the sick man ; and the apprentice then perceived that one 
 of the men in black cloaks was the coffin-maker, Chowles. Pie 
 could not, however, refuse him admittance, and led the way to 
 the grocer's chamber. As they entered it, Bloundel arose, and 
 placing his finger to his lips in token of silence, raised the 
 blankets, and exhibited the blotch, which had greatly increased 
 in size, under the arm of his slumbering son. The foremost of 
 the searchers, who kept a phial of vinegar to his nose all the 
 time he remained in the room, then demanded in a low tone 
 whether there were any other of the household infected ? The 
 grocer replied in the negative. Upon this, Chowles, whose 
 manner showed he was more than half intoxicated, took off his 
 hat, and bowing obsequiously to the grocer, said, " Shall I pre- 
 pare you a coffin, Mr. Bloundel? You are sure to want one, 
 and had better give the order in time, for there is a great demand 
 for such articles just now. If you like s I will call with it to- 
 
46 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 morrow night I have a plague-cart of my own, and bury all my 
 customers." 
 
 " God grant I may not require your services, sir !" replied the 
 grocer, shuddering. " But I will give you timely notice." 
 
 " If you are in want of a nurse, I can recommend an expe- 
 rienced one," added Chowles. " Her last employer is just 
 dead." 
 
 " I may need assistance," replied the grocer, after a moment's 
 reflection. " Let her call to-morrow." 
 
 " She understands her business perfectly, and will save you a 
 world of trouble," replied Chowles ; " besides securing me the 
 sale of another coffin," he added to himself. 
 
 He then quitted the room with the searchers, and Leonard 
 felt inexpressibly relieved by their departure. 
 
 As soon as the party gained the street, the fourth person, who 
 was provided with materials for the task, painted a red cross of 
 the prescribed size — namely, a foot's length — in the middle of 
 the door ; tracing above it, in large characters, the melancholy 
 formula — " Lord have mercy upon us !" 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE LIBERTINE PUNISHED. 
 
 Sir Paul Parravicin and Major Pillichody arrived without 
 any particular adventure at the top of the Haymarket, where the 
 former dismissed the coach he had hired in Cheapside, and 
 they proceeded towards Piccadilly on foot. Up to this time, 
 the major had been in very high spirits, boasting what he would 
 do, in case they encountered Disbrowe, and offering to keep 
 guard outside the door while the knight remained in the house. 
 But he now began to alter his tone, and to frame excuses to get 
 away. He had noticed with some uneasiness, that another coach 
 stopped lower down in the Haymarket, at precisely the same 
 time as their own ; and though he could not be quite certain of 
 the fact, he fancied he perceived a person greatly resembling 
 Captain Disbrowe alight from it. Mentioning the circumstance 
 to his companion, he pointed out a tall figure following them at 
 some distance ; but the other only laughed at him, and said, " It 
 may possibly be Disbrowe — but what if it is ? He cannot get 
 into the house without the key ; and if he is inclined to measure 
 swords with me a second time, he shall not escape so lightly as 
 he did the first." 
 
 " Right, Sir Paul, right," returned Pillichody, " exterminate 
 him — spare him not. By Bellerophon ! that's my way. My 
 only apprehension is lest he should set upon us unawares. The 
 bravest are not proof against the dagger of an assassin " 
 
THE LIBERTINE PUNISHED. 17 
 
 "There you wrong Disbrowe, major, I am persuaded," re- 
 turned Parravicin. " He is too much a man of honour to stab a 
 foe behind his back." 
 
 "It may be," replied Pillichody, "but jealousy will sometimes 
 turn a man's brain. By the snakes of Tisiphone ! I have known 
 an instance of it myself. I once made love to a tailor's wife, and 
 the rascal coming in unawares, struck me to the ground with his 
 goose, and well nigh murdered me." 
 
 " After such a mischance, I am surprised you should venture 
 to carry on so many hazardous intrigues," laughed the knight 
 " But you proposed just now to keep watch outside the house 
 If it is Disbrowe who is following us, you had better do so." 
 
 " Why, Sir Paul — you see," — stammered the major, " I have 
 just bethought me of an engagement." 
 
 " An engagement at this hour — impossible I" cried Parravicin. 
 
 " An assignation, I ought to say," returned Pillichody. 
 " Couches of Cytherosa ! — an affair like your own. You would 
 not have me keep a lady waiting." 
 
 " It is strange you should not recollect it till this moment,* 
 replied Parravicin. "But be your inamorata whom she may — 
 even the rich widow of Watling-street, of whom you prate so 
 much — you must put her off to-night." 
 
 « But Sir Paul—" 
 
 " I will have no denial," replied the knight, peremptorily. " II 
 you refuse, you will find me worse to deal with than Disbrowe. 
 You must remain at the door till I come out. And now let us 
 lose no more time. I am impatient to behold the lady." 
 
 "Into what a cursed scrape have I got myself!" thought the 
 major, as he walked b} r the side of his companion, ever and anon 
 casting wistful glances over his shoulder. " I am fairly caught 
 on the horns of a dilemma. I instinctively feel that Disbrowe is 
 dogging- us. What will become of me ? The moment this hare- 
 brained coxcomb enters the house, I will see whether a light pair 
 of heels cannot bear me out of harm's way." 
 
 By this time, they had reached a passage known as Bear-alley, 
 (all traces of which have been swept away by modern improve- 
 ments,) and threading it, they entered a narrow thoroughfare, 
 called Castle-street. Just as they turned the corner, Pillichody 
 again noticed the figure at the further end of the alley, and, but 
 for his fears of the knight, would have instantly scampered off. 
 
 " Are we far from the house?" inquired Parravicin. 
 
 " No," replied the major, scarcely able to conceal his trepida- 
 tion. " It is close at hand — and so is the lady's husband." 
 
 " So much the better," replied the knight ; " it will afford you 
 some amusement to beat him off. You may affect not to know 
 him, and may tell him the lady's husband is just come home — 
 her husband ! — do you take, Pillichody?" 
 
 " I do — ha ! ha ! I do," replied the major, in a quavering tone- 
 
43 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " But you don't appear to relish the jest," rejoined Parravifiin, 
 sneeringly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I relish it exceedingly," replied Pillichody ; " her 
 husband — ha ! — ha ! — and Disbrowe is the disappointed lover — 
 capital ! But here we are — and I wish we were anywhere else," 
 he added to himself. 
 
 " Are you sure you are right ?" asked Parravicin, searching for 
 the key. 
 
 " Quite sure," returned Pillichody. * Don't you see some one 
 behind that wall?" 
 
 " I see nothing," rejoined the knight. " You are afraid of 
 shadows, major." 
 
 "Afraid I" ejaculated Pillichody. " Thousand thunders ! I 
 am afraid of nothing." 
 
 " In that case, I shall expect to find you have slain Disbrowe 
 on my return," rejoined Parravicin, unlocking the door. 
 
 " The night is chilly," observed the major, " and ever since 
 my campaigns in the Low Countries, I have been troubled with 
 rheumatism. I should prefer keeping guard inside." 
 
 " No, no, you must remain where you are," replied the knight, 
 shutting the door. 
 
 Pillichody was about to take to his heels, when he felt himself 
 arrested by a powerful arm. He would have roared for aid, but 
 a voice, which he instantly recognised, commanded him to keep 
 silence, if he valued his life. 
 
 " Is your companion in the house ?" demanded Disbrowe, in a 
 hollow tone. 
 
 " I am sorry to say he is, Captain Disbrowe," replied the 
 bully. a I did my best to prevent him, but remonstrance was in 
 vain." 
 
 " Liar," cried Disbrowe, striking him with his clenched hand. 
 " Do you think to impose upon me by such a pitiful fabrication ? 
 It was you who introduced me to this heartless libertine — you 
 who encouraged me to play with him, telling me I should easily 
 strip him of all he possessed — you who excited his passion for 
 my wife, by praising her beauty — and it was you who put it into 
 his head to propose that fatal stake to me." 
 
 " There you are wrong, Captain Disbrowe," returned Pilli- 
 chody, in a supplicatory tone. " On my soul, you are ! I 
 certainly praised your wife (as who would not ?) but I never 
 advised Parravicin to play for her. That was his own idea 
 entire l} r ." 
 
 " The excuse shall not avail you," cried Disbrowe, fiercely. 
 " To you I owe all my misery. Draw and defend yourself." 
 
 " Be not so hasty, Captain," cried Pillichody, abjectly. " 1 
 have injured you sufficiently already. I would not have your 
 blood on my head. On the honour of a soldier, I am sorry for 
 the wrong I have done you, and will strive to repair it." 
 
THE LIBERTINE PUNISHED. 49 
 
 ** Repair it J" shrieked Disbrowe. " It is too late." And seizing 
 the major's arm, he dragged him by main force into the alley. 
 
 " Help ! help !" roared Pillichody. " Would you murder me ?" 
 
 " I will assuredly cut your throat, if you keep up this clamour," 
 rejoined Disbrowe, snatching the other's long rapier from his 
 side. " Coward !" he added, striking him with the flat side of 
 the weapon, " this will teach you to mix yourself up in such 
 infamous affairs for the future." 
 
 And heedless of the major's entreaties and vociferations, he 
 continued to belabour him, until compelled by fatigue to desist; 
 when the other, contriving to extricate himself, ran off as fast 
 as his legs could carry him. Disbrowe looked after him for a 
 moment, as if uncertain whether to follow, and then hurrying to 
 the house, stationed himself beneath the porch. 
 
 " I will stab him as he comes forth," he muttered, drawing his 
 sword, and hiding it beneath his mantle. 
 
 Parravicin, meanwhile, having let himself into the house, 
 marched boldly forward, though the passage was buried in dark- 
 ness, and he was utterly unacquainted with it. Feeling against 
 the wall, he presently discovered a door, and opening it, entered 
 a room lighted by a small silver lamp placed on a marble slab 
 The room was empty, but its furniture and arrangements pro- 
 claimed it the favourite retreat of the fair mistress of the abode. 
 Parravicin gazed curiously round, as if anxious to gather from 
 what he saw some idea of the person he so soon expected to 
 encounter. Everything betokened a refined and luxurious taste. 
 A few French romances, the last plays of Etherege, Dryden, and 
 Shadwell, a volume of Cowley, and some amorous songs, lay on 
 the table ; and not far from them were a loomask, pulvil purse, a 
 pair of scented gloves, a richly-laced mouchoir, a manteau girdle, 
 palatine tags, and a golden bodkin for the hair. 
 
 Examining all these things, and drawing his own conclusions 
 as to the character of their owner, Parravicin turned to a couch 
 on which a cittern was thrown, while beside it, on a cushion, were 
 a pair of tiny embroidered velvet slippers. A pocket-mirror, or 
 sprunking-glass, as it was then termed, lay on a side table, and 
 near it stood an embossed silver chocolate-pot, and a small 
 porcelain cup with a golden spoon inside it, showing what the 
 lady's last repast had been. On another small table, covered 
 with an exquisitely white napkin, stood a flask of wine, a tall- 
 stemmed glass, and a few cates on a China dish, evidently placed 
 there for Disbrowe's return. 
 
 As Parravicin drew near this table, a slip of paper, on which a 
 few lines were traced, attracted his attention, and taking it up, 
 he read as follows : — 
 
 "It is now midnight, and you promised to return early. I 
 have felt your absence severely, and have been suffering from a 
 
 E 
 
50 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 violent headache, which has almost distracted me. I have also 
 been troubled with strange and unaccountable misgivings re- 
 specting you. I am a little easier now, but still far from well, 
 and about to retire to rest. At what hour will this meet your 
 eye ? Margaret." 
 
 " Charming creature 1" exclaimed Parravicin, as the paper 
 dropped from his hand ; " she little dreamed, when she wrote it, 
 who would read her billet. Disbrowe does not deserve such a 
 treasure. I am sorry she is unwell. I hope she has not taken 
 the plague. Pshaw, what could put such an idea into my head ? 
 Lydyard's warning, I suppose. That fellow, who is the veriest 
 rake among us, is always preaching. Confound him 1 I wish 
 he had not mentioned it. A glass of wine may exhilarate me." 
 And pouring out a bumper, he swallowed it at a draught. " And 
 so the fond fool is pining for her husband, and has some mis- 
 givings about him. Egad I it is well for her she does not know 
 what has really taken place. She'll learn that soon enough. 
 What's this ?" he added, glancing at a picture on the walk 
 " Her miniature ! It must be ; for it answers exactly to P5I- 
 lichody's description. A sparkling brunette, with raven hair, 
 and eyes of night. I am on fire to behold her: but I must pro- 
 ceed with prudence, or I may ruin all. Is there nothing of Dis- 
 browe 's that I could put on for the nonce ? Tore Heaven ! the 
 very thing I want !" 
 
 The exclamation was occasioned by his observing a loose 
 silken robe lying across a chair. Wrapping it round him, and 
 throwing down his hat, he took the lamp, and went up stairs. 
 
 Daring as he was, Parravicin felt his courage desert him, as 
 having found the door of Mrs. Disbrowe's chamber, he cautiously 
 opened it. A single glance showed him that the room was more 
 exquisitely, more luxuriously furnished than that he had just 
 quitted. Articles of feminine attire, of the richest kind, were 
 hung against the walls, or disposed on the chairs. On one side 
 stood the toilette-table, with its small mirror then in vogue, and 
 all its equipage of silver flasks, filigree cassets, japan patch-boxes, 
 scent-bottles, and pomatum-pots. 
 
 As he entered the room, a faint voice issuing from behind the 
 rich damask curtains of the bed, demanded, " Is it you, Dis- 
 browe ?" 
 
 " It is, Margaret," replied Parravicin, setting down the lamp, 
 and speaking with a handkerchief at his mouth, to disguise his 
 voice and conceal his features. 
 
 " You are late — very late," she rejoined, " and I have been ill. 
 I fancied myself dying." 
 
 " What has been the matter with you, sweet Meg ?" asked Par- 
 ravicin, approaching the bed, and seating himself behind th« 
 curtains. 
 
THE LIBERTINE PUNISHED. 51 
 
 " I know not," she replied. " I was seized with a dreadful 
 headache about an hour ago. It has left me ; but I have a 
 strange oppression at nvy chest, and breathe with difficult} 7 ." 
 
 " You alarm me, my love," rejoined Parravicin. " Were you 
 ever attacked thus before ?" 
 
 " Never," she replied. " Oh ! Disbrowe ! if you knew how I 
 have longed for your return, you would blame yourself for your 
 absence. You have grown sadly neglectful of late. I suspect 
 you love some one else. If I thought so — " 
 
 "What if you thought so, Margaret?" demanded Parravicin. 
 
 " What 1" cried Mrs. Disbrowe, raising herself in the bed. 
 " I would requite your perfidy, — terribly requite it!" 
 
 " Then learn that Captain Disbrowe is faithless," cried Parra- 
 vicin, throwing back the curtains, and disclosing himself. " Learn 
 that he loves another, and is with her now. Learn, that he cares 
 so little for 3011, that he has surrendered you to me." 
 
 " What do I hear ?" exclaimed Mrs. Disbrowe. " Who are 
 you, and what brings you here ?" 
 
 "You may guess my errand from my presence," replied the 
 knight. " I am called Sir Paul Parravicin, and am the most 
 devoted of your admirers." 
 
 " My husband surrender me to a stranger ! It cannot be \ n 
 cried the lady, distractedly. 
 
 " You see me here, and may judge of the truth of my state- 
 ment," rejoined the knight. " Your husband gave me this key, 
 with which I introduced myself to the house." 
 
 " What motive could he have for such unheard-of baseness, — 
 such barbarity ?" cried Mrs. Disbrowe, bursting into tears. 
 
 " Shall I tell you, madam ?" replied Parravicin. " He is tired 
 of you, and has taken this means of ridding himself of you." 
 
 Mrs. Disbrowe uttered a loud scream, and fell back in the bed. 
 Parravicin waited for a moment; but not hearing her move 
 brought the lamp to see what was the matter. She had fainted, 
 and was lying across the pillow, with her night-dress partly open, 
 so as to expose her neck and shoulders. 
 
 The knight was at first ravished with her beauty ; but his coun- 
 tenance suddenly fell, and an expression of horror and alarm 
 took possession of it. He appeared rooted to the spot, and 
 instead of attempting to render her any assistance, remained with 
 his gaze fixed upon her neck. 
 
 Rousing himself at length, he rushed out of the room, hurried 
 down stairs, and without pausing for a moment, threw open the 
 street-door. As he issued from it, his throat was forcibly griped, 
 and the point of a sword was placed at his breast. 
 
 '* You are now in my power, villain," cried Disbrowe, " and 
 shall not escape my vengeance." 
 
 " You are already avenged," replied Parravicin, shaking off 
 his assailant. " Your wife has the plague." 
 
 e2 
 
52 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE PLAGUE NURSE, 
 
 "And so my husband has got the plague," muttered Mother 
 Malmayns, as she hastened towards Saint Paul's, after the reproof 
 she had received from Doctor Hodges. " Well, it's a disorder 
 that few recover from, and I don't think he stands a better chance 
 than his fellows. I've been troubled with him long enough. I've 
 borne his ill usage and savage temper for twenty years, vainly 
 hoping something would take him off; but though he tried his 
 constitution hard, it was too tough to yield. However, he's 
 likely to go now. If I find him better than I expect, I can 
 easily make all sure. That's one good thing about the plague. 
 You may get rid of a patient without any one being the wiser. 
 A wrong mixture — a pillow removed — a moment's chill during 
 the fever — a glass of cold water — the slightest thing will do it. 
 Matthew Malmayns, you will die of the plague, that's certain. 
 But I must be careful how I proceed. That cursed doctor has his 
 eye upon me. As luck would have it, I've got Sibbald's oint- 
 ment in my pocket. That is sure to do its business, — and 
 safely." 
 
 Thus ruminating, she shaped her course towards the south- 
 west corner of the cathedral, and passing under the shrowds and 
 cloisters of the Convocation House, raised the latch of a small 
 wooden shed fixed in the angle of a buttress. Evidently well 
 acquainted with the place, she was not long in finding a lantern 
 and materials to light it, and inserting her fingers in a crevice of 
 the masonry from which the mortar had been removed, she drew 
 forth a key." 
 
 "It has not been stirred since I left it here a month ago," she 
 muttered. " I must take care of this key, for if Matthew should 
 die, I may not be able to enter the vaults of Saint Faith's with- 
 out it; and as I know all their secret places and passages, which 
 nobody else does, except my husband, I can make them a store- 
 house for the plunder I may obtain during the pestilence. If it 
 rages for a year, or only half that time, and increases in violence 
 (as God grant it may), I will fill every hole in those walls with 
 gold." 
 
 With this, she took up the lantern, and crept along the side of 
 the cathedral, until she came to a flight of stone steps. De 
 8cending them, she unlocked a small but strong door, cased with 
 iron, and fastening it after her, proceeded along a narrow stone 
 passage, which brought her to another door, opening upon the 
 south aisle of Saint Faith's. 
 
 Pausing for a moment to listen whether any one was within the 
 sacred structure, — for such was the dead and awful silence of the 
 
THE PLAGUE NtTRSE. 53 
 
 place, that the slightest whisper or footfall, even at its farthest 
 extremity, could be distinguished, — she crossed to the other side, 
 glancing fearfully around her as she threaded the ranks of pillars, 
 whose heavy and embrowned shafts her lantern feebly illumined, 
 and entering a recess took a small stone out of the wall, and 
 deposited the chief part of the contents of her pocket behind it, 
 after which she carefully replaced the stone. This done, she 
 hurried to the charnel, and softly opened the door of the crypt. 
 
 Greatly relieved by the operation he had undergone, the sexton 
 had sunk into a slumber, and was, therefore, unconscious of the 
 entrance of his wife, who, setting down the lantern, advanced 
 towards the pallet. His mother and the young man were still in 
 attendance, and the former, on seeing her daughter-in-law, ex- 
 claimed, in low but angry accents, — " What brings you here, 
 Judith? I suppose you expected to find my son dead. But he 
 will disappoint you. Doctor Hodges said he would recover — did 
 he not, Kerrich ?" she added, appealing to the young man, who 
 nodded acquiescence. " He will recover, I tell } T ou." 
 
 " Well, well," replied Judith, in the blandest tone she could 
 assume ; " I hope he will. And if the doctor says so, I have no 
 doubt of it. I only heard of his illness a few minutes ago, and 
 came instantly to nurse him." 
 
 " You nurse him !" cried the old woman ; "if you show him 
 any affection now, it will be for the first time since your wedding- 
 day." 
 
 " How long has he been unwell?" demanded Judith, with 
 difficulty repressing her anger. 
 
 " He was seized the night before last," replied the old woman ; 
 *' but he didn't know what was the matter with him when it began. 
 I saw him just before he went to rest, and he complained of a 
 slight illness, but nothing to signify. He must have passed a 
 frightful night, for the vergers found him in the morning running 
 about Saint Faith's like a madman, and dashing his spades and 
 mattocks against the walls and pillars. They secured him, and 
 brought him here, and on examination, he proved to have the 
 plague." 
 
 " You surprise me by what you say," replied Judith. " During 
 the last month, I have nursed more than a dozen patients, and 
 never knew any of them so violent. I must look at his sore." 
 
 " The doctor has just dressed it," observed the old woman. 
 
 '* I don't mind that," rejoined Judith, turning down the blanket, 
 and examining her husband's shoulder. " You arc right," she 
 added, " he is doing as well as possible." 
 
 " I suppose I sha'n't be wanted any more," observed Kerrich. 
 " now j^ou're come back to nurse your husband, Mrs. Malmayns? 
 I shall be glad to get home to my own bed, for I don't feel^d! 
 at all." 
 
 u Don't alarm yourself," replied Judith. " There's a bottle of 
 
54 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 plague-vinegar for you. Dip a piece of linen in it, and smell at it, 
 and I'll insure you against the pestilence." 
 
 Kerrich took the phial, and departed. But the remedy was of 
 little avail. Before daybreak, he was seized with the distemper, 
 and died two days afterwards. 
 
 " I hope poor Kerrich hasn't got the plague ?" said the old 
 woman, in a tremulous tone. 
 
 " I am afraid he has," replied the daughter-in-law, " but I didn't 
 like to alarm him." 
 
 " Mercy on us I" cried the other, getting up. " What a dreadful 
 scourge it is." 
 
 " You would say so, if }^ou had seen whole families swept off 
 by it, as I have," replied Judith. " But it mostly attacks old 
 persons and children." 
 
 " Lord help us !" cried the crone, " I hope it will spare me. I 
 thought my age secured me." 
 
 " Quite the reverse," replied Judith, desirous of exciting her 
 mother-in-law's terrors ; " quite the reverse. You must take care 
 of yourself." 
 
 " But yew? ^un't think I'm ill, do you ?" asked the other, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Sit down, and let me look at you," returned Judith. 
 i. iid the old woman tremblingly obeyed. 
 
 <J Well, what do you think of me — what's the matter?" she 
 •^Ked, as her daughter-in-law eyed her for some minutes in silence. 
 What's the matter, I say ?" 
 But Judith remained silent. 
 
 " I insist upon knowing," continued the old woman. 
 " Are you able to bear the truth ?" returned her daughter-in- 
 law. 
 
 " You need say no more," groaned the old woman. " I know 
 what the truth must be, and will try to bear it. I will get home 
 as fast as I can, and put my few affairs in order, so that if I am 
 carried off, I may not go unprepared.". 
 
 " You had better do so," replied her daughter-in-law. 
 " You will take care of my poor son, Judith," rejoined the old 
 woman, shedding a flood of tears. " I would stay with him, if I 
 thought I could do him any good; but if I really am infected, I 
 might only be in the way. Don't neglect him — as you hope for 
 mercy hereafter, do not." 
 
 " Make yourself easy, mother," replied Judith. " I will take 
 every care of him." 
 
 " Have you no fears of the disorder yourself?" inquired the old 
 woman. 
 
 " None whatever," replied Judith. " I am a safe woman." 
 "I do not understand you," replied her mother-in-law, in 
 surprise. 
 
THE PLAGUE NURSE. 55 
 
 " I have had the plague," replied Judith ; " and those who have 
 had it once, never take it a second time." 
 
 This opinion, entertained at the commencement of the pesti- 
 lence, it may be incidentally remarked, was afterwards found to 
 be entirely erroneous ; — some persons being known to have the 
 distemper three or four times. 
 
 " You never let us know you were ill," said the old woman. 
 "I could not do so," replied Judith, " and I don't know that I 
 should have done if I could. I was nursing two sisters at a 
 small house in Clerkenwell Close, and they both died in the 
 night-time, within a few hours of each other. The next day, as 
 I was preparing to leave the house, I was seized myself, and had 
 scarcely strength to creep upstairs to bed. An old apothecary, 
 named Sibbald, who had brought drugs to the house, attended 
 me, and saved my life. In less than a week, I was well again, 
 and able to move about, and should have returned home, but the 
 apothecary told me, as I had had the distemper once, I might 
 resume my occupation with safety. I did so, and have found 
 plenty of employment." 
 
 " No doubt," rejoined the old woman ; " and you will find 
 plenty more — plenty more." 
 " I hope so," replied the other. 
 
 " Oh ! do not give utterance to such a dreadful wish, Judith," 
 rejoined her mother-in-law. " Do not let cupidity steel your heart 
 to every better feeling." 
 
 A slight derisive smile passed over the harsh features of the 
 plague-nurse. 
 
 " You heed me not," pursued the old woman. " But a time 
 will come when you will recollect my words." 
 " I am content to wait till then," rejoined Judith. 
 " Heaven grant you a better frame of mind 1" exclaimed the 
 old woman. " I must take one last look of my son, for it is not 
 likely [ shall see him again." 
 
 " Not in this world," thought Judith. 
 
 " I conjure you, by all that is sacred, not to neglect him," said 
 the old woman. 
 
 " I have already promised to do so," replied Judith, impatiently. 
 " Good night, mother." 
 
 " It will be along good night to me, I fear," returned the dame. 
 a Doctor Hodges promised to send some blankets and medicine 
 for poor Matthew. The doctor is a charitable man to the poor 
 and if he learns I am sick, he may, perhaps, call and give me 
 advice." 
 
 " I am sure he will," replied Judith. " Should the man bring 
 the blankets, I will tell him to acquaint his master with your 
 condition. And now take this lantern, mother, and get home as 
 fast as vou can." 
 
56 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 So saying, she almost pushed her out of the vault, and clos<a_ 
 the door after her. 
 
 " At last I am rid of her," she muttered. " She would have 
 been a sp} - over me. I hope I have frightened her into the plague. 
 But if she dies of fear, it will answer my purpose as well And 
 now for my husband." 
 
 Taking up the lamp, and shading it with her hand, sne gazed 
 at his ghastly countenance. 
 
 " He slumbers tranquilly," she muttered, after contemplating 
 him for some time, adding, with a chuckling laugh, " it would be 
 a pity to waken him." 
 
 And seating herself on a stool near the pallet, she turned over 
 in her mind in w T hat way she could best execute her diabolical 
 purpose. 
 
 While she was thus occupied, the messenger from Doctor 
 Hodges arrived with a bundle of blankets and several phials and 
 pots of ointment. The man offered to place the blankets on the 
 pallet, but Judith would not let him. 
 
 " I can do it better myself, and without disturbing the poor 
 sufferer," she said. " Give my dutiful thanks to your master. Tell 
 him my husband's mother, old widow Malmayns, fancies herself 
 attacked by the plague, and if he will be kind enough to visit 
 her, she lodges in the upper attic of a baker's house, at the sign 
 of the Wheatsheaf, in Little Distaff-lane, hard by." 
 
 " I will not fail to deliver your message to the doctor," replied 
 the man, as he took his departure, 
 
 Left alone with her husband a second time, Judith waited till 
 she thought the man had got out of the cathedral, and then rising 
 and taking the lamp, she repaired to the charnel, to make sure it 
 was untenanted. Not content with this, she stole out into Saint 
 Faith's, and gazing round as far as the feeble light of her lamp 
 would permit, called out in a tone that even startled herself, " Is 
 any one lurking there ?" but receiving no other answer than was 
 afforded by the deep echoes of the place, she returned to the 
 vault. Just as she reached the door, a loud cry burst upon her 
 ear, and rushing forward, she found that her husband had 
 wakened. 
 
 " Ah !" roared Malmayns, raising himself in bed, as he per- 
 ceived her, "are you come back again, you she-devil? Where 
 is my mother ? W 7 here is Kerrich ? What have you done with 
 them ?" 
 
 " They have both got the plague," replied his wife. " They 
 caught it from you. But nevermind them. I will watch over 
 you as long as you live." 
 
 "And that will be for years, you accursed jade," replied the 
 sexton ; " Dr. Hodges says I shall recover." 
 
 " You have got worse since he left you," replied Judith. " Lie 
 down, and let me throw these blankets over you." 
 
 
THE PLAGUE NURSE. 57 
 
 " Off!" cried the sick man, furiously. "You shall not approach 
 me. You want to smother me." 
 
 " I want to cure you," replied his wife, heaping the blankets 
 upon the pallet. " The doctor has sent some ointment for your 
 sore." 
 
 " Then let him apply it himself," cried Malmayns, shaking his 
 fist at her. " You shall not touch me. I will strangle you, if 
 you come near me." 
 
 " Matthew," replied his wife, " I have had the plague myself, 
 and know how to treat it better than any doctor in London. I 
 will cure you, if you will let me." 
 
 " I have no faith in you," replied Malmayns, " but I suppose I 
 must submit. Take heed what you do to me, for if I have but 
 five minutes to live, it will be long enough to revenge myself 
 upon you." 
 
 "I will anoint your sore with this salve," rejoined Judith, 
 producing a pot of dark-coloured ointment, and rubbing his 
 shoulder with it. " It was given me by Sibbald, the apothecary 
 of Clerkcnwell. lie is a friend of Chowles, the coffin-maker. 
 You know Chowles, Matthew ?" 
 
 " I know him for as great a rascal as ever breathed," replied 
 her husband, gruffly. " He has always cheated me out of my 
 dues, and his coffins are the worst I ever put under ground." 
 
 " He is making his fortune now," said Judith. 
 
 "By the plague, eh?" replied Matthew. " I don't envy him 
 Money so gained wont stick to him. He will never prosper." 
 
 " I wish you had his money, Matthew," replied his wife, in a 
 coaxing tone. 
 
 " If the plague hadn't attacked me when it did, I should have 
 been richer than Chowles will ever be," replied the sexton. 
 " Nay, I am richer as it is." 
 
 " You surprise me," replied Judith, suddenly pausing in her 
 task. " How have you obtained your wealth ?" 
 
 " I have discovered a treasure," replied the sexton, with a 
 mocking laugh ; — " a secret hoard — a chest of gold — ha ! hal w 
 
 " Where — where ?" demanded his wife, eagerly. 
 
 " That's a secret," replied Matthew. 
 
 "I must have it from him before he dies," thought his wife. 
 " Had we not better secure it without delay ?" she added, aloud. 
 " Some other person may find it." 
 
 " Oh, it's safe enough," replied Matthew. " It has remained 
 undiscovered for more than a hundred years, and will continue 
 so, for a hundred to come, unless I bring it forth." 
 
 " But you will bring it forth, wont you ?" said Judith. 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied Matthew, " if I get better. But 
 not otherwise. Money would be of no use to me in the 
 grave ?" 
 
 "But it would be of use to me," replied his wife. 
 
58 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 * Perhaps flt might," replied the sexton ; "but if I die, the 
 knowledge of the treasure shall die with me." 
 
 " He is deceiving me," thought Judith, beginning to rub his 
 shoulder afresh. 
 
 " I suspect you have played me false, you jade," cried Mal- 
 mayns, writhing with pain. " The stuff you have applied burns 
 like caustic, and eats into my flesh." 
 
 " It is doing its duty," replied his wife, calmly watching his 
 agonies. " You will soon be easier." 
 
 "Perhaps I shall — in death," groaned the sufferer. "I am 
 parched with thirst. Give me a glass of water." 
 
 " You shall have wine, Matthew, if you prefer it. I have a 
 flask in my pocket," she replied. " But what of the treasure- 
 where is it ?" 
 
 " Peace !" he cried. " I will baulk your avaricious hopes. You 
 shall never know where it is." 
 
 " I shall know as much as you do," she rejoined, in a tone of 
 incredulity. " I don't believe a word you tell me. You have 
 found no treasure." 
 
 " If this is the last word I shall ever utter, I have" he returned ; 
 — " a mighty treasure. But you shall never possess it. Never 
 —ah! ah!" 
 
 " Nor shall you have the wine," she replied ; " there is water 
 for you," she added, handing him a jug, which he drained with 
 frantic eagerness. " He is a dead man," she muttered. 
 
 " I am chilled to the heart," grasped the sexton, shivering from 
 head to foot, while chill damps gathered on his brow. " 1 have 
 done wrong in drinking the water, and you ought not to have 
 given it me." 
 
 " You asked for it," she replied. " You should have had wine 
 but for your obstinacy. But I will save you yet, if you will 
 tell me where to find the treasure." 
 
 " Look for it in my grave," he returned, with a hideous grin. 
 
 Soon after this, he fell into a sort of stupor. His wife could 
 now have easily put a period to his existence, but she still hoped 
 to wrest the secret from him. She was assured, moreover, that 
 his recovery was hopeless. At the expiration of about two hours, 
 he was aroused by the excruciating anguish of his sore. He had 
 again become delirious, and raved as before about coffins, corpses, 
 graves, and other loathsome matters. Seeing, from his altered 
 looks, and the livid and gangrenous appearance which the tumour 
 had assumed, that his end was not far off, Judith resolved not to 
 lose a moment, but to try the effect of a sudden surprise. Accord- 
 ingly, she bent down her head, and shouted in his ear, " What 
 has become of your treasure, Matthew ?" 
 
 The plan succeeded to a miracle. The dying man instantly 
 laised himself. 
 
 " My treasure !" he echoed, with a yell that made the vault ring 
 
THE MOSAICAL EODS. 59 
 
 again. " Well thought on I I have not secured it. They are 
 carrying it off. I must prevent them." And throwing off the 
 coverings, he sprang out of bed. 
 
 " I shall have it now," thought his wife. "You are right," she 
 added, " they are carrying it off. The vergers have discovered it. 
 They are digging it up. We must instantly prevent them." 
 
 " We must !" shrieked Malmayns. " Bring the light ! bring the 
 light J" And bursting open the door, he rushed into the adjoining 
 aisle. 
 
 " He will kill himself, and discover the treasure into the 
 bargain," cried Judith, following him. "Ah! what do I seel 
 People in the church. Curses on them ! they have ruined my 
 hopes." 
 
 CHAPTER VIIT. 
 
 THE MOSAICAL RODS. 
 
 In pursuance of their design of seeking out an astrologer, 
 Maurice Wyvil and Lydyard crossed Cheapside and entered 
 Friday-street. They had not proceeded far, when they perceived 
 a watchman standing beneath a porch with a lantern in his hand, 
 and thinking it an intimation that the house was attacked by the 
 plague, they hurried to the opposite side of the street, and called 
 to the watchman to inquire whether he knew where Mr. Lilly 
 lived. 
 
 Ascertaining that the house they sought was only a short 
 distance off, they repaired thither, and knocking at the door, a 
 small wicket, protected by a grating, was open within it, and a 
 sharp female voice inquired their business. 
 
 " Give this to your master, sweetheart," replied Wyvil, slipping 
 a purse through the grating ; " and tell him that two gentlemen 
 desire to consult him." 
 
 " He is engaged just now," replied the woman, in a much 
 softer tone ; " but I will take your message to him." 
 
 " You have more money than wit," laughed Lydyard. " You 
 should have kept back your fee till you had got the informa- 
 tion." 
 
 " In that case I should never have received any," replied 
 Wyvil. " I have taken the surest means of obtaining admission to 
 the house." 
 
 As he spoke, the door was unbolted by the woman, who proved 
 to be young and rather pretty. She had a light in her hand, and 
 directing them to follow her, led the way to a sort of ante-room, 
 divided, as it appeared, from a larger room by a thick black 
 curtain. Drawing aside the drapery, their conductress ushered 
 them into the presence of three individuals, who were seated at a 
 
60 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 table strewn with papers, most of which were covered with 
 diagrams and astrological calculations. 
 
 One of these persons immediately rose on their appearance, and 
 gravely but courteously saluted them. He was a tall man, some- 
 what advanced in life, being then about sixty-three, with an 
 aquiline nose, dark eyes, not yet robbed of their lustre, gray 
 hair waving over his shoulders, and a pointed beard and 
 moustache. The general expression of his countenance was 
 shrewd and penetrating, and yet there were certain indications of 
 credulity about it, showing that he was as likely to be imposed 
 upon himself as to delude others. It is scarcely necessary to 
 say that this was Lilly. 
 
 The person on his right, whose name was John Booker, and 
 who, like himself, was a proficient in astrology, was so buried in 
 calculation that he did not raise his eyes from the paper on the 
 approach of the strangers. He was a stout man, with homely 
 but thoughtful features, and though not more than a year older 
 than Lilly, looked considerably his senior. With the exception 
 of a few silver curls hanging down the back of his neck, he was 
 completely bald ; but his massive and towering brow seemed to 
 indicate the possession of no ordinary intellectual qualities. He 
 was a native of Manchester, and was born in 1601, of a good 
 family. " His excellent verses upon the twelve months," says 
 Lilly, in his autobiography, " framed according to the configura- 
 tions of each month, being blessed with success, according to his 
 predictions, procured him much reputation all over England. He 
 was a very honest man," continues the same authority, " abhorred 
 any deceit in the art he studied; had a curious fancy in judging 
 of thefts ; and was successful in resolving love-questions. He was 
 no mean proficient in astronomy; understood much in physic, was 
 a great admirer of the antimonialcup ; and not unlearned in che- 
 mistry, which he loved well but did not practise." At the period 
 of this history, he was clerk to Sir Hugh Hammersley, alderman. 
 
 The third person, — a minor canon of Saint Paul's, named 
 Thomas Quatremain, — was a grave, sallow-complexioned man, 
 with a morose and repulsive physiognomy. He was habited in 
 the cassock of a churchman of the period, and his black velvet 
 cap lay beside him on the table. Like Booker, he was buried in 
 •alculations, and though he looked up for a moment as the others 
 Entered the room, he instantly resumed his task, without regard 
 to their presence. 
 
 After looking earnestly at his visitors for a few moments, and 
 appearing to study their features, Lilly motioned them to be 
 6eated. But they declined the offer. 
 
 "I am not come to take up your time, Mr. Lilly," said Wyvil. 
 "but simply tj ask your judgment in a matter in which I am 
 much interested." 
 
 " First permit me to return you your purse, sir, since it is from 
 
THE MOSAICAL RODS. 61 
 
 you, I presume, that I received it," replied the astrologer. " No 
 information that I can give, deserves so large a reward as this." 
 
 Wyvil would have remonstrated. But seeing the other resolute, 
 he was lain to concede the point. 
 
 " What question do you desire to have resolved, sir ?" pursued 
 
 " Shall I be fortunate in my hopes ?" rejoined Wyvil. 
 
 " You must be a little more precise," returned the astrologer 
 "To what do your hopes relate ? — to wealth, dignity, or love?" 
 
 " To the latter," replied Wyvil. 
 
 " So I inferred from your appearance, sir," rejoined Lilly, 
 smiling. "Venus was strong in your nativity, though well- 
 dignified ; and I should, therefore, say you were not unfrequently 
 entangled in love affairs. Your inamorata, I presume, is young, 
 perhaps fair, — blue-eyed, brown-haired, tall, slender, and yet 
 perfect^ proportioned." 
 
 " She is all you describe," replied Wyvil. 
 
 " Is she of your own rank ?" asked Lilly. 
 
 " Scarcely so," replied Wyvil, hesitating before he answered 
 the question. 
 
 " I will instantly erect a scheme," replied the astrologer, rapidly 
 tracing a figure on a sheet of paper. " The question refers to the 
 seventh house. I shall take Venus as the natural significatrix of 
 the lady. The moon is in trine with the lord of the ascendant, — 
 so far, good: but there is a cross aspect from Mars, who darts forth 
 malicious rays upon them. Your suit will probably be thwarted. 
 But what Mars bindeth, Venus dissolveth. It is not wholly 
 hopeless. I should recommend you to persevere." 
 
 " Juggler I" exclaimed Wyvil between his teeth 
 
 " I am no juggler I" replied Lilly, angrily ; "and to prove I am 
 not, I will tell you who you are who thus insult me, though you 
 have not announced yourself, and are desirous of preserving your 
 incognito. You are the Earl of Rochester, and your companion 
 is Sir George Etherege." 
 
 " 'Fore Heaven 1 we are discovered," cried the Earl ; " but 
 whether by art magic, or from previous acquaintanceship with 
 our features, I pretend not to determine." 
 
 " In either case, my lord, — for it is useless since you have 
 avowed yourself, to address you longer as Wyvil," replied 
 Etherege, — " you owe Mr. Lilly an apology for the insult you 
 have offered him. It was as undeserved as uncalled for ; for he 
 described your position with Amabel exactly." 
 
 " I am sorry for what I said," replied the Earl, with great 
 frankness, " and entreat Mr. Lilly to overlook it, and impute it 
 to its real cause, — disappointment at his judgment." 
 
 " I wish I could give you better hopes, my lord," replied Lilly; 
 " but I readily accept your apology. Have you any further 
 questions to ask me ?" 
 
62 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Not to-night," replied the Earl ; " exce*tf *Viil would gladly 
 learn whether it is your opinion that the plague will extend its 
 ravages ?" 
 
 ' ' It will extend them so far, my lord, that there shall neither 
 be buriers for the dead, nor sound to look after the sick," replied 
 Lilly. " You may have seen a little tract of mine, published in 
 1651, — some fourteen years ago, — called 'Monarchy or no 
 Monarchy in England? in which, by an hieroglyphic, I foretold 
 this terrible calamity." 
 
 " I heard his Majesty speak of the book no latar than yesterday," 
 replied Rochester. " He has the highest opinion of your skill, 
 Mr. Lilly, as he cannot blind himself to the fact, that you 
 foretold his father's death. But this is not the only visitation 
 with which you threaten our devoted city." 
 
 " It is threatened by Heaven, not by me, my lord," replied 
 Lilly. ' ' London will be devoured by plague and consumed by 
 fire." 
 
 " In our time ?" asked Etherege. 
 
 " Before two years have passed over our heads," returned the 
 astrologer. " The pestilence originated in the conjunction of 
 Saturn and Jupiter in Sagittarius, on the 10th of last October, 
 and the conjunction of Saturn and Mars, in the same sign, on the 
 12th of November. It was harbingered also by the terrible 
 comet of January, which appeared in a cadent and obscure 
 house, denoting sickness and death ; and another and yet more 
 terrible comet, which will be found in the fiery triplicity of 
 Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius, will be seen before the conflagra- 
 tion." 
 
 " My calculations are that the plague will be at its worst in 
 August and September, and will not cease entirely till the 
 beginning of December," observed Booker, laying aside his 
 pen. 
 
 " And I doubt not you are right, sir," said Lilly, " for your 
 calculations are ever most exact." 
 
 " My labour is not thrown away, Mr. Lilly," cried Quatre- 
 main, who had finished his task at the same time. " I have 
 discovered what I have long suspected, that treasure is hidden 
 in Saint Paul's cathedral. Mercury is posited in the north angle 
 of the fourth house : the dragon's tail is likewise within it ; and 
 as Sol is the significator, it must be gold." 
 
 " True," replied Lilly. 
 
 " Furthermore," proceeded Quatremain, "as the sign is earthy, 
 the treasure must be buried in the vaults." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied Booker. 
 
 " I am all impatience to search for it," said Quatremain. " Let 
 us go there at once, and make trial of the mosaical rods." 
 
 K With all my heart," replied Lilly. " My lord," he added to 
 
THE MOSAICAL RODS. 63 
 
 Rochester, " I must pray you to excuse me. You have hsard 
 what claims my attention." 
 
 " I have," returned the Earl, " and should like to accompany 
 you in the quest, if }'OU will permit me." 
 
 " You must address yourself to Mr. Quatremain," rejoined 
 Lilly. "If he consents, I can make no objection." 
 
 The minor canon, on being appealed to, signified his acquies- 
 cence, and after some slight preparation, Lilly produced two 
 hazel rods, and the party set out. 
 
 A few minutes' walking brought them to the northern entrance 
 of the cathedral, where they speedily aroused the poor verger, who 
 began to fancy he was to have no rest that night. On learning 
 their purpose, however, he displayed the utmost alacrity, and by 
 Quatremain's directions went in search of his brother verger, 
 and a mason, who, being employed at the time in making repairs 
 in the chantries, lodged within the cathedral. 
 
 This occasioned a delay of a few minutes, during which 
 Rochester and Etherege had an opportunity, like that enjoyed a 
 short time before by Leonard Holt, of beholding the magnificent 
 effect of the columned aisles by moonlight. By this time the 
 other verger, who was a young and active man, and the mason, 
 arrived, and mattocks, spades, and an iron bar, being pro- 
 cured, and a couple of torches lighted, they descended to Saint 
 Faith's. 
 
 Nothing more picturesque can be conceived than the effect of 
 the torchlight on the massive pillars and low-browed roof of the 
 subterranean church. Nor were the figures inappropriate to the 
 scene. Lilly, with the mosaical rods in his hand, which he held 
 at a short distance from the floor, moving first to one point then 
 to another; now lingering within the gloomy nave, now within 
 the gloomier aisles ; the grave minor canon, who kept close 
 beside him, and watched his movements with the most intense 
 anxiety; Booker, with his venerable head uncovered, and his 
 bald brow reflecting the gleam of the torches ; the two court 
 gallants in their rich attire ; and the vergers and their comrade, 
 armed with the implements for digging ; — all constituted a 
 striking picture. And as Rochester stepped aside to gaze at it 
 he thought he had never beheld a more singular scene. 
 
 Hitherto, no success had attended the searchers. The mo- 
 saical rods had continued motionless. At length, however, 
 Lilly reached a part of the wall where a door appeared to have 
 been stopped up, and playing the rods near it, they turned one 
 over the other. 
 
 " The treasure is here 1" he exclaimed. " It is hidden beneath 
 this flag." 
 
 Instantly, all were in action. Quatremain called to his as- 
 sistants to bring their mattocks and the iron bar. Rochester ran 
 
(4 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 up and tendered his aid ; Etherege did the same ; and in a few 
 moments the flag was forced from its position. 
 
 On examination, it seemed as if the ground beneath it had 
 been recently disturbed, though it was carefully trodden down. 
 But without stopping to investigate the matter, the mason and 
 ihe younger verger commenced digging. When they were tired, 
 Lilly and Quatremain took their places, and in less than an 
 hour, they had got to the depth of upwards of four feet. Still 
 nothing had been found, and Lilly was just about to relinquish 
 his spade to the mason, when, plunging it more deeply into the 
 ground, it struck against some hard substance. 
 
 "It is here — we have it I" he cried, renewing his exertions. 
 
 Seconded by Quatremain, they soon cleared off the soil, and 
 came to what appeared to be a coffin or a large chest. Both then 
 got out of the pit to consider how they should remove the chest ; 
 the whole party were discussing the matter, when a tremendous 
 crash, succeeded by a terrific yell, was heard at the other end of 
 the church, and a ghastly and half-naked figure, looking like a 
 corpse broken from the tomb, rushed forward with lightning 
 swiftness, and shrieking — " My treasure ! — my treasure ! — you 
 shall not have it 1" — thrust aside the group, and plunged into the 
 excavation. 
 
 When the bystanders recovered sufficient courage to drag the 
 unfortunate sexton out of the pit, they found him quite dead. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE MINIATURE. 
 
 According to his promise, Doctor Hodges visited the grocer's 
 house early on the following day, and the favourable opinion he 
 had expressed respecting Stephen Bloundel was confirmed by thf 
 youth's appearance. The pustule had greatly increased in size) 
 but this the doctor looked upon as a good sign : and after ap- 
 plying fresh poultices, and administering a hot posset-drink, he 
 covered the patient with blankets, and recommending as much 
 tranquillity as possible, he proceeded, at Bloundel's request, to 
 ascertain the state of health of the rest of the family. Satisfied 
 that all the household (including Blaize, who, being a little ou<- 
 of order from the quantity of medicine he had swallowed, kep( 
 his bed), were uninfected, he went up stairs, and finding the two 
 boys quite well, and playing with their little sister Christiana, iu 
 the happy unconsciousness of childhood, he tapped at the door 
 of Mrs. Bloundel's chamber, and was instantly admitted. Amabel 
 did not raise her eyes at his entrance, but continued the employ* 
 
$ 
 
THE MINIATURE. 65 
 
 ment on which she was engaged. Her mother, however, over- 
 whelmed him with inquiries as to the sufferer, and entreated him to 
 prevail upon her husband to let her take his place at the sick bed. 
 
 " I cannot accede to your request, madam," replied Hodges, 
 *' because I think the present arrangement the best that could be 
 adopted." 
 
 " And am I not to see poor Stephen again ?" cried Mrs. 
 Bloundel, bursting into tears. 
 
 " I hope you will soon see him again, and not lose sight of him 
 for many years to come," replied the doctor. " As far as I can 
 judge, the danger is over, and, aided by your husband's care and 
 watchfulness, I have little doubt of bringing the youth round." 
 
 " You reconcile me to the deprivation, doctor," rejoined Mrs. 
 Bloundel ; " but can you insure my husband against the dis- 
 temper?" 
 
 "I can insure no one against contagion," replied Hodges; 
 • but there is much in his favour. He has no fear, and takes 
 every needful precaution. You must hope for the best. I think 
 it right to tell you, that you will be separated from him for a 
 month." 
 
 " Separated from my husband for a month, doctor !" cried 
 Mrs. Bloundel. " I must see him to-day. I have something of 
 importance to say to him." 
 
 At this point of the conversation Amabel for the first time 
 looked up. Her eyes were red and inflamed with weeping, and 
 .ncr looks betrayed great internal suffering. 
 
 " You cannot see my father, mother," she said in a broken and 
 supplicatory tone. 
 
 " But she can write to him, or send a message by me," re- 
 joined Hodges. " I will deliver it when I go down stairs." 
 
 " What my mother has to say cannot be confided to a third 
 party, sir," returned Amabel. 
 
 " Better defer it, then," said the doctor ; who, as he looked 
 hard at her, and saw the colour mount to her cheeks, began to 
 suspect something of the truth. " Whatever you have to say, 
 Mrs. Bloundel, may be very well delayed ; for the house is now 
 closed, with a watchman at the door, and will continue so for a 
 month to come. No one can quit it, except members of our pro- 
 fession, searchers, nurses, and other authorized persons during 
 that time." 
 
 " But can no one enter it, do you think ?" asked Mrs Bloundel. 
 
 " No one would desire to do so, I should conceive, except a 
 .over," replied Hodges, with a sly look at Amabel, who instantly 
 averted her gaze. " Where a pretty girl is concerned, the plague 
 itself has no terrors." 
 
 "Precisely my opinion, doctor," rejoined Mrs. Bloundel; 
 " and as I cannot consult my husband, perhaps you will favour 
 
 F 
 
66 OLD SAINT PAUI/& 
 
 me with your advice as to how I ought to act, if such a person 
 as you describe should get into the house." 
 
 "I seldom meddle with family matters," rejoined Hodges; 
 " but I feel so much interest in all that relates to Mr. BloundeJ, 
 that I am induced to depart from m}^ rule on the present occa- 
 sion. It is evident you have lost your heart," he added, to 
 Amabel, whose blushes told' him he was right ; " but not I hope 
 to one of those worthless court-gallants, who, as I learn from 
 common report, are in the habit of toasting you daily. If it is so, 
 you must subdue your passion; for it cannot lead to good. Be 
 not dazzled by a brilliant exterior, which often conceals a 
 treacherous heart ; but try to fix your affections on some person 
 of little pretension, but of solid worth. Never, I grieve to say, 
 was there a season when such universal profligacy prevailed as at 
 present. Never was it so necessary for a young maiden, pos- 
 sessed of beauty like yours, to act with discretion. Never was a 
 court so licentious as that of our sovereign, Charles the Second, 
 whose corrupt example is imitated by every one around him, 
 while its baneful influence extends to all classes. Were I to 
 echo the language of the preachers, I should say it was owing to 
 the wickedness and immorality of the times, that this dreadful 
 judgment of the plague has been inflicted upon us; but I merely 
 bring it forward as an argument to prove to you, Amabel, that if 
 you would escape the moral contagion by which you are threat- 
 ened, you must put the strictest guard upon your conduct." 
 
 Amabel faintly murmured her thanks. 
 
 " You speak as my husband himself would have spoken," said 
 Mrs. Bloundel. u Ah ! we little thought when we prayed that 
 the pestilenee might be averted from us, that a worse calamity 
 was behind, and that one of the most profligate of the courtiers 
 you have mentioned would find his way to our house." 
 
 " One of the most profligate of them?" cried Hodges. " Who, 
 in Heaven's name ?" 
 
 " He calls himself Maurice Wyvil," replied Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " I never heard of such a person," rejoined the doctor. " It 
 must be an assumed name. Have you no letter or token, that 
 might lead to his discovery ?" he added, turning to Amabel. 
 
 " I have his portrait," she replied, drawing a small miniature 
 from her bosom. 
 
 " I am glad I have seen this," said the doctor, slightly starting 
 as he cast his eyes upon it. " I hope it is not too late to save 
 you, Amabel," he added, in a severe tone. " I hope you are free 
 from contamination?" 
 
 " As I live, I am," she replied. " But you recognise the 
 likeness?" 
 
 "I do," returned Hodges. "It is the portrait of one whose 
 vices and depravity are the town's cry, and whose name coupled 
 with that of a woman, is sufficient to sully her reputation." 
 
THE MINIATURK 67 
 
 * It is the Earl of Rochester," said Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " You have guessed aright," replied the doctor ; u it is." 
 
 Uttering an exclamation of surprise and terror, Amabel fell 
 back in her chair. 
 
 " I thought it must be that wicked nobleman," cried Mrs. 
 Bloundel. " Would you believe it, doctor, that he forced himself 
 into the house — nay, into this room, last night, and would have 
 carried off my daughter, in spite of her resistance, if I had not 
 prevented him." 
 
 " I can believe anything of him," replied Hodges. " But 
 your husband, of course, knows nothing of the matter?" 
 
 " Not as yet," replied Mrs. Bloundel ; " but I authorize you to 
 tell him all." 
 
 st Mother, dear mother," cried Amabel, flinging herself on her 
 knees before her, " I implore you not to add to my father's present 
 distress. I might not have been able to conquer my attachment 
 to Maurice Wyvil, but now that I find he is the Earl of Rochester, 
 I regard him with abhorrence." 
 
 " If I could believe you sincere," said Mrs. Bloundel, " I might 
 be induced to spare } 7 our father the pain which the knowledge of 
 this unfortunate affair would necessarily inflict." 
 
 "I am sincere, — indeed I am," replied Amabel. 
 
 " To prove that the Earl could not have had honourable in- 
 tentions towards you, Amabel," said the doctor, " I may mention 
 that he is at this moment urging his suit with Mistress Mallet, — 
 a young heiress." 
 
 " Ah 1" exclaimed Amabel. 
 
 "I was in attendance upon Mistress Stewart, the king's present 
 favourite, the day before yesterday," continued Hodges, " and 
 heard his Majesty entreat her to use her influence with Mistress 
 Mallet in Rochester's behalf. After this you cannot doubt the 
 nature of his intentions towards yourself." 
 
 " I cannot — I cannot," rejoined Amabel. " He is perfidy itself. 
 But is Mistress Mallet very beautiful, doctor ?" 
 
 " Very beautiful, and very rich," he replied, " and the Earl 13 
 desperately in love with her. I heard him declare laughingly to 
 the king, that if she would not consent to marry him, he would 
 carry her off." 
 
 "Just what he said to me," exclaimed Amabel — "perjured 
 and faithless that he is." 
 
 " Harp on that string, doctor," whispered Mrs. BloundeV 
 " You understand her feelings exactly." 
 
 " Strangely enough," pursued the doctor, who, having carefully 
 examined the miniature, had opened the back of the case, and 
 could not repress a smile at what he beheld — "strangely enougli, 
 this very picture will convince you of the Earl's inconstancy, ti 
 was evidently designed for Mistress Mallett, and as she would Hi 
 accept it, transferred to you." 
 
 r2 
 
68 old saint paul's. 
 
 " How do you know this, sir?" inquired Amabel, in a mortified 
 tone. 
 
 " Hear what is written within it," answered Hodges, laying the 
 open case before her, and reading as follows: — <: 'To the sole 
 possessor of his heart, the fair Mistress Mallet, this portrait is 
 offered by her devoted slave — Rochester.' ' The sole possessor 
 of his heart I' So you have no share in it, you perceive, 
 Amabel. e Her devoted slave !' Is he your slave, likewise ? 
 Ha! haT 
 
 " It is his writing," cried Amabel. " This note,** she added, 
 producing a billet, "is in the same hand. My eyes are, indeed, 
 opened to his treachery." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Hodges, " and if I can preserve 
 you from the snares of this noble libertine, I shall rejoice as 
 much as in curing your brother of the plague. But can you rely 
 upon yourself, in case the earl should make another attempt to 
 see you?" 
 
 " I can," she averred confidently. 
 
 " In that case, there is nothing to apprehend," rejoined Hodges ; 
 " and I think it better on many accounts not to mention the 
 subject to your father. It would only distract his mind, and 
 prevent him from duly discharging the painful task he has under- 
 taken. Were I in your place, Amabel, I would not only forget 
 m} 7 present perfidious lover, but would instantly bestow my 
 affections on some worthy person." 
 
 " It would gladden me if she would do so," said Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " There is your father's apprentice, Leonard Holt, a good- 
 looking, well-grown lad," pursued the doctor ; " and I much 
 mistake if he is insensible to your attractions." 
 
 " I am sure he loves her dearly, doctor," replied Mrs. Bloundel. 
 " He is as well-principled as well-looking. I have never had a 
 fault to find with him since he came to live with us. It will rejoice 
 me, and I am sure would not displease my husband, to see our 
 child united to Leonard Holt." 
 
 " Well, what say you, Amabel ?" asked Hodges. " Can you 
 give him a hope ?" 
 
 "Alas, no !" replied Amabel, " I have been deceived once, but 
 I will not be deceived a second time. I will never wed." 
 
 K So every woman says after her first disappointment," observed 
 Hodges; " but not one in ten adheres to the resolution. When 
 you become calmer, I would recommend you to think seriously 
 of Leonard Holt." 
 
 At this moment, a tap was heard at the door, and opening it, 
 the doctor beheld the person in question. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" cried Hodges. " I hope nothing is 
 amiss." 
 
 " Nothing whatever," replied Leonard, " but my master wishes 
 to see you before you leave the house." 
 
THE MINIATURE 69 
 
 u I will go to him at once," replied the doctor. " Good day, 
 Mrs. Bloundel. Take care of your daughter, and I hope she will 
 take care of herself. We have been talking about you, young 
 man," he added, in a low tone, to the apprentice, " and I have 
 recommended you as a husband to Amabel.'' 
 
 " There was a time, sir," rejoined Leonard, in a tone of deep 
 emotion, " when I hoped it might be so, but that time is past." 
 
 " No such thing," replied the doctor. " Now is the time to 
 make an impression. Her heart is on the rebound. She is 
 satisfied of her lover's treachery. Her mother is on your side. 
 Do not neglect the present opportunity, for another may not 
 arrive." With this he pushed Leonard into the room, and 
 shutting the door upon him, hurried down stairs. 
 
 " You have arrived at a seasonable juncture, Leonard," observed 
 Mrs. Bloundel, noticing the apprentice's perplexity, and anxious 
 to relieve it. "We have just discovered that the person calling 
 himself Maurice Wyvil is no other than the Earl of Rochester." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Leonard. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," returned Mrs. Bloundel. " But this is not all. 
 Amabel has promised to forget him, and I have urged her to 
 think of you." 
 
 " Amabel," said Leonard, advancing towards her, and taking 
 her hand, " I can scarcely credit what I hear. Will you confirm 
 your mother's words ?" 
 
 " Leonard," returned Amabel, " I am not insensible to your 
 good qualities, and no one can more truly esteem you than I do. 
 Nay, till I unfortunately saw the Earl of Rochester, whom I 
 knew not as such, I might have loved you. But now I cannot 
 call my heart my own. I have not the affection you deserve, to 
 bestow upon you. If I can obliterate this treacherous man's 
 image from my memory — and Heaven, I trust, will give me 
 strength to do so — I will strive to replace it with your own." 
 
 " That is all I ask," cried Leonard, dropping on his knee before 
 her, and pressing his lips to her hand. 
 
 " Nothing would make me happier than to see you united, nvj 
 children," said Mrs. Bloundel, bending affectionately over them. 
 
 " And I would do anything to make you happy, dear mother," 
 replied Amabel, gently withdrawing her hand from that of the 
 apprentice. 
 
 " Before I leave you," said Leonard, rising, " I must give you 
 this note. I found it lying before your chamber door as I passed 
 this morning. How it came there I know not, but I can give a 
 shrewd guess as to the writer. I ought to tell you, that but for 
 what has just occurred, I should not have delivered it to you." 
 
 " It is from Wyvil — I mean Rochester," said Amabel, taking 
 the note with a trembling hand. 
 
 " Let me see it, child," cried Mrs. Bloundel, snatching it from 
 ner, and breaking the seai. " Insolent •" she exclaimed, as she 
 
70 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 cast her eyes over it. " I can scarcely contain my indignation. 
 But let him cross my path again, and he shall find whether I 
 cannot resent such shameful usage." 
 
 " What does he say, dear mother ?" asked Amabel. 
 
 "You shall hear," replied Mrs. Bloundel, "though I blush to 
 repeat his words: — ' Amabel, you are mine. No one shall keep 
 you from me. Love like mine will triumph over all obstacles !' — 
 Love like his, forsooth !" she remarked ; " let him keep such 
 stuff as that for Mistress Mallet, or his other mistresses. But I 
 will go on : 'I may be foiled ninety-nine times, but the 
 hundredth will succeed. We shall soon meet again. 
 
 * Maurice Wyvil.'" 
 
 " Never !" cried Amabel. " We will never meet again. If he 
 holds me thus cheaply, I will let him see that he is mistaken. 
 Leonard Holt, I have told you the exact state of my feelings. I 
 do not love you now, but I regard you as a true friend, and love 
 may come hereafter. If in a month's time you claim my hand, — 
 if my father consents to our union, for you are aware that my 
 mother will not oppose it, — I am yours." 
 
 Leonard attempted to speak, but his voice was choked with 
 emotion, and the tears started to his eyes. 
 
 " Farewell," said Amabel. " Do not let us meet till the 
 appointed time. u Rest assured I will think of you as you 
 deserve." 
 
 " We could not meet till that time, even if you desired it," said 
 Leonard, " for your father has forbidden any of the household, 
 except old Josyna, to approach you till all fear of contagion is at 
 an end, and I am now transgressing his commands. But your 
 mother, I am sure, will acquit me of intentional disobedience." 
 
 " I do," replied Mrs. Bloundel ; " it was the doctor who forced 
 you into the room. But I am heartily glad he did so." 
 
 "Farewell, Amabel," said Leonard. " Though I shall not see 
 you, I will watch carefully over you." And gazing at her with 
 unutterable affection, he quitted the chamber. 
 
 " You must now choose between the heartless and depraved 
 nobleman, who would desert you as soon as won," observed Mrs. 
 Bloundel, "and the honest apprentice, whose life would be 
 devoted to your happiness." 
 
 "I have chosen," replied her daughter. 
 
 Doctor Hodges found the grocer writing at a small table, close 
 to the bedside of his son. 
 
 "I am happy to tell you, Mr. Bloundel," he said, in a low 
 tone, as he entered the room, " that all your family are still free 
 from infection, and with due care will, 1 hope, continue so. But 
 I entirely approve of your resolution of keeping apart from them 
 till the month has expired. If your son goes on as he is doing 
 now, he will be as strong as ever in less than a fortnight. Still, 
 
THE MINIATUIIE. 71 
 
 as we cannot foresee what may occur, it is better to err on the 
 cautious side." 
 
 " Pray be seated for a moment," rejoined the grocer, motion- 
 ing the other to the chair. " I mentioned to you last night that 
 in case my son recovered, I had a plan which I trusted (under 
 Providence !) would preserve my family from the further assaults 
 of the pestilence." 
 
 " I remember your alluding to it," replied Hodges, " and should 
 be glad to know what it is." 
 
 " I must tell it you in confidence," rejoined Bloundel, "because 
 I think secrecy essential to its entire accomplishment. My plan is 
 a very simple one, and only requires firmness in its execution, — 
 and that quality, I think, I possess. It is your opinion, I know, 
 as it is my own, that the plague will increase in violence, and 
 endure for months — probably, till next winter. My intention is 
 to store my house with provisions, as a ship is victualled for a 
 long voyage, and then to shut it up entirely till the scourge 
 ceases." 
 
 " If your project is practicable," said 1 lodges, after a moment's 
 reflection, " I have no doubt it will be attended with every good 
 result you can desire. This house, which is large and roomy, is 
 well adapted for your purpose. But you must consider well 
 whether your family will submit to be imprisoned during the 
 long period you propose." 
 
 " They shall remain close prisoners, even if the pestilence lasts 
 for a twelvemonth," replied the grocer. " Whoever quits the 
 house, when it is once closed, and on whatever plea, be it wife, 
 son, or daughter, returns not. That is my fixed resolve." 
 
 " And you are right," rejoined Hodges, " for on that determi- 
 nation the success of yoxxv scheme entirely depends." 
 
 While they were thus conversing, Leonard entered the chamber, 
 and informed his master that Chowles, the cotfin maker, and Mrs. 
 Mai may ns, the plague-nurse, desired to see him. 
 
 " Mrs. Malmayns!" exclaimed Hodges, in surprise. "I heard 
 that something very extraordinary occurred last night in Saint 
 Faith's. With your permission, Mr. Bloundel, she shall be 
 admitted, I want to ask her a few questions. You had better 
 hesitate about engaging her," he observed to the grocer, as 
 Leonard departed, "for she is a woman of very indifferent 
 character, though she may (for aught I know) be a good and 
 tearless nurse." 
 
 " If there is any doubt about her, I cannot hesitate," returned 
 Bloundel. 
 
 As he said this, the door was opened by Leonard, and Chowleg 
 and Judith entered the room. The latter, on seeing the doctor 
 looked greatly embarrassed. 
 
 " I have brought you the nurse I spoke of, Mr. Bloundel," said 
 
OLD SAIXT PAUL'S. 
 
 Chowles, bowing, " and am come to inquire whether you want a 
 coffin to-night." 
 
 " Mr. Bloundel is not likely to require a coffin at present, 
 Chowles," returned the doctor, severely ; " neither does his son 
 stand in need of a nurse. How is your husband, Mrs. Mal- 
 mayns ?" 
 
 " He is dead, sir," replied Judith. 
 
 " Dead I" echoed the doctor. " When I left him, at one o'clock 
 this morning, he was doing well. Your attendance seems to have 
 accelerated his end." 
 
 " His death was occasioned by an accident, sir," replied Judith. 
 " He became delirious about three o'clock, and in spite of all my 
 efforts to detain him, started out of bed, rushed into Saint Faith's, 
 and threw himself into a pit, which Mr. Lilly and some other 
 persons had digged in search of treasure." 
 
 " This is a highly improbable story, Mrs. Malmayns," returned 
 Hodges, " and I must have the matter thoroughly investigated 
 before I lose sight of you." 
 
 "I will vouch for the truth of Mrs. Malmayns' statement," in- 
 terposed Chowles. 
 
 " You !" cried Hodges, contemptuously. 
 
 " Yes, I," replied the coffin-maker. " It seems that the sexton 
 had found a chest of treasure buried in Saint Faith's, and being 
 haunted by the idea that some one was carrying it off, he suddenly 
 sprang out of bed, and rushed to the church, where, sure enough, 
 Mr. Lilly, Mr. Quatremain, the Earl of Rochester, and Sir 
 George Etherege, having, by the help of mosaical rods, discovered 
 this very chest, were digging it up. Poor Matthew instantly 
 plunged into the grave, and died of a sudden chill." 
 
 " That is not impossible," observed Hodges, after a pause 
 " But what has become of the treasure ?" 
 
 " It is in the possession of Mr. Quatremain, who has given 
 notice of it to the proper authorities," replied Chowles. " It con- 
 sists, as I understand, of gold pieces struck in the reign of Philip 
 and Mary, images of the same metal, crosses, pyxes, chalices, and 
 other Popish and superstitious vessels, buried, probably, when 
 Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, and the religion changed." 
 
 " Not unlikely," replied Hodges. " Where is your husband's 
 body, Mrs. Malmayns ?" 
 
 " It has been removed to the vault which he usually occupied," 
 replied Judith. " Mr. Chowles has undertaken to bury it to- 
 night." 
 
 " I must see it first," replied Hodges, * and be sure that he has 
 not met with foul play." 
 
 " And I will accompany you," said Chowles. u So you do not 
 Want a coffin, Mr. Bloundel ?" 
 
 The grocer shook his head. 
 
 " Good day, Mr. Bloundel," said Hodges. " I shall visit you 
 
THE DUEL. 75 
 
 to-morrow, and hope to find your son as well as I leave him. 
 Chowles, you will be answerable for the safe custody of Mrs, 
 Malm ay ns." 
 
 " I have no desire to escape, sir," replied the nurse. " You 
 will find everything as I have represented." 
 
 " We shall see," replied the doctor. " If not, you will have to 
 tend the sick in Newgate." 
 
 The trio then proceeded to Saint Paul's, and descended to the 
 vaults. Hodges carefully examined the body of the unfortunate 
 sexton, but though he entertained strong suspicions, he could not 
 pronounce positively that he had been improperly treated ; and 
 as the statement of Mrs. Malmayns was fully borne out by the 
 vergers and others, he did not think it necessary to pursue the 
 investigation further. As soon as he was gone Judith accom- 
 panied the coffin- maker to his residence, where she remained 
 till the evening, when she was suddenly summoned, in a case 
 of urgency, by a messenger from Sibbald, the apothecary of 
 Clerkenwell. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DUEL. 
 
 After Parravicin's terrible announcement, Disbrowe offered 
 him no further violence, but flinging down his sword, burst open 
 the door, and rushed up stairs. His wife was still insensible, but 
 the fatal mark that had betrayed the presence of the plague to the 
 knight manifested itself also to him, and he stood like one en- 
 tranced, until Mrs Disbrowe, recovering from her swoon, opened 
 her eyes, and gazing at him, cried, — " You here ! — Oh 1 Dis- 
 browe, I dreamed you had deserted me — had sold me to another." 
 
 " Would it were a dream," replied her husband. 
 
 " And was it not so ?" she rejoined, pressing her hand to her 
 temples. " It is true I Oh I yes, I feel it is. Every circumstance 
 •■ushes upon me plainly and distinctly. I see the daring libertine 
 before me. He stood where you stand, and told me what you 
 had done." 
 
 " What did he tell you, Margaret ?" asked Disbrowe in a hollow 
 voice. 
 
 " He told me you were false — that you loved another, and had 
 abandoned me." 
 
 " He lied !" exclaimed Disbrowe, in a voice of uncontrollable 
 fury. " It is true that, in a moment of frenz}', I was tempted to 
 set you — yes, you, Margaret — against all I had lost at play, and 
 was compelled to yield up the key of my house to the winner, 
 But I have never been faithless to you — never." 
 
74 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Faithless or not," replied his wife, bitterly, " it is plain you 
 value me less than play, or you would not have acted thus." 
 
 " Reproach me not, Margaret," replied Disbrowe, " I would 
 give worlds to undo what I have done." 
 
 " Who shall guard me against the recurrence of such conduct ?" 
 said Mrs. Disbrowe, coldly. " But you have not yet informed me 
 how I was saved." 
 
 Disbrowe averted his head. 
 
 " What mean you ?" she cried, seizing his arm. " What has 
 happened ? Do not keep me in suspense ? Were you my pre- 
 server ?" 
 
 "Your preserver was the plague," rejoined Disbrowe, in a 
 sombre tone. 
 
 The unfortunate lady then, for the first time, perceived that 
 she was attacked by the pestilence, and a long and dreadful pause 
 ensued, broken only by exclamations of anguish from both. 
 
 " Disbrowe !" cried Margaret, at length, raising herself in bed, 
 "you have deeply — irrecoverably injured me. But promise me 
 one thing." 
 
 " I swear to do whatever you may desire," he replied. 
 
 " I know not, after what I have heard, whether you have 
 courage for the deed," she continued. " But I would have you 
 kill this man." 
 
 " I will do it," replied Disbrowe. 
 
 " Nothing but his blood can wipe out the wrong he has done 
 me," she rejoined. " Challenge him to a duel — a mortal duel. 
 If he survives, by my soul, I will give myself to him." 
 
 " Margaret I" exclaimed Disbrowe. 
 
 " I swear it," she rejoined, " and you know my passionate 
 nature too well to doubt I will keep my word." 
 
 " But you have the plague ?" 
 
 " What does that matter ? I may recover." 
 
 " Not so," muttered Disbrowe. " If I fall, I will take care 
 you do not recover. I will fight him to-morrow," he added, 
 aloud. 
 
 He then summoned his servants, but when they found their 
 mistress was attacked by the plague, they framed some excuse to 
 leave the room, and instantly fled the house. Driven almost to 
 his wits' end, Disbrowe went in search of other assistance, and 
 w r as for a while unsuccessful, until a coachman to whom he ap- 
 plied, offered, for a suitable reward, to drive to Clerkenwell — to 
 the shop of an apothecary named Sibbald (with whose name the 
 reader is already familiar), who was noted for his treatment of 
 plague patients, and to bring him to the other's residence. Dis- 
 browe immediately closed with the man, and in less than two 
 hours Sibbald made his appearance. He was a singular and 
 repulsive personage, with an immense hooked nose, dark, savage- 
 icoking eyes, a skin like parchment, and high round shoulders, 
 
THE DUEL. 75 
 
 which procured him the nickname of iEsop among his neigh- 
 bours. He was under the middle size, and of a spare figure, and 
 in age might be about sixty-five. 
 
 On seeing Mrs. Disbrowe, he at once boldly asserted that he 
 could cure her, and proceeded to apply his remedies. Finding 
 the servants fled, he offered to procure a nurse for Disbrowe, and 
 the latter, thanking him, eagerly embraced the offer. Soon after 
 this, he departed. In the evening, the nurse, who (as may be 
 surmised) was no other than Judith Malm ay ns, arrived, and 
 immediately commenced her functions. 
 
 Disbrowe had no rest that night. His wife slept occasionally 
 for a few minutes, but apparently engrossed by one idea, never 
 failed when she awoke to urge him to slay Parravicin ; repeating 
 her oath to give herself to the knight if he came off victorious. 
 Worn out at length, Disbrowe gave her a terrible look, and 
 rushed out of the room. 
 
 He had not been alone many minutes when he was surprised 
 by the entrance of Judith. He eagerly inquired whether his 
 wife was worse, but was informed she had dropped into a 
 slumber. 
 
 '* Hearing what has passed between you," said the nurse, 
 " and noticing your look when you left the room, I came to tell 
 you, that if you fall in this duel, your last moments need not be 
 embittered by any thoughts of your wife. I will take care she 
 does not recover." 
 
 A horrible smile lighted up Disbrowe's features. 
 " You are the very person I want," he said. " When I would 
 do evil, the fiend rises to my bidding. If I am slain, you know 
 what to do. How shall I requite the service ?" 
 
 "Do not concern yourself about that, Captain," rejoined 
 Judith. " I will take care of myself." 
 
 About noon, on the following day, Disbrowe without ven- 
 turing to see his wife, left the house, and proceeded to the 
 Smyrna, where, as he expected, he found Parravicin and his 
 companions. 
 
 The knight instantly advanced towards him, and laying aside 
 for the moment his reckless air, inquired, with a look of com- 
 miseration, after his wife. 
 
 " She is better," replied Disbrowe, fiercely. " I am come to 
 »ettle accounts with you." 
 
 " I thought they were settled long ago," returned Parravicin, 
 instantly resuming his wonted manner. " But I am glad to find 
 you consider the debt unpaid." 
 
 Disbrowe lifted the cane he held in his hand, and struck the 
 knight with it forcibly on the shoulder. " Be that my answer," 
 he said. 
 
 " I will have your life first, and your wife afterwards," replied 
 Parravicin, furiously. 
 
76 OLD SAINT TAUI/S. 
 
 " You shall have her if you slay me, but not otherwise," re» 
 torted Disbrowe. " It must be a mortal duel." 
 
 " It must," replied Parravicin. " I will not spare you this 
 time." 
 
 " Spare him !" cried Pillichody. " Shield of Agamemnon I I 
 should hope not. Spit him as you would a wild boar." 
 
 " Peace, fool !" cried Parravicin. " Captain Disbrowe, I shall 
 instantly proceed to the west side of Hyde-park, beneath the 
 trees. I shall expect you there. On my return, I shall call on 
 your wife." 
 
 " I pray you do so, sir," replied Disbrowe, disdainfully. 
 
 Both then quitted the coffee-house, Parrivicin attended by 
 Rochester and Pillichody, and Disbrowe accompanied by a 
 military friend, whom he accidently encountered. Each party 
 taking a coach, they soon reached the ground, — a retired spot, 
 completely screened from observation by trees. The preli- 
 minaries were soon arranged, for neither would admit of delay. 
 The conflict then commenced with great fury on both sides ; but 
 Parravicin, in spite of his passion, observed far more caution than 
 his antagonist ; and, taking advantage of an unguarded movement, 
 occasioned by the other's impetuosity, passed his sword through 
 his body. 
 
 Disbrowe fell. 
 
 "You are again successful," he groaned, "but save my wife, — 
 save her." 
 
 " What mean you?" cried Parravicin, leaning over him, as he 
 wiped his sword. 
 
 But Disbrowe could make no answer. His utterance was 
 choked by a sudden effusion of blood on the lungs, and he in- 
 stantly expired. Leaving the body in care of the second, Par- 
 ravicin and his friends returned to the coach, where the major 
 rejoiced greatly at the issue of the duel ; but the knight looked 
 grave, and pondered upon the words of the dying man. After a 
 time, however, he recovered his spirits, and dined with his friends 
 at the Smyrna ; but they observed that he drank more deeply 
 than usual. His excesses did not, however, prevent him from 
 playing with his usual skill, and he won a large sum from 
 Rochester at hazard. 
 
 Flushed with success, and heated with wine, he walked up to 
 Disbrowe's residence about an hour after midnight. As he ap- 
 proached the house, he observed a strangely shaped cart at the 
 door, and halting for a moment, saw a body, wrapped in a shroud, 
 brought out. Could it be Mrs. Disbrowe ? Rushing forward to 
 one of the assistants in black cloaks, — and who was no other than 
 Chowles, — he asked who he was about to inter? 
 
 " It is a Mrs. Disbrowe," replied the coffin-maker. " She died 
 of grief, because her husband was killed this morning in a duel ; 
 but ar she had the nlague, it must be put down to that. We are 
 
c 
 
THE DUEL. 77 
 
 not particular in such matters, and shall bury her and her husband 
 together ; and as there is no money left to pay for coffins, they 
 must go to the grave without them. What, ho ! Mother Mal- 
 mayns, let Jonas have the captain as soon as you have stripped 
 *m. I must be starting." 
 
 And as the body of his victim was brought lOrth, Parravicin 
 11 against the wall in a state almost of stupefaction. 
 
 At this moment, Solomon Eagle, with his brazier on his head, 
 suddenly turned the corner of the street, and stationing himself 
 before the dead-cart, cried in a voice of thunder, " Woe to the 
 libertine ! woe to the homicide ! for he shall perish in everlasting 
 firet Woe! woe!" 
 
 £?:d of the fiest hook. 
 
BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 may, 1665, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE. 
 
 Towards the middle of May, the bills of mortality began to 
 swell greatly in amount, and though but few were put down to 
 the plague, and a large number to the spotted fever (another 
 frightful disorder raging at the period), it is well known that the 
 bulk had died of the former disease. The rigorous measures 
 adopted by the authorities (whether salutary or not has been 
 questioned), in shutting up houses and confining the sick and 
 sound within them for forty days, were found so intolerable, that 
 most persons were disposed to run any risk rather than be sub- 
 jected to such a grievance, and every artifice was resorted to for 
 concealing a case when it occurred. Hence, it seldom happened, 
 unless by accident, that a discovery was made. Quack doctors 
 were secretly consulted, instead of the regular practitioners ; the 
 searchers were bribed to silence ; and large fees were given to the 
 undertakers and buriers to lay the deaths to the account of some 
 other disorder. All this, however, did not blind the eyes of the 
 officers to the real state of things. Redoubling their vigilance, 
 they entered houses on mere suspicion ; inflicted punishments 
 were they found their orders disobeyed or neglected ; sent the 
 sound to prison, — the sick to the pest-house ; and replaced the 
 faithless searchers by others upon whom they could place reliance. 
 Many cases were thus detected; but in spite of every precaution, 
 the majority escaped ; and the vent was no sooner stopped in one 
 quarter, than it broke out with additional violence in another. 
 
 By this time the alarm had become general. All whose busi- 
 ness or pursuits permitted it, prepared to leave London, which 
 they regarded as a devoted city, without delay. As many houses 
 were, therefore, closed from the absence of the inhabitants as 
 from the presence of the plague, and this added to the forlorn 
 appearance of the streets, which in some quarters were almost 
 deserted. For a while, nothing was seen at the great outlets of 
 the city, but carts, carriages, and other vehicles, filled with goods 
 
PROGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE. 79 
 
 and moveables, on their way to the country; and, as maybe 
 supposed, the departure of their friends did not tend to abate 
 the dejection of those whose affairs compelled them to remain 
 behind. 
 
 One circumstance must not be passed unnoticed, namely, the 
 continued fineness and beauty of the weather. No rain had 
 fallen for upwards of three weeks. The sky was bright and 
 cloudless; the atmosphere, apparently, pure and innoxious: 
 while the heat was as great as is generally experienced in the 
 middle of summer. But instead of producing its usual enlivening 
 effect on the spirits, the fine weather added to the general gloom 
 and apprehension, inasmuch as it led to the belief (afterwards; 
 fully confirmed), that if the present warmth was so pernicious, 
 the more sultry seasons which were near at hand, would aggra- 
 vate the fury of the pestilence. Sometimes, indeed, when the 
 deaths were less numerous, a hope began to be entertained that 
 the distemper was abating, and confidence was for a moment 
 restored; but these anticipations were speedily checked by the 
 reappearance of the scourge, which seemed to baffle and deride 
 all human skill and foresight. 
 
 London now presented a lamentable spectacle. Not a street 
 but had a house in it marked with a red cross — some streets had 
 many such. The bells were continually tolling for burials, and 
 the dead carts went their melancholy rounds at night and were 
 constantly loaded. Fresh directions were issued by the autho- 
 rities; and as domestic animals were considered to be a medium 
 of conveying the infection, an order, which was immediately 
 carried into effect, was given to destroy all dogs and cats. But 
 this plan proved prejudicial rather than the reverse, as the bodies 
 of the poor animals, most of which were drowned in the Thames, 
 being washed ashore, produced a horrible and noxious effluvium, 
 supposed to contribute materially to the propagation of the dis- 
 temper. 
 
 No precautionary measure was neglected ; but it may be 
 doubted whether any human interference could have averted the 
 severity of the scourge, which, though its progress might be 
 checked for a few days by attention, or increased in the same 
 ratio by neglect, would in the end have unquestionably fulfilled 
 its mission. The College of Physicians, by the king's command, 
 issued simple and intelligible directions in the mother tongue, for 
 the sick. Certain of their number, amongst whom was the 
 reader's acquaintance, Doctor Hodges, were appointed to attend 
 the infected ; and two out of the Court of Aldermen were re- 
 quired to see that they duly executed their dangerous office. 
 Public prayers and a general fast were likewise enjoined. But 
 Heaven seemed deaf to the supplications of the doomed inha- 
 bitants — their prayers being followed by a fearful increase of 
 deaths. A vast crowd was collected within Saint Paul's to hear 
 
60 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 a sermon preached by Doctor Sheldon, Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury, — a prelate greatly distinguished during the whole course 
 of the visitation, by his unremitting charity and attention to the 
 sick; and before the discourse was concluded, several fell down 
 within the sacred walls, and, on being conveyed to their own 
 nomes, were found to be infected. On the following day, too, 
 many others who had been present were seized with the disorder. 
 
 A fresh impulse was given to the pestilence from an unlooked- 
 for cause. It has been mentioned that the shutting up of houses, 
 and seclusion of the sick was regarded as an intolerable grievance, 
 and though most were compelled to submit to it, some few 
 resisted, and tumults and disturbances ensued. As the plague 
 increased, these disturbances became more frequent, and the mob 
 alwa} 7 s taking part against the officers, they were frequently inter- 
 rupted in the execution of their duty. 
 
 About this time a more serious affray than usual occurred, 
 attended with loss of life, and other unfortunate consequences, 
 which it may be worth while to relate, as illustrative of the 
 peculiar state of the times. The wife of a merchant, named 
 Barcroft, residing in Lothbury, being attacked by the plague, the 
 husband, fearing his house would be shut up, withheld all infor- 
 mation from the examiners and searchers. His wife died, and 
 immediately afterwards one of his children was attacked. Still 
 he refused to give notice. The matter, however, got wind. The 
 searchers arrived at night, and being refused admittance, they 
 broke into the house. Finding undoubted evidence of infection, 
 they ordered it to be closed, stationed a watchman at the door, 
 and marked it with the fatal sign. Barcroft remonstrated against 
 their proceedings, but in vain. They told him he might think 
 himself well off that he was not carried before the Lord Mayor, 
 who would undoubtedly send him to Ludgate ; and with other 
 threats to the like effect, they departed. 
 
 The unfortunate man's wife and child were removed the 
 following night in the dead-cart, and, driven half mad by grief 
 and terror, he broke open the door of his dwelling, and, plunging 
 a sword in the watchman's breast, who opposed his flight, gained 
 the street. A party of the watch happened to be passing at the 
 time, and the fugitive was instantly secured. He made a great 
 clamour, however, — calling to his neighbours and the bystanders 
 to rescue him, and in another moment the watch was beaten off, 
 and Barcroft placed on a post whence he harangued his pre- 
 servers on the severe restraints imposed upon the citizens, urging 
 them to assist in throwing open the doors of all infected houses, 
 and allowing free egress to their inmates. 
 
 (jreedily listening to this insane counsel, the mob resolved to 
 act upon it. Headed by the merchant, the} 7 ran down Thread- 
 needle-street, and crossing Stock's Market, burst open several 
 houses in Bearbinder-lane, and drove away the watchmen. One 
 
PROGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE. 81 
 
 man, more courageous than the others, tried to maintain his post, 
 and was so severely handled by his assailants, that he died a few 
 days afterwards of the injuries he had received. Most of those 
 who had been imprisoned within their dwellings immediately 
 issued forth, and joining the mob, which received fresh recruits 
 each moment, started on the same errand. 
 
 Loud shouts were now raised of — " Open the doors 1 No plague 
 prisoners ! No plague prisoners !" and the mob set off along the 
 Poultry. Tliey halted, however, before the Great Conduit, near 
 the end of Bucklersbury, and opposite Mercers' Hall, because 
 they perceived a company of the Train-bands advancing to meet 
 them. A council of war was held, and many of the rabble were 
 disposed to fly ; but Barcroft again urged them to proceed, and 
 they were unexpectedly aided by Solomon Eagle, who, bursting 
 through their ranks, with his brazier on his head, crying, " Awake! 
 sleepers awake I the plague is at your doors ! awake 1" speeded 
 towards the Train- bands, scattering sparks of fire as he pursued 
 his swift career. The mob instantly followed, and adding their 
 shouts to his outcries, dashed on with such fury that the Train- 
 bands did not dare to oppose them, and, after a slight and 
 ineffectual resistance, were put to rout. 
 
 Barcroft, who acted as leader, informed them that there was a 
 house in Wood-street shut up, and the crowd accompanied him 
 thither. In a few minutes, they had reached Bloundel's shop, but 
 finding no one on guard, — for the watchman, guessing their 
 errand, had taken to his heels, — they smeared over the fatal cross 
 and inscription with a pail of mud gathered from the neighbour- 
 ing kennel, and then broke open the door. The grocer and his 
 apprentice hearing the disturbance, and being greatly alarmed at 
 it, hurried to the shop, and found it full of people. 
 
 " You are at liberty, Mr. Bloundel," cried the merchant, who 
 was acquainted with the grocer. " We are determined no longer 
 to let our families be imprisoned at the pleasure of the Lord 
 Mayor and Aldermen. We mean to break open all the plague 
 houses, and set free their inmates." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake consider what you are about, Mr. Bar- 
 croft," cried the grocer. " My house has been closed for nearly 
 a month. Nay, as my son has entirely recovered, and received 
 his certificate of health from Doctor Hodges, it would have been 
 Dpened three days hence by the officers, so that I have suffered 
 all the inconvenience of the confinement, and can speak to it. 
 It is no doubt very irksome, and may be almost intolerable to 
 persons of an impatient temperament ; but I firmly believe it is 
 the only means to check the progress of contagion. Listen to 
 me, Mr. Barcroft, — listen to me, good friends, and hesitate before 
 you violate laws which have been made expressly to meet this 
 terrible emergency." 
 
 O 
 
B2 old saint Paul's. 
 
 Here he was checked by loud groans and upbraidings from the 
 bystanders. 
 
 " He tells you himself that the period of his confinement is 
 just over," cried Barcroft. " It is plain he has no interest in the 
 matter, except that he would have others suffer as he has done. 
 Heed him not, my friends ; but proceed with the good work. 
 Liberate the poor plague prisoners. Liberate them I On ! on !" 
 u Forbear, rash men !" cried Bloundel, in an authoritative 
 voice. " In the name of those you are bound to obey, I com- 
 mand you to desist." 
 
 " Command us !" cried one of the bystanders, raising his staff 
 in a menacing manner. u Is this your gratitude for the favour 
 we have just conferred upon you ? Command us, forsooth. You 
 had better repeat the order, and see how it will be obeyed." 
 
 "I do repeat it," rejoined the grocer, firmly. "In the Lord 
 Mayor's name, I command you to desist, and return to your 
 homes." 
 
 The man would have struck him with his staff, if he had not 
 been himself felled to the ground by Leonard. This was the 
 signal for greater outrage. The grocer and his apprentice were 
 instantly assailed by several others of the mob, who, leaving 
 them both on the floor covered with bruises, helped themselves 
 to all they could lay hands on in the shop, and then quitted the 
 premises. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to track their course further ; and it 
 may be sufficient to state, that they broke open upwards of fifty 
 houses in different streets. Many of the plague-stricken joined 
 them, and several half-naked creatures were found dead in the 
 streets on the following morning. Two houses in Blackfriars- 
 lane were set on fire, and the conflagration was with difficulty 
 checked; nor was it until late on the following day that the mob 
 could be entirely dispersed. The originator of the disturbance, 
 Barcroft, after a desperate resistance, was shot through the head 
 by a constable. 
 
 The result of this riot, as will be easily foreseen, was greatly 
 to increase the pestilence; and many of those who had been 
 most active in it perished in prison of the distemper. Far from 
 being discouraged by the opposition offered to their decrees, the 
 city authorities enforced them with greater rigour than ever, and 
 doubling the number of the watch, again shut up all those houses 
 which had been broken open during the late tumult. 
 
 Bloundel received a visit from the Lord Mayor, Sir John 
 Lawrence, who, having been informed of his conduct, came to 
 express his high approval of it, offering to remit the few days yet 
 unexpired of his quarantine. The grocer, however, declined 
 the offer, and with renewed expressions of approbation, Sir John 
 Lawrence took his leave. 
 
 Three days afterwards, the examiner of health pronounced 
 
PROGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE. 83 
 
 che grocer's house free from infection. The fatal mark was 
 obliterated from the door; the shutters were unfastened; and 
 Bloundel resumed his business as usual. Words are inadequate 
 to describe the delight that filled the breast of every member o{ 
 his family, on their first meeting after their long separation. It 
 took place in the room adjoining the shop. Mrs. Bloundel 
 received the joyful summons from Leonard, and on descending 
 with her children, found her husband and her son Stephen 
 anxiously expecting her. Scarcely able to make up her mind as 
 to which of the two she should embrace first, Mrs. Bloundel was 
 decided by the pale countenance of her son, and rushing towards 
 him, she strained him to her breast, while Amabel flew to her 
 father's arms. The grocer could not repress his tears; but they 
 were tears of joy, and that night's happiness made him ample 
 amends for all the anxiety he had recently undergone. 
 
 "Well, Stephen, my dear child," said his mother, as soon as 
 the first tumult of emotion had subsided, " well, Stephen," she 
 said, smiling at him through her tears, and almost smothering 
 him with kisses; "you are not so much altered as I expected; 
 and I do not think, if I had had the care of you, I could have 
 nursed you better myself. You owe your father a second life, 
 and we all owe him the deepest gratitude for the care he has 
 taken of you." 
 
 " I can never be sufficiently grateful for his kindness," returned 
 Stephen, affectionately. 
 
 " Give thanks to the beneficent Being who has preserved you 
 from this great danger, my son, not to me," returned Bloundel. 
 " The first moments of our re-union should be worthily employed." 
 
 So saying, he summoned the household, and for the first time 
 for a month, the whole family party assembled, as before, at 
 prayer. Never were thanksgivings more earnestly, more de- 
 voutedly uttered. All arose with bright and cheerful coun- 
 tenances; and even Blaize seemed to have shaken off his habitual 
 dread of the pestilence. As he retired with Patience, he observed 
 to her, " Master Stephen looks quite well, though a little thinner. 
 I must ascertain from him the exact course of treatment pursued 
 by his father. I wonder whether Mr. Bloundel would nurse me 
 if I were to be suddenly seized with the distemper?" 
 
 "If he wouldn't, I would," replied Patience. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," replied Blaize. "I begin to think 
 we shall get through it. I shall go out to-morrow and examine 
 the Bills of Mortality, and see what progress the plague is making. 
 I am all anxiety to know. I must get a fresh supply of medicine, 
 too. My private store is quite gone, except three of my favourite 
 rufuses, which I shall take before I go to bed to-night. Unluckily, 
 my purse is as empty as my phials." 
 
 "lean lend you a little money," said Patience. "I haven't 
 touched my last year's wages. They are quite at your service." 
 
 g2 
 
84 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 "You are too good,'* replied Blaize; "but 1 wont decline the 
 offer. I heard a man crying a new an ti -pestilential elixir, as he 
 passed the house yesterday. I must find him out, and buy a 
 bottle. Besides, I must call on my friend Parkhurst, the apothe- 
 cary. — You are a good girl, Patience, and I'll marry you as soon 
 as the plague ceases." 
 
 " I have something else to give you," rejoined Patience. " This 
 little bag contains a hazel-nut, from which I have picked the 
 kernel, and filled its place with quicksilver, stopping the hole 
 with wax. Wear it round your neck, and you will find it a 
 certain preservative against the pestilence." 
 
 " Who told you of this remedy ?" asked Blaize, taking the 
 bag. 
 
 "Your mother," returned Patience. 
 
 " I wonder I never heard of it," said the porter. 
 
 " She wouldn't mention it to you, because the doctor advised 
 her not to put such matters into your head," replied Patience. 
 " But I couldn't help indulging you. Heigho ! I hope the plague 
 ■will soon be over." 
 
 "It wont be over for six months," rejoined Blaize, shaking his 
 head. "I read in a little book, published in IS 93, in Queen 
 Elizabeth's reign, and written by Simon Kelway, * that when 
 little children flock together, and pretend that some of their 
 number are dead, solemnizing the burial in a mournful sort, it i3 
 a certain token that a great mortality is at hand.' This I have 
 myself seen more than once. Again, just before the great sick- 
 ness of 1625, the churchyard wall of Saint Andrew's, Holborn, 
 fell down. I need not tell you that the same thing occurred 
 after the frost this winter." 
 
 " I heard of it," replied Patience ; " but I did not know it was 
 a bad sign." 
 
 "It is a dreadful sign," returned Blaize, with a shudder. 
 "The thought of it brings back my old symptoms. I must have 
 a supper to guard against infection, — a slice of toasted bread, 
 sprinkled with vinegar, and powdered with nutmeg." 
 
 And chattering thus, they proceeded to the kitchen. 
 
 Before supper could be served, Doctor Hodges made his ap- 
 pearance. He was delighted to see the family assembled to- 
 gether again, and expressed a hearty wish that they might never 
 more be divided. He watched Amabel and Leonard carefully, 
 and seemed annoyed that the former rather shunned than 
 favoured the regards of the apprentice. 
 
 Leonard, too, looked disconcerted ; and though he was in pos- 
 session of his mistress's promise, he did not like to reclaim it. 
 During the whole of the month, he had been constantly on the 
 •watch, and had scarcely slept at night, so anxious was he to pre- 
 vent the possibility of any communication taking place between 
 Rochester and his mistress. But in spite of all his caution, it 
 
PROGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE. 85 
 
 was possible he might be deceived. And when on this, their first 
 meeting, she returned his anxious gaze with averted looks, he 
 felt all his jealous misgivings return. 
 
 Supper, meanwhile, proceeded. Doctor Hodges was in ex- 
 cellent spirits, and drank a bottle of old sack with great relish. 
 Overcome by the sight of his wife and children, the grocer 
 abandoned himself to his feelings. As to his wife, she could 
 scarcely contain herself, but wept and laughed by turns — now 
 embracing her husband, now her son, between whom she had 
 placed herself. Nor did she forget Doctor Hodges; and such 
 was the exuberance of her satisfaction, that when the repast was 
 ended, she arose, and flinging her arms about his neck, termed 
 him the preserver of her son. 
 
 " If any one is entitled to that appellation it is his father,*' 
 replied Hodges, "and I may say, that in all my experience, I 
 have never witnessed such generous self-devotion as Mr. Bloundel 
 has exhibited towards his son. You must now be satisfied, 
 madam, that no person can so well judge what is proper for the 
 safety of his family as your husband." 
 
 "I never doubted it, sir," replied Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " I must apprise you, then, that he has conceived a plan by 
 which he trusts to secure you and his children and household 
 from any future attack," returned Hodges. 
 
 " I care not what it is, so it does not separate me from him," 
 replied Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " It does not," replied the grocer. " It will knit us more closely 
 together than we have yet been. I mean to shut up my house, 
 having previously stored it with provisions for a twelvemonth, 
 and shall suffer no member of my family to stir forth as long as 
 the plague endures." 
 
 " I am ready to remain within doors, if it continues twenty 
 years," replied his wife. " But. how long do you think it will last, 
 doctor?" 
 
 " Till next December, 1 have no doubt," returned Hodges. 
 
 " So longl" exclaimed Amabel. 
 
 " Ay, so long," repeated the doctor. " It is scarcely begun 
 now. Your father is right to adopt these precautions. It is the 
 only way to insure the safety of his family." 
 
 "But" — cried Amabel. 
 
 " I am resolved," interrupted Bloundel, peremptorily. " Who« 
 ever leaves the house, — if but for a moment, — never returns." 
 
 "And when do you close it, father?" asked Amabel. 
 
 "A week hence," replied the grocer; "as soon as I have laid 
 in a sufficient stock of provisions." 
 
 " And am I not to leave the house for a year ?" cried Amabel, 
 with a dissatisfied look. 
 
 " Why should you wish to leave it ?" asked her father, 
 curiously 
 
86 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Ay, why ?" repeated Leonard, in alow tone. " I shall be 
 nere." 
 
 Amabel seemed confused, and looked from her father tf 
 Leonard. The former, however, did not notice her embarrass- 
 ment, but observed to Hodges, — " I shall begin to victual the 
 house to-morrow." 
 
 " Amabel," whispered Leonard, " you told me if I claimed 
 your hand in a month, you would yield it to me. I require the 
 fulfilment of your promise." 
 
 " Give me till to-morrow," she replied, distractedly. 
 
 " She has seen Rochester," muttered the apprentice, turning 
 away. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN "WHAT MANNER THE GROCER VICTUALLED HIS HOUSE. 
 
 Leonard Holt was wrong in his suspicions. Amabel had 
 neither seen nor heard from Rochester. But, if the truth must 
 be told, he was never out of her mind, and she found, to her cost, 
 that the heart will not be controlled. Convinced of her noble 
 lover's perfidy, and aware she was acting wrongfully in che- 
 rishing a passion for him, after the exposure of his base designs 
 towards herself, no reasoning of which she was capable could 
 banish him from her thoughts, or enable her to transfer her 
 affections to the apprentice. 
 
 This conflict of feeling produced its natural result. She 
 became thoughtful and dejected — was often in tears — had no 
 appetite — and could scarcely rouse herself sufficiently to under- 
 take any sort of employment. Her mother watched her with 
 great anxiety, and feared, — though she sought to disguise it from 
 herself, — what was the real cause of her despondency. 
 
 Things were in this position at the end of the month, and it 
 occasioned no surprise to Mrs. Bloundel, though it afflicted her 
 deeply, to find that Amabel sedulously avoided the apprentice's 
 regards on their first meeting. When Dr. Hodges was gone, and 
 the rest of the family had retired, she remarked to her husband, 
 " Before you shut up the house as you propose, I should wish one 
 important matter settled." 
 
 The grocer inquired what she meant. 
 
 " I should wish to have Amabel married," was the answer. 
 
 "Married!" exclaimed Bloundel, in astonishment. "To 
 whom ?" 
 
 " To Leonard Holt." 
 
 Bloundel could scarcely repress his displeasure. 
 
 " It will be time enough to talk of that a year hence," he 
 answered. 
 
THE GROCER VICTUALS HIS HOUSE 87 
 
 " I don't think so," returned his wife ; " and now, since the 
 proper time for the disclosure of the secret has arrived, I must 
 tell you that the gallant who called himself Maurice Wyvil, and 
 whom you so much dreaded, was no other than the Earl o» 
 Rochester." 
 
 "Rochester!" echoed the grocer, while an angry flush stainea 
 his cheek, " has that libertine dared to enter my house ?" 
 
 " Ay, and more than once," replied Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " Indeed 1" cried her husband, with difficulty controlling his 
 indignation. " When was he here? — tell me quickly." 
 
 His wife then proceeded to relate all that had occurred, and 
 lie listened with profound attention to her recital. At its close, 
 he arose and paced the chamber for some time in great agitation. 
 
 At length, he suddenly paused, and, regarding his wife with 
 great sternness, observed, in a severe tone, "You have done very 
 wrong in concealing this from me, Honora, — very wrong." 
 
 " If I have erred, it was to spare you uneasiness," returned 
 Mrs. Bloundel, bursting into tears. " Dr. Hodges agreed with 
 me that it was better not to mention the subject while you had 
 so many other anxieties pressing upon you." 
 
 "I have a stout heart, and a firm reliance on the goodness ot 
 Heaven, which will enable me to bear up against most evils," re- 
 turned the grocer. "Rut on this point I ought, under any cir- 
 cumstances, to have been consulted. And I am greatly surprised 
 that Doctor Hodges should advise the contrary." 
 
 " He was influenced, like myself, by the kindliest feelings 
 towards you," sobbed Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " Well, well, I will not reproach you further," returned the 
 grocer, somewhat moved by her tears. " I have no doubt you 
 conceived you were acting for the best. But I must caution you 
 against such conduct for the future." After a pause, lie added, 
 " Is it your opinion that our poor deluded child still entertains 
 any regard for this profligate nobleman ?" 
 
 " I am sure she does," replied Mrs. Bloundel ; " and it is from 
 that conviction that I so strongly urge the necessity of marrying 
 her to Leonard Holt." 
 
 "I will never compel her to do anything to endanger her 
 future happiness," returned the grocer. " She must not marry 
 Leonard Holt without loving him. It is better to risk an uncer- 
 tain evil, than to rush upon a certain one." 
 
 " Then I wont answer for the consequences," replied his wife. 
 
 " What 1" cried Bloundel ; " am I to understand you have no 
 reliance on Amabel ? Has all our care been thrown away ?" 
 
 " I do not distrust her," returned Mrs. Bloundel; " but con- 
 sider whom she has to deal with. She is beset by the hand- 
 somest and most fascinating man of the day — by one understood 
 to be practised in all the arts most dangerous to our sex — and a 
 nobleman to boot. Some allowance must be made for her." 
 
88 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " I will make none," rejoined Bloundel, austerely. " bhe has 
 been taught to resist temptation in whatever guise it may present 
 itself; and if the principles I have endeavoured to implanc within 
 her breast had found lodgment there, she would have resisted it. 
 I am deeply grieved to find this is not the case, and that she 
 must trust to others for protection, when she ought to be able to 
 defend herself." 
 
 The subject was not further discussed, and the grocer and his 
 wife shortly afterwards retired to rest. 
 
 On the following morning, Bloundel remarked to the appren- 
 tice as they stood together in the shop, " Leonard, you are aware 
 I am about to shut up my house. Before doing so, I must make 
 certain needful arrangements. I will not disguise from you that 
 I should prefer your remaining with me, but at the same time I 
 beg you distinctly to understand that I will not detain you against 
 your will. Your articles are within two months of expiring; 
 and, if you desire it, I will deliver them to you to-morrow, and 
 release you from the rest of your time." 
 
 " I do not desire it, sir," replied Leonard, " I will remain as 
 long as I can be serviceable to you." 
 
 "Take time for reflection," rejoined his master, kindly. a In 
 all probability, it will be a long confinement, and you may repent, 
 when too late, having subjected yourself to it." 
 
 "Last month's experience has taught me what I have to ex- 
 pect," remarked Leonard, with a smile. " My mind is made up. 
 I will stay with you." 
 
 " I am glad of it," returned Bloundel, " and now I have some- 
 thing further to say to you. My wife has acquainted me with 
 the daring attempt of the Earl of Rochester to carry off Amabel." 
 
 u Has my mistress, also, told you of my attachment to your 
 daughter?" demanded Leonard, trembling, in spite of his efforts 
 to maintain a show of calmness. 
 
 Bloundel nodded an affirmative. 
 
 " And of Amabel's promise to bestow her hand upon me, if I 
 claimed it at the month's end ?" continued the apprentice. 
 
 " No !" replied the grocer, a good deal surprised — " I heard of 
 no such promise. Nor was I aware the matter had gone so far. 
 But have you claimed it ?" 
 
 " I have," replied Leonard ; " but she declined giving an 
 answer till to-day." 
 
 " We will have it then at once," cried Bloundel. " Come with 
 me to her." 
 
 So saying, he led the way to the inner room, where they found 
 Amabel and her mother. At the sight of Leonard, the former 
 instantly cast down her eyes. 
 
 " Amabel," said her father, in a tone of greater severity than 
 he had ever before used towards her, "all that has passed is 
 known to me. I shall take another and more fitting opportunity 
 
THE GROCER VICTUALS HIS HOUSE. 89 
 
 to speak to ycu on your ill-advised conduct. I am come for a 
 different purpose. You have given Leonard Holt a promise (I 
 need not tell you of what nature), and he claims its fulfilment." 
 
 " If he insists upon my compliance," replied Amabel, in a tre- 
 mulous voice, " I must obey. But it will make me wretched." 
 
 " Then I at once release you," replied Leonard. " I value 
 your happiness far more than my own." 
 
 " You deserve better treatment, Leonard," said Bloundel ; 
 " and 1 am sorry my daughter cannot discern what is for her good. 
 Let us hope that time will work a change in your favour." 
 
 " No," replied the apprentice bitterly ; " I will no longer 
 delude myself with any such vain expectation." 
 
 " Amabel," observed the grocer, " as your father — as your 
 well-wisher — I should desire to see you wedded to Leonard. 
 But I have told your mother, and now tell you, that I will not 
 control 3'our inclinations, and will only attempt to direct you so 
 far as I think likely to be conducive to your happiness. On 
 another point, I must assume a very different tone. You can no 
 longer plead ignorance of the designs of the depraved person who 
 besets you. You may not be able to forget him — but you can 
 avoid him, If you see him alone again — if but for a moment — 
 I cast you off for ever. Yes, for ever,*' he repeated, with stern 
 emphasis. 
 
 " I will never voluntarily see him again," replied Amabel, 
 tremblingly. 
 
 " You have heard my determination," rejoined her father. 
 "Do you still adhere to your resolution of remaining with me, 
 Leonard?" he added, turning to the apprentice. "If what has 
 just passed makes any alteration in your wishes, state so, frankly." 
 
 " I will stay," replied Leonard. 
 
 " There will be one advantage, which I did not foresee, in 
 closing my house," remarked the grocer, aside to the apprentice. 
 " It will effectually keep away this libertine earl." 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied the other. " But I have more faith in 
 my own vigilance than in bolts and bars." 
 
 Bloundel and Leonard then returned to the shop, where the 
 former immediately began to make preparations for storing his 
 house ; and in the prosecution of his scheme he was greatly aided 
 by the apprentice. 
 
 The grocer's dwelling, as has been stated, was large and com- 
 modious. It was three stories high ; and beneath the ground- 
 floor there were kitchens and extensive cellars. Many of the 
 rooms were spacious, and had curiously carved fire-places, wails 
 panelled with fine brown oak, large presses, and cupboards. 
 
 In the yard, at the back of the house, there was a pump, from 
 which excellent water was obtained. There were likewise three 
 large cisterns, supplied from the New River. Not satisfied with 
 this, and anxious to obtain water in which no infected body could 
 
90 old saint Paul's. 
 
 have lain, or clothes have been washed, Bloundel had a large tank 
 placed within the cellar, and connecting it by pipes with the 
 pump, he contrived an ingenious machine, by which he could 
 work the latter from within the house, — thus making sure of a 
 constant supply of water, direct from the spring. 
 
 He next addressed himself to the front of the house, where he 
 fixed a pulley, with a rope and hook attached to it, to the beam 
 above one of the smaller bay-windows on the second story. By 
 this means, he could let down a basket or any other article into 
 the street, or draw up whatever he desired ; and as he proposed 
 using this outlet as the sole means of communication with the 
 external world when his house was closed, he had a wooden 
 shutter made in the form of a trap-door, which he could open and 
 shut at pleasure. 
 
 Here it was his intention to station himself at certain hours of 
 the day, and whenever he held any communication below, to flash 
 off a pistol, so that the smoke of the powder might drive back the 
 air, and purify any vapour that found entrance of its noxious 
 particles. 
 
 He laid down to himself a number of regulations, which will 
 be more easily shown and more clearly understood, on arriving 
 at the period when his plans came to be in full operation. To 
 give an instance, however, — if a letter should be conveyed to 
 him by means of the pulley, he proposed to steep it in a solution 
 of vinegar and sulphur ; and when dried and otherwise fumigated, 
 to read it at a distance by the help of strong glasses. 
 
 In regard to provisions, after a careful calculation, he bought 
 upwards of three thousand pounds' weight of hard sea-biscuits, 
 similar to those now termed captain's biscuits, and had them 
 stowed away in hogsheads. He next ordered twenty huge casks 
 of the finest flour, which he had packed up with the greatest care, 
 as if for a voyage to Barbadoes or Jamaica. As these were 
 brought in through the yard an accident had well-nigh occurred 
 ■which might have proved fatal to him. While superintending 
 the labours of Leonard and Blaize, who were rolling the casks 
 into the house, — having stowed away as many as he conveniently 
 could in the upper part of the premises, — he descended to the 
 cellar, and, opening a door at the foot of a flight of steps leading 
 from the yard, called to them to lower the remaining barrels with 
 ropes below. In the hurry, Blaize rolled a cask towards the open 
 door, and in another instant it would have fallen upon the grocer, 
 and, perhaps, have crushed him, but for the interposition of 
 Leonard. Bloundel made no remark at the time ; but he never 
 forgot the service rendered him by the apprentice. 
 
 To bake the bread required an oven, and he accordingly built 
 one in the garret, laying in a large stock of wood for fuel. Neither 
 did he neglect to provide himself with two casks of meal. 
 
 But the most important consideration was butcher's meat ; and 
 
THE GROCER VICTUALS HIS HOUSK 91 
 
 for this purpose he went to Rotherhithe, where the plague had 
 not vet appeared, and agreed with a butcher to kill him four fat 
 bullocks, and pickle and barrel them as if for sea-stores. He like- 
 wise directed the man to provide six large barrels of pickled pork, 
 on the same understanding. These were landed at Queenhithe, 
 and brought up to Wood-street, so that they passed for newly- 
 landed grocery. 
 
 Hams and bacon forming part of his own trade, he wrote to 
 certain farmers with whom he was in the habit of dealing, to send 
 him up an unlimited supply of flitches and gammons; and his 
 orders being promptly and abundantly answered, he soon found 
 he had more bacon than he could possibly consume, lie like- 
 wise laid in a good store of tongues, hung beef, and other dried 
 meats. 
 
 As to wine, he already had a tolerable stock ; but he increased 
 it by half a hogshead of the best canary he could procure ; two 
 casks of malmsey, each containing twelve gallons; a quarter-cask 
 of malaga sack; a runlet of muscadine; two small runlets of 
 aquavitoe ; twenty gallons of aniseed water; and two eight-gallon 
 runlets of brandy. To this he added six hogsheads of strongly- 
 hopped Kent ale, calculated for keeping, which he placed in a 
 cool cellar, together with three hogsheads of beer, for immediate 
 use. Furthermore, he procured a variety of distilled waters for 
 medicinal purposes, amongst which he included a couple of dozen 
 of the then fashionable and costly preparation, denominated 
 plague-water. 
 
 As, notwithstanding all his precautions, it was not impossible 
 that some of his household might be attacked by the distemper, 
 he took care to provide proper remedies ; and to Blaize's infinite 
 delight, furnished himself with mithridates, Venice treacle, dias- 
 cordium, the pill rufus (oh I how the porter longed to have the 
 key of the medicine chest !), London treacle, turpentine, and 
 other matters. lie likewise collected a number of herbs and 
 simples; as Virginian snakeweed, contraycrva, pestilence-wort, 
 angelica, elecampane, zedoary, tormentil, valerian, lovage, devils- 
 bit, dittany, master-wort, rue, sage, ivy-berries, aud walnuts; 
 together with bole armoniac, terra sigillata, bezoar-water, oil of 
 sulphur, oil of vitriol, and other compounds. His store of reme- 
 dies was completed by a tun of the best white-wine vinegar, and 
 a dozen jars of salad oil. 
 
 Regulating his supplies by the provisions he had laid in, he 
 purchased a sufficient stock of coals and faggots to last him 
 during the whole period of his confinement ; and he added a 
 small barrel of gunpowder, and a like quantity of sulphur for 
 fumigation. 
 
 His eatables would not have been complete without cheese ; 
 and he therefore ordered about six hundred weight from Derby- 
 shire, Wiltshire, and Leicestershire, besides a couple of large old 
 
92 old saint Paul's. 
 
 cheeses from Roslherne, in Cheshire, — even then noted for the 
 best dairies in the whole county. Several tubs of salted butter 
 were sent him out of Berkshire, and a few pots from Suffolk. 
 
 It being indispensable, considering the long period he meant 
 to close his house, to provide himself and his family with every 
 necessary, he procured a sufficient stock of wearing apparel, hose, 
 shoes, and boots. Spice, dried fruit, and other grocery articles, 
 were not required, because he already possessed them. Candles 
 also formed an article of his trade, and lamp oil ; but he was 
 recommended by Doctor Hodges, from a fear of the scurvy, to 
 provide a plentiful supply of lemon and lime juice. 
 
 To guard against accident, he also doubly stocked his house 
 with glass, earthenware, and every article liable to breakage. He 
 destroyed all vermin, such as rats and mice, by which the house 
 was infested ; and the only live creatures he would suffer to be 
 kept were a few poultry. He had a small hutch constructed near 
 the street door, to be used by the watchman he meant to employ ; 
 and he had the garrets fitted up with beds, to form a hospital, if 
 any part of the family should be seized with the distemper, so 
 that the sick might be sequestered from the sound. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE QUACK DOCTORS. 
 
 Patience, it may be remembered, had promised Blaize to give 
 him her earnings to enable him to procure a fresh supply of 
 medicine, and about a week after he had received the trifling 
 amount (for he had been so constantly employed by the grocer, 
 that he had no opportunity of getting out before,) he sallied 
 forth to visit a neighbouring apothecar}', named Parkhurst, from 
 whom he had been in the habit of purchasing drugs, and who 
 occupied a small shop not far from the grocer's, on the opposite 
 side of the street. Parkhurst appeared overjoyed to see him, and 
 without giving him time to prefer his own request, inquired after 
 his master's family — whether they were all well, especially fair 
 Mistress Amabel, — and, further, what was the meaning of the 
 large supplies of provision which he saw daily conveyed to the 
 premises ? Blaize shook his head at the latter question, and for 
 some time refused to answer it. But being closely pressed by 
 Parkhurst, he admitted that his master was about to shut up his 
 house. 
 
 " Shut up his house !" exclaimed Parkhurst. " I never heard 
 of such a preposterous idea. If he does so, not one of you will 
 come out alive. But I should hope that he will be dissuaded 
 from his rash dpsinrn. 5 ' 
 
THE QUACK DOCTORS. 93 
 
 " Dissuaded !" echoed Blaize u You don't know my master. 
 He's as obstinate as a mule when he takes a thing into his head. 
 Nothing will turn him. Besides, Dr. Hodges sanctions, and 
 even recommends the plan." 
 
 " I have no opinion of Doctor Hodges,'' sneered the apothecary. 
 " He is not fit to hold a candle before a learned friend of mine, a 
 physician, who is now in that room. The person I speak of 
 thoroughly understands the pestilence, and never fails to cure 
 every case that comes before him. No shutting up houses with 
 him. He is in possession of an infallible remedy." 
 
 " Indeed 1" exclaimed Blaize, pricking up his ears. " What is 
 his name ?" 
 
 " His name," cried Parkhurst, with a puzzled look. " How 
 strange it should slip my memory. Ah, now, I recollect. It is 
 Doctor Calixtus Bottcsham." 
 
 "A singular name, truly," remarked Blaize; "but it sounds 
 like that of a clever man." 
 
 "Doctor Calixtus Bottesham is a wonderful man," returned 
 the apothecary. " I have never met with his like. I would 
 trumpet forth his merits through the whole city, but that it 
 would ruin my trade. The plague is our harvest, as my friend 
 Chowles, the coffin-maker, says, and it will not do to stop it — 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 " It is too serious a subject to laugh at," returned Blaize, 
 gravely. " But are the doctor's fees exorbitant ?" 
 
 " To the last degree," replied Parkhurst. " I am afraid to 
 state how much he asks." 
 
 " I fear I shall not be able to consult him, then," said Blaize, 
 turning over the coin in his pocket ; " and yet I should greatly 
 like to do so." 
 
 " Have no fear on that score," returned the apothecary. " I 
 have been able to render him an important service, and he will 
 do anything for me. He shall give you his advice gratis." 
 
 " Thank you ! thank you J" cried Blaize, transported with 
 delight. 
 
 " Wait here a moment, and I will ascertain whether he will 
 see you," replied Parkhurst. 
 
 So saying, he quitted the porter, who amused himself during 
 his absence by studying the labels affixed to the jars and bottles 
 on the shelves. He had much ado to restrain himself from open- 
 ing some of them, and tasting their contents. 
 
 Full a quarter of an hour elapsed before the apothecary 
 appeared. 
 
 "I am sorry to have detained yon so long," he said; "but I 
 had more difficulty with the doctor than I expected, and for 
 )ome time he refused to see you on any terms, because he has a 
 violent antipathy to Doctor Hodges, whom he regards as a mere 
 pretender, and whose patient he conceives you to be." 
 
9-i OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " I am not Doctor Hodges's patient," returned Blaize ; " and 
 I regard him as a pretender myself." 
 
 " That opinion will recommend you to Doctor Bottesham," 
 replied Parkhurst ; " and since I have smoothed the way for you, 
 you will find him very affable and condescending. He has often 
 heard me speak of your master ; and if it were not for his dislike 
 of Doctor Hodges, whom he might accidentally encounter, he 
 would call upon him." 
 
 " I wish I could get my master to employ him instead of the 
 other," said Blaize. 
 
 * I wish so, too," cried Parkhurst, eagerly. w Do you think it 
 could be managed ? 
 
 " I fear not," returned Blaize. 
 
 " There would be no harm in making the trial," replied Park- 
 hurst. " But you shall now see the learned gentleman. I 
 ought to apprize you that he has two friends with him— one a 
 young gallant, named Hawkswood, whom he has recently cured 
 of the distemper, and who is so much attached to him that he 
 never leaves him; the other, a doctor, like himself, named 
 Martin Furbisher, who always accompanies him in his visits to 
 his patients, and prepares his mixtures for him. You must not 
 be surprised at their appearance. And now come with me." 
 
 With this, he led the way into a small room at the back of the 
 shop, where three personages were seated at the table, with a 
 flask of wine and glasses before them. Blaize detected Doctor 
 Bottesham at a glance. He was an ancient-looking man, clad 
 in a suit of rusty black, over which was thrown a velvet robe, 
 very much soiled and faded, but originally trimmed with fur, and 
 lined with yellow silk. His powers of vision appeared to be 
 feeble, for he wore a large green shade over his eyes, and a pair 
 of spectacles of the same colour. A venerable white beard 
 descended almost to his waist. His head was protected by a 
 long-flowing gray wig, over which he wore a black velvet cap. 
 His shoulders were high and round, his back bent, and he evi- 
 dently required support when he moved, as a crutch-headed staff 
 was reared against his chair. On his left was a young, hand- 
 some, and richly-attired gallant, answering to the apothecary's 
 description of Hawkswood ; and on the right sat a stout per- 
 sonage, precisely habited like himself except that he wore a 
 broad-leaved hat, which completely overshadowed his features. 
 Notwithstanding this attempt at concealment, it was easy to per- 
 ceive that Doctor Furbisher's face was covered with scars, that 
 he had a rubicund nose, studded with carbuncles, and a black 
 patch over his left eye. 
 
 "Is this the young man who desires to consult me?" asked 
 Doctor Calixtus Bottesham, in the cracked and quavering voice 
 of old age, to Parkhurst 
 
r^ 
 
 
THE QUACK DOCTORS. 9d 
 
 " It is," replied the apothecary, respectfully. " Go forward," 
 he added, to Blaize, " and speak for yourself." 
 
 " What ails you ?" pursued Bottesham, gazing at him through 
 his spectacles. " You look strong and hearty." 
 
 " So I am, learned sir," replied Blaize, bowing to the ground 
 *' but understanding from Mr. Parkhurst that you have an infal- 
 lible remedy against the plague, I would gladly procure it from 
 you, as, if I should be attacked, I may not have an opportunity 
 of consulting you." 
 
 " Why not ?" demanded Bottesham. " I will come to you if 
 you send for me." 
 
 " Because," replied Blaize, after a moment's hesitation, " my 
 master is about to shut up his house, and no one will be allowed 
 to go forth, or to enter it, till the pestilence is at an end." 
 
 " Your master must be mad to think of such a thing," rejoined 
 Bottesham. " What say you, brother Furbishcr, — is that the way 
 to keep off the plague f" 
 
 " Gallipots of Galen ! no," returned the other ; " it is rather 
 the way to invite its assaults." 
 
 " When does your master talk of putting this fatal design — for 
 fatal it will be to hitn and all his household — into execution?" 
 demanded Bottesham. 
 
 " Very shortly, I believe," replied Blaize. " He meant to begin 
 on the first of June, but as the pestilence is less violent than it 
 was, Doctor Hodges has induced him to defer his purpose for a 
 few days." 
 
 " Doctor Hodges !" exclaimed Bottesham, contemptuously. 
 "It was an unfortunate day for your master when he admitted 
 that sack-drinking imposter into his house." 
 
 "I have no great opinion of his skill," replied Blaize, "but, 
 nevertheless, it must be admitted that he cured Master Stephen 
 in a wonderful manner." 
 
 " Pshaw !" exclaimed Bottesham, " that was mere accident. I 
 heard the particulars of the case from Parkhurst, and am satisfied 
 the youth would have recovered without his aid. But what a 
 barbarian Mr. Bloundel must be to think of imprisoning his 
 family in this way." 
 
 " He certainly does not consult my inclinations in the matter," 
 returned Blaize. 
 
 " Nor those of his wife and daughter, I should imagine," con- 
 tinued Bottesham. " How do they like it?" 
 
 " I cannot exactly say," answered Blaize. " What a dreadful 
 thing it would be if I should be attacked by the plague, and no 
 assistance could be procured." 
 
 "It would be still more dreadful, if so angelic a creature as 
 Bloundel's daughter is represented to be — for I have never seen 
 her — should be so seized," observed Bottesham. " I feel so 
 
96 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 much interested aboit her that I would do anything to preserve 
 her from the fate with which she is menaced." 
 
 " Were it not inconsistent with your years, learned sir, I might 
 suspect you of a tenderer'feeling towards her," observed Blaize, 
 archly. " But, in good sooth, her charms are so extraordinary, 
 that I should not be surprised at any effect they might produce." 
 
 " They would produce no effect on me," replied Bottesham. 
 " I am long past such feelings. But in regard to yourself. You 
 say you are afraid of the plague. I will give you an electuary 
 to drive away the panic ; and he produced a small jar, and 
 handed it to the porter. " It is composed of conserve of roses, 
 gillyflowers, borage, candid citron, powder of Icetificans Galeni, 
 Roman zedoary, doronicum, and saffron. You must take about 
 the quantity of a large nutmeg, morning and evening." 
 
 "You make me for ever your debtor, learned sir," rejoined 
 Blaize. u What a charming mixture !" 
 
 " I will also add my remedy," said Furbisher. " It is a powder 
 compounded of crabs' eyes, burnt hartshorn, the black tops of 
 crabs' claws, the bone from a stag's heart, unicorn's horn, and salt 
 of vipers. You must take one or two drams, — not more, — in a 
 glass of hot posset-drink, when you go to bed, and swallow 
 another draught of the same potion to wash it down." 
 
 " I will carefully observe your directions," replied Blaize, thank- 
 fully receiving the powder. 
 
 " Of all things," said Bottesham, claiming the porter's attention 
 by tapping him on the head with his cane ; " take care never to 
 be without vinegar. It is the grand specific, not merely against 
 the plague, but against all disorders. It is food and physic, meat 
 and medicine, drink and julep, cordial and antidote. If you 
 formerly took it as a sauce, now take it as a remedy. To the 
 sound it is a preservative from sickness, to the sick a restorative 
 to health. It is like the sword which is worn, not merely for 
 ornament, but for defence. Vinegar is my remedy against the 
 plague. It is a simple remedy, but an effectual one. I have 
 cured a thousand patients with it, and hope to cure a thousand 
 more. Take vinegar with all you eat, and flavour all you drink 
 with it. Has the plague taken away your appetite, vinegar will 
 renew it. Is your throat ulcerated, use vinegar as a gargle. Are 
 you disturbed with phlegmatic humours, vinegar will remove 
 them. Is your brain laden with vapours, throw vinegar on a hot 
 shovel, and inhale its fumes, and you will obtain instantaneous 
 relief. Have you the headache, wet a napkin in vinegar, and 
 apply it to your temples, and the pain will cease. In short, there 
 is no ailment that vinegar will not cure. It is the grand panacea ; 
 and may be termed the elixir of long life." 
 
 " I wonder its virtues have not been found out before," observed 
 Blaize, innocently. 
 
 " It is surprising how slow men are in discovering the most 
 
THE QUACK DOCTORS. 97 
 
 obvious truths," replied Bottesham. " But take my advice, and 
 ^ever be without it." 
 
 " I never will," returned Blaize. " Heaven be praised, my 
 master has just ordered in three tuns. I'll tap one of thera 
 directly." 
 
 " That idea of the vinegar remedy is borrowed from Kemp's 
 late treatise on the pestilence and its cure," muttered Furbisher. 
 M Before you enter upon the new system, young; man," he added 
 aloud to Blaize, " let me recommend you to fortify your stomach 
 with a glass of canary." 
 
 And pouring out a bumper, he handed it to the porter, who 
 swallowed it at a draught, 
 
 " And now," said Bottesham, " to return to this mad scheme of 
 your master's — is there no way of preventing it ?" 
 
 " I am aware of none," replied Blaize. 
 
 " Bolts and bars !" cried Furbisher, " something must be done 
 for the fair Amabel. We owe it to society not to permit so lovely 
 a creature to be thus immured. What say you, Hawkswood ?' 
 he added to the gallant by his side, who had not hitherto 
 spoken. 
 
 " It would be unpardonable to permit it, — quite unpardonable,* 
 replied this person. 
 
 " Might not some plan be devised to remove her for a short 
 time, and frighten him out of his project?" said Bottesham. " I 
 would willingly assist in such a scheme. I pledge you in a 
 bumper, young man. You appear a trusty servant." 
 
 " I am so accounted, learned sir," replied Blaize, upon whose 
 brain the wine, thus plentifully bestowed, began to operate, — 
 and I may add, justly so." 
 
 " You really will be doing your master a service if you can 
 prevent him from committing this folly," rejoined Bottesham. 
 " Let us have a bottle of burnt malmsey, with a few bruised 
 raisins in it, Mr. Parkhurst. This poor young man requires 
 support. Be seated, friend." 
 
 With some hesitation, Blaize complied, and while the apothe- 
 cary went in search of the wine, he observed to Bottesham. " I 
 would gladly comply with your suggestion, learned sir, if I saw 
 any means of doing so." 
 
 " Could you not pretend to have the plague r" said Bottesham. 
 " I could then attend you." 
 
 " I should be afraid of playing such a trick as that," replied 
 Blaize. " Besides, I do not see what purpose it would answer." 
 
 " It would enable me to get into the house "returned Bottesham, 
 " and then I might take measures for Amabel's deliverance." 
 
 " If you merely wish to get into the house," replied Blaize, 
 fl that can be easily managed. I will admit you this evening." 
 
 " Witnout your master's knowledge ?" asked Bottesham, 
 eagerly. 
 
 H 
 
98 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Of course,'' returned Blaize. 
 
 "But he has an apprentice?" said the doctor. 
 
 "Oh! you mean Leonard Holt," replied Blaize. "Yes, we 
 must take care he doesn't see you. If you come about nine o'clock, 
 he will be engaged with my master in putting away the things in 
 the shop." 
 
 "I will be punctual," replied Bottesham, "and will bring 
 Doctor Furbisher with me. We will only stay a few minutes. 
 But here comes the burnt malmsey. Fill the young man's glass, 
 Parkhurst. I will insure you against the plague, if you will follow 
 my advice." 
 
 " But will you insure me against my master's displeasure, if he 
 finds me out?" said Blaize. 
 
 " I will provide you with a new one," returned Bottesham. 
 " You shall serve me if you wish to change your place." 
 
 " That would answer my purpose exactly," thought Blaize. " I 
 need never be afraid of the plague if I live with him. I will 
 turn over your proposal, learned sir," he added, aloud. 
 
 After priming him with another bumper of malmsey, Blaize's 
 new friends suffered him to depart. On returning home, he pro- 
 ceeded to his own room, and feeling unusually drowsy, he threw 
 himself on the bed, and almost instantly dropped asleep. When 
 he awoke, the fumes of the liquor had, in a great degree, evapo- 
 rated, and he recalled, with considerable self-reproach, the 
 promise he had given, and would gladly have recalled it, if it had 
 been possible. But it was now not far from the appointed hour, 
 and he momentarily expected the arrival of the two doctors. The 
 only thing that consoled him was the store of medicine he had 
 obtained, and, locking it up in his cupboard, he descended to the 
 kitchen. Fortunately, his mother was from home, so that he ran 
 no risk from her; and, finding Patience alone, after some 
 hesitation, he let her into the secret of his anticipated visitors. 
 She was greatly surprised, and expressed much uneasiness lest 
 they should be discovered ; as, if they were so, it would be sure 
 to bring them both into trouble. 
 
 " What can they want with Mistress Amabel?" she cried. 
 *' I should not wonder if Doctor Calixtus Bottesham, as you call 
 him, turns out a lover in disguise." 
 
 " A lover 1" exclaimed Blaize. " Your silly head is always 
 running upon lovers. He's an old man, — old enough to be your 
 grandfather, with a long white beard, reaching to his waist. He 
 a lover 1 Mr. Bloundel is much more like one." 
 
 " For all that, it looks suspicious," returned Patience ; " and I 
 shall have my eyes about me on their arrival." 
 
 Shortly after this, Blaize crept cautiously up to the back yard , 
 and opening the door, found, as he expected, Bottesham and his 
 companion. Motioning them to follow him, he led the way to 
 the kitchen, where they arrived without observation. Patience 
 
THE QUACK DOCTORS. 99 
 
 eyed the new comers narrowly, and felt almost certain, from 
 their appearance and manner, that her suspicions were correct. 
 All doubts were removed when Bottesham, slipping a purse into 
 her hand, entreated her, on some plea or other, to induce Amabel 
 to come into the kitchen. At first, she hesitated; but having a 
 tender heart, inclining her to assist rather than oppose the course 
 of any love affair, her scruples were soon overcome. Accord- 
 ingly, she hurried up stairs, and chancing to meet with her 
 young mistress, -who was about to retire to her own chamber, 
 entreated her to come down with her for a moment in the 
 kitchen. Thinking it some unimportant matter, but yet wonder- 
 ing why Patience should appear so urgent, Amabel complied. 
 She was still more perplexed when she saw the two strangers, 
 and would have instantly retired if Bottesham had not detained 
 her. 
 
 " You will pardon the liberty I have taken in sending for 
 you," he said, " when I explain that I have done so to offer you 
 counsel." 
 
 " I am as much at a loss to understand what counsel you can 
 have to offer, sir, as to guess why you are here," she replied. 
 
 " Amabel," returned Bottesham, in a low tone ; but, altering 
 his voice, and slightly raising his spectacles so as to disclose his 
 features ; " It is I, — Maurice Wyvil." 
 
 " Ah !" she exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment 
 
 " I told you we should meet again," he rejoined ; " and I have 
 kept my word." 
 
 " Think not to deceive me, my lord," she returned, control- 
 ling her emotion by a powerful effort. " I am aware you are 
 not Maurice Wyvil, but the Earl of Rochester. Your love is as 
 false as your character. Mistress Mallet is the real object of 
 your regards. You see I am acquainted with your perfidy." 
 
 " Amabel, you are deceived," replied Rochester. " On my 
 soul you are. When I have an opportunity of explaining myself 
 more fully, I will prove to you that I was induced by the king, 
 for an especial purpose, to pay feigned addresses to the lady you 
 have named. But I never loved her. You alone are the pos- 
 sessor of my heart, and shall be the sharer of my title. You 
 shall be Countess of Rochester." 
 
 " Could I believe you ?" she cried. 
 
 w You may believe me," he answered. " Do not blight my 
 hopes and your own happiness a second time. Your father is 
 about to shut up his house for a twelvemonth, if the plague lasts 
 so long. This done, we shall meet no more, for access to you 
 will be impossible. Do not hesitate, or you will for ever rue 
 your irresolution." 
 
 " I know not what to do," cried Amabel, distractedly. 
 
 "Then I will decide for you," replied the earl, grasping her 
 hand. " Come 1" 
 
 H2 
 
100 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 While this was passing, Furbisher, or rather, as will be sur- 
 mised, Pillichody, had taken Blaize aside, and engaged his 
 attention by dilating upon the efficacy of a roasted onion filled 
 with treacle in the expulsion of the plague. Patience stationed 
 herself near the door, not with the view of interfering with the 
 lovers, but rather of assisting them ; and at the very moment 
 that the earl seized his mistress's hand, and would have drawn 
 her forward, she ran towards them, and hastily whispered, 
 " Leonard Holt is coming down stairs." 
 " Ah ! I am lost !" cried Amabel. 
 
 " Fear nothing," said the earl. " Keep near me, and I wiil 
 «oon dispose of him." 
 
 As he spoke, the apprentice entered the kitchen, and, greatly 
 surprised by the appearance of the strangers, angrily demanded 
 from Blaize who they were. 
 
 " They are two doctors come to give me advice respecting the 
 plague," stammered the porter. 
 
 " How did they get into the house ?" inquired Leonard. 
 " I let them in through the back door," replied Blaize. 
 " Then let them out by the same way," rejoined the apprentice. 
 "May I ask what you are doing here?" he added, to Amabel. 
 
 " What is that to you, fellow," cried Rochester, in his assumed 
 voice. 
 
 " Much, as you shall find, my lord," replied the apprentice ; 
 " for in spite of your disguise, I know you. Quit the house 
 instantly with your companion, or I will give the alarm, and 
 Amabel well knows what the consequences will be." 
 " You must go, my lord," she replied. 
 
 " I will not stir unless you accompany me," said Rochester. 
 " Then I have no alternative," rejoined Leonard. " You 
 know your father's determination — I would willingly spare you, 
 Amabel." 
 
 " Oh, goodness ! what will become of us ?" cried Patience — 
 " if there isn't Mr. Bloundel coming down stairs." 
 
 " Amabel," said Leonard, sternly, " the next moment decides 
 your fate. If the earl departs, I will keep your secret." 
 
 " You hear that, my lord," she cried, " I command you to 
 leave me." 
 
 And disengaging herself from him, and hastily passing her 
 father, who at that moment entered the kitchen, she rushed up 
 stairs. 
 
 On hearing the alarm of the grocer's approach, Pillichody took 
 refuge in a cupboard, the door of which stood invitingly open, 
 bo that Bloundel only perceived the earl. 
 
 K What is the matter ?" he cried, gazing around him. " Who 
 have we here ?" 
 
 "It is a quack doctor, whom Blaize has been consulting about 
 the plague," r« turned Leonard. 
 
THE TWO WATCHMEN. 101 
 
 " See him instantly out of the house," rejoined the grocer, 
 angrily, " and take care he never enters it again. I will have no 
 such charlatans here." 
 
 Leonard motioned Rochester to follow him, and the latter 
 reluctantly obeyed. 
 
 As soon as Bloundel had retired, Leonard, who had mean- 
 while provided himself with his cudgel, descended to the kitchen, 
 where he dragged Pillichody from his hiding-place, and con- 
 ducted him to the back door. But he did not suffer him to 
 depart without belabouring him soundly. Locking the door, he 
 then went in search of Blaizc, and administered a similar chas- 
 tisement to him. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TWO WATCHMEN. 
 
 On the day following the events last related, as Leonard Holt 
 was standing at the door of the shop, — his master having jusf 
 been called out by some important business, — a man in the dress 
 of a watchman, with a halbert in his hand, approached him, and 
 inquired if he was Mr. Bloundel's apprentice. 
 
 Before returning an answer, Leonard looked hard at the new 
 comer, and thought he had never beheld so ill-favoured a person 
 before. Every feature in his face was distorted. His mouth 
 was twisted on one side, his nose on the other, while his right 
 eyebrow was elevated more than an inch above the left ; added to 
 which, he squinted intolerably, had a long fell of straight sandy 
 hair, a sandy beard and moustache, and a complexion of the 
 colour of brick-dust. 
 
 " An ugly dog," muttered Leonard to himself, as he finished 
 his scrutiny; "what can he want with me? Suppose I should 
 be Mr. Bloundel's apprentice," he added, aloud, " what then, 
 friend ?" 
 
 " Your master has a beautiful daughter, has he not ?" asked 
 the ill-favoured watchman. 
 
 " I answer no idle questions," rejoined Leonard, coldly. 
 
 " As you please," returned the other, in an offended tone. 
 * A plan to carry her off has accidentally come to my knowledge. 
 But, since incivility is all I am likely to get for my pains in 
 coming to acquaint you with it, e'en find it out yourself." 
 
 " Hold 1" cried the apprentice, detaining him; " I meant no 
 offence. Step in-doors for a moment. We can converse there 
 more freely." 
 
 The watchman, who, notwithstanding his ill-looks, appeared 
 to be a good-natured fellow, was easily appeased. Following the 
 
102 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 apprentice into the shop, on the promise of a handsome reward, 
 he instantly commenced his relation. 
 
 " Last night," he said, " I was keeping watch at the door of 
 Mr. Brackley, a saddler in Aldermanbury, whose house having 
 been attacked by the pestilence is now shut up, when I observed 
 two persons, rather singularly attired, pass me. Both were 
 dressed like old men, but neither their gait nor tone of voice 
 corresponded with their garb." 
 
 " It must have been the Earl of Rochester and his companion," 
 remarked Leonard. 
 
 " You are right," replied the other ; " for I afterwards heard 
 one of them addressed by that title. But to proceed. I was so 
 much struck by the strangeness of their appearance, that I left 
 my post for a few minutes, and followed them. They halted 
 beneath a gatewa} 7 , and, as they conversed together very earnestly, 
 and in a loud tone, I could distinctly hear what they said. One 
 of them, the stoutest of the two, complained bitterly of the indig- 
 nities he had received from Mr. Bloundel's apprentice (meaning 
 you, of course), averring that nothing but his devotion to his 
 companion had induced him to submit to them ; and affirming, 
 with many tremendous oaths, that he would certainly cut the 
 young man's throat the very first opportunity. 
 
 " He shall not want it, then," replied Leonard, contemptuously; 
 " neither shall he lack a second application of my cudgel, when 
 we meet. But what of his companion ? What did he say?" 
 
 " He laughed heartily at the other's complaints," returned the 
 watchman ; " and told him to make himself easy, for he should 
 soon have his revenge. 'To-morrow night,' he said, f we will 
 carry off Amabel, in spite of the apprentice or her father ; and, 
 as I am equally indebted with yourself to the latter, we will pay 
 off old scores with him.' " 
 
 " How do they intend to effect their purpose ?" demanded 
 Leonard. 
 
 " That I cannot precisely tell," replied the watchman. (t All 
 I could hear was, that they meant to enter the house by the 
 back-yard about midnight. And now, if you will make it worth 
 my while, I will help you to catch them in their own trap." 
 
 " Hum !" said Leonard. " What is your name ?" 
 
 " Gregor} 7 Swindlehurst," replied the other. 
 
 " To help me, you must keep watch with me to-night," rejoined 
 Leonard. " Can you do so ?" 
 
 "I see nothing to hinder me, provided I am paid for my 
 trouble," replied Gregory. "I will find some one to take my 
 place at Mr. Brackley's. At what hour shall I come ?" 
 
 " Soon after ten," said Leonard. " Be at the shop-door, and 
 I will let you in." 
 
 " Count upon me," rejoined Gregory, a smile of satisfaction 
 illumining his ill-favoured countenance. " Shall I bring a com- 
 
THE TWO WATCHMEN. 103 
 
 rade with me? I know a trusty fellow who would like the job. 
 If Lord Rochester should have his companions with him, assist- 
 ance will be required." 
 
 "True," replied Leonard. "Is your comrade a watchman, 
 like yourself?" 
 
 " He is an old soldier, who has been lately employed to keep 
 guard over infected houses," replied Gregory. " We must take 
 care his lordship does not overreach us." 
 
 " If he gets into the house without my knowledge, I will 
 forgive him," replied the apprentice. 
 
 " lie wont get into it without mine," muttered Gregory, sig- 
 nificantly. "But do you not mean to warn Mistress Amabel ol 
 her danger?" 
 
 "I shall consider of it," replied the apprentice. 
 
 At this moment Mr. Bloundel entered the shop, and Leonard, 
 feigning to supply his companion with a small packet of grocery, 
 desired him, in a low tone, to be punctual to his appointment, 
 and dismissed him. In justice to the apprentice, it must be 
 stated, that he had no wish for concealment, but was most 
 anxious to acquaint his master with the information he had just 
 obtained, and was only deterred from doing so by a dread of the 
 consequences it might produce to Amabel. 
 
 The evening passed off much as usual. The family assembled 
 at prayer ; and Blaize, whose shoulders still ached with the 
 chastisement he had received, eyed the apprentice with sullen 
 and revengeful looks. Patience, too, was equally angry, and 
 her indignation was evinced in a manner so droll, that at another 
 season it would have drawn a smile from Leonard. 
 
 Supper over, Amabel left the room. Leonard followed her, 
 and overtook her on the landing of the stairs. 
 
 " Amabel," he said, " I have received certain intelligence that 
 the Earl of Rochester will make another attempt to enter the 
 house, and carry you off to-night." 
 
 " Oh ! when will he cease from persecuting me ?" she cried. 
 
 " When you cease to encourage him," replied the apprentice, 
 bitterly. 
 
 "I do not encourage him, Leonard," she rejoined, "and to 
 prove that I do not, I will act in any way you think proper to- 
 night." 
 
 " If I could trust you," said Leonard, " you might be of the 
 greatest service in convincing the earl that his efforts are fruit- 
 less." 
 
 "You may trust me," she rejoined. 
 
 " Well, then," returned Leonard, " when the family have 
 retired to rest, come down stairs, and I will tell you what to do." 
 
 Hastily promising compliance, Amabel disappeared; and Leo- 
 nard ran down the stairs, at the foot of which he encountered 
 Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
104 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 '•'What is the matter?" she asked. 
 
 "Nothing — nothing," replied the apprentice, evasively. 
 
 " That will not serve my turn," she rejoined. " Something, I 
 am certain, troubles you, though you do not choose to confess it. 
 Heaven grant your anxiety is not occasioned by aught relating 
 to that wicked Earl of Rochester. I cannot sleep in my bed for 
 thinking of him. I noticed that you followed Amabel out of the 
 room. I hope you do not suspect anything?" 
 
 " Do not question me further, madam, I entreat," returned 
 the apprentice. "Whatever I may suspect, I have taken all 
 needful precautions. Rest easy, and sleep soundly, if you can. 
 All will go well." 
 
 "I shall never rest easy, Leonard," rejoined Mrs. Bloundel, 
 " till you are wedded to my daughter. Then, indeed, I shall 
 feel happy. My poor child, I am sure, is fully aware how indis- 
 creet her conduct has been ; and when this noble libertine desists 
 from annoying her — or rather, when he is effectually shut out — 
 we may hope for a return of her regard for you." 
 
 "It is a vain hope, madam," replied Leonard; "there will be 
 no such return. I neither expect it, nor desire it." 
 
 " Have you ceased to love her ?" asked Mrs. Bloundel, in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Ceased to love her I" echoed Leonard, fiercely. " Would I 
 had done so 1 — would I could do so ! I love her too well, — too 
 well." 
 
 And repeating the words to himself with great bitterness, he 
 hurried away. 
 
 " His passion has disturbed his brain," sighed Mrs. Bloundel, 
 as she proceeded to her chamber. " I must try to reason him 
 into calmness to-morrow." 
 
 Half an hour after this, the grocer retired for the night ; and 
 Leonard, who had gone to his own room, cautiously opened the 
 door, and repaired to the shop. On the way, he met Amabel. 
 She looked pale as death, and trembled so violently, that she 
 could scarcely support herself. 
 
 " I hope you do not mean to use any violence towards the 
 earl, Leonard?" she said, in a supplicating voice. 
 
 " He will never repeat his visit," rejoined the apprentice, 
 gloomily. 
 
 "Your looks terrify me," cried Amabel, gazing with great 
 uneasiness at his stern and determined countenance. "I will 
 remain by you. He will depart at my bidding." 
 
 "Did he depart at your bidding before?" demanded Leonard, 
 sarcastically. 
 
 "He did not, I grant," she replied, more supplicatingly than, 
 before. " But do not harm him — for mercy's sake, do not — take 
 toy life sooner. I, alone, have offended you." 
 
 The apprentice made no reply, but unlocking a box, took out 
 
THE TWO WATCHMEN. 105 
 
 a brace of large horse-pistols and a sword, and thrust them into 
 his girdle. 
 
 "You do not mean to use those murderous weapons?" cried 
 Amabel. 
 
 "It depends on circumstances," replied Leonard. "Force 
 must be met by force." 
 
 " Nay, then." she rejoined, " the affair assumes too serious an 
 aspect to be trifled with. I will instantly alarm my father." 
 
 " Do so," retorted Leonard, " and he will cast you off for ever." 
 
 "Better that than be the cause of bloodshed," she returned. 
 "But is there nothing I can do to prevent this fatal result?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Leonard. " Make your lover understand he is 
 unwelcome to you. Dismiss him for ever. On that condition, 
 he shall depart unharmed and freely." 
 
 " I will do so," she rejoined. 
 
 Nothing more was then said. Amabel seated herself and kept 
 her eyes fixed on Leonard, who, avoiding her regards, stationed 
 himself near the door. 
 
 By-and-by, a slight tap was heard without, and the apprentice 
 cautiously admitted Gregory Swindlehurst and his comrade. 
 The latter was habited like the other watchman, in a blue night 
 rail, and was armed with a halbert. He appeared much stouter, 
 much older, and so far as could be discovered of his features — 
 for a large handkerchief muffled his face — much uglier (if that 
 were possible) than his companion. He answered to the name 
 of Bernard Boutefeu. They had no sooner entered the shop 
 than Leonard locked the door. 
 
 " Who are these persons ?" asked x\mabel, rising in great 
 alarm. 
 
 " Two watchmen whom I have hired to guard the house," 
 replied Leonard. 
 
 " We are come to protect you, fair mistress," said Gregory, 
 "and, if need be, to cut the Earl of Rochester's throat." 
 
 " Oh heavens !" exclaimed Amabel. 
 
 "Ghost of Tarquin 1" cried Boutefeu, "we'll teach him to 
 break into the houses of quiet citizens, and attempt to carry off 
 their daughters against their will. By the soul of Dick Whit- 
 tington, Lord Mayor of London! we'll maul and mangle him." 
 
 " Silence ! Bernard Boutefeu," interposed Gregory. " You 
 frighten Mistress Amabel by your strange oaths." 
 
 " I should be sorry to do that," replied Boutefeu — " I only 
 wish to show my zeal for her. Don't be afraid of the Earl of 
 Rochester, fair mistress. With all his audacity, he wont dare to 
 enter the house when he finds we are there." 
 
 " Is it your pleasure that we should thrust a halbert through 
 his body, or lodge a bullet in his brain ?" asked Gregory, ap- 
 pealing to Amabel. 
 
 " Touch him not, I beseech you," she rejoined. " Leonard, I 
 
106 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 have your promise that, if I can prevail upon him to depart, you 
 will not molest him." 
 
 " You have," he replied. 
 
 " You hear that," she observed to the watchmen. 
 
 " We are all obedience," said Gregory. 
 
 "Bless your tender heart!" cried Boutefeu, "we would not 
 pain you for the world." 
 
 " A truce to this," said Leonard. " Come to the yard, we 
 will wait for him there." 
 
 " I will go with you," cried Amabel. " If any harm should 
 befal him, I should never forgive myself." 
 
 " Remember what I told you," rejoined Leonard, sternly, " it 
 depends upon yourself whether he leaves the house alive." 
 
 " Heed him not," whispered Gregory. " I and my comrade 
 will obey no one but you." 
 
 Amabel could not repress an exclamation of surprise. 
 
 " What are you muttering, sirrah?" demanded Leonard, angrily. 
 
 " Only that the young lady may depend on our fidelity," replied 
 Gregory. " There can be no offence in that. Come with us," he 
 whispered to Amabel. 
 
 The latter part of his speech escaped Leonard, but the tone in 
 which it was uttered was so significant, that Amabel, who began 
 to entertain new suspicions, hesitated. 
 
 " You must come," said Leonard, seizing her hand. 
 
 " The fault be his, not mine," murmured Amabel, as she 
 suffered herself to be drawn along. 
 
 The party then proceeded noiselessly towards the yard. On 
 the way, Amabel felt a slight pressure on her arm, but, afraid of 
 alarming Leonard, she made no remark. 
 
 The back-door was opened, and the little group stood in the 
 darkness. They had not long to wait. Before they had been in 
 the yard five minutes, a noise was heard of footsteps and muttered 
 voices in the entry. This was followed by a sound like that 
 occasioned by fastening a rope-ladder against the wall, and the 
 next moment two figures were perceived above it. After dropping 
 the ladder into the yard, these persons, the foremost of whom the 
 apprentice concluded was the Earl of Rochester, descended. 
 They had no sooner touched the ground than Leonard, drawing 
 his pistols, advanced towards them. 
 
 " You are my prisoner, my lord," he said, in a stern voice, " and 
 shall not depart with life, unless you pledge your word never to 
 come hither again on the same errand." 
 
 " Betrayed !" cried the earl, laying his hand upon his sword. 
 
 " Resistance is in vain, my lord," rejoined Leonard. " I am 
 better armed than yourself." 
 
 " Will nothing bribe you to silence, fellow ?" cried the earl. 
 " I will give you a thousand pounds, if you will hold your tongue, 
 and conduct me to my mistress." 
 
THE TWO WATCHMEN. 107 
 
 " I can scarcely tell what stays my hand," returned Leonard, in 
 a furious tone. " But I will hold no further conversation with 
 you. Amabel is present, and will give you your final dismissal 
 herself." 
 
 " If I receive it from her own lips," replied the earl, " I will 
 instantly retire — but not otherwise." 
 
 " Amabel," said Leonard, in a low tone to her, " you hear what 
 is said. Fulfil your promise." 
 
 " Do so," cried a voice, which she instantly recognised, in her 
 car — " I am near you." 
 
 " Ah !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Do you hesitate ?" cried the apprentice, sternly. 
 
 *' My lord," said Amabel, in a faint voice, " I must pray you 
 to retire. Your efforts are in vain. I will never fly with you." 
 
 " That will not suffice," whispered Leonard ; " you must tell 
 him you no longer love him." 
 
 "Hear me," pursued Amabel; "you who present yourself as 
 Lord Rochester, I entertain no affection for you, and never wish 
 to behold you again." 
 
 " Enough !" cried Leonard. 
 
 " Admirable !" whispered Gregory. " Nothing could be 
 better." 
 
 " Well," cried the supposed earl, "since I no longer hold a 
 place in your affections, it would be idle to pursue the matter 
 further. Heaven be praised, there are other damsels quite as 
 beautiful, though not so cruel. Farewell, for ever, Amabel." 
 
 So saying he mounted the ladder, and, followed by his com- 
 panion, disappeared on the other side. 
 
 " He is gone," said Leonard, " and I hope for ever. Now let 
 us return to the house." 
 
 " I am coming," rejoined Amabel. 
 
 " Let him go," whispered Gregory. " The ladder is still upon 
 the wall. We will climb it." 
 
 And as the apprentice moved towards the house, he tried to 
 drag her in that direction. 
 
 " I cannot, — will not, fly thus," she cried. 
 
 "What is the matter?" exclaimed Leonard, suddenly turning. 
 
 " Further disguise is useless," replied the supposed Gregory 
 Swindlehurst. " I am the Earl of Rochester. The other was a 
 counterfeit." 
 
 " Ah 1" exclaimed Leonard, rushing towards them, and placing 
 a pistol against the breast of his mistress. " Have I been duped ? 
 But it is not yet too late to retrieve my error. Move a foot 
 further, my lord, — and do you, Amabel, attempt to fly with him, 
 and I fire." 
 
 " You cannot mean this ?" cried Rochester. " Raise your hand 
 against the woman you love ?" 
 
 " Against the woman who forgets her duty, and the libertine 
 
108 old saint Paul's. 
 
 who tempts her, the arm that is raised is that of justice," replied 
 Leonard. " Stir another footstep, and I fire." 
 
 As he spoke, his arms were suddenly seized by a powerful grasp 
 from behind, and, striking the pistols from his hold, the earl 
 snatched up Amabel in his arms, and, mounting the ladder, made 
 good his retreat. 
 
 A long and desperate struggle took place between Leonard and 
 his assailant, who was no other than Pillichody, in his assumed 
 character of Bernard Boutefeu. But notwithstanding the superior 
 strength of the bully, and the advantage he had taken of the 
 apprentice, he was worsted in the end. 
 
 Leonard had no sooner extricated himself, than, drawing his 
 sword, he would have passed it through Pillichody's body, if the 
 latter had not stayed his hand by offering to tell him where he 
 would find his mistress, provided his life were spared. 
 
 " Where has the earl taken her ?" cried Leonard, scarcely able 
 to articulate from excess of passion. 
 
 " He meant to take her to Saint Paul's, — to the vaults below 
 the cathedral, to avoid pursuit," replied Pillichody. " I have no 
 doubt you will find her there." 
 
 "I will go there instantly and search," cried Leonard, rushing 
 up the ladder. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BLIND PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Scarcely knowing how he got there, Leonard Holt found 
 himself at the great northern entrance of the cathedral. Burning 
 with fury, he knocked at the door ; but no answer being returned 
 to the summons, though he repeated it still more loudly, he shook 
 the heavy latch with such violence as to rouse the sullen echoes of 
 the aisles. Driven almost to desperation, he retired a few paces, 
 and surveyed the walls of the vast structure, in the hope of 
 descrying some point by which he might obtain an entrance. 
 
 It was a bright moonlight night, and the reverend pile looked 
 so beautiful, that, under any other frame of mind, Leonard must 
 have been struck with admiration. The ravages of time could 
 not now be discerned, and the architectural incongruities which, 
 seen in the broad glare of day, would have offended the eye of 
 taste, were lost in the general grand effect. On the left ran the 
 magnificent pointed windows of the choir, divided by massive 
 buttresses, — the latter ornamented with crocketed pinnacles. On 
 the right, the building had been new faced, and its original 
 character, in a great measure, destroyed by the tasteless manner 
 in which the repairs had been executed. On this side, the lower 
 windows were round-headed and separated by broad pilasters, 
 
THE BLIND PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER. 109 
 
 while above them ran a range of small circular windows. At the 
 western angle was seen one of the towers (since imitated by 
 Wren), which flanked this side of the fane, together with a part 
 of the portico erected, about t\vent} r -five years previously, by 
 Inigo Jones, and which, though beautiful in itself, was totally 
 out of character with the edifice, and, in fact, a blemish to it. 
 
 Insensible alike to the beauties or defects of the majestic build 
 ing, and regarding it only as the prison of his mistress, Leonard 
 Holt scanned it carefully on either side. But his scrutiny was 
 attended with no favourable result. 
 
 Before resorting to force to obtain admission, he determined to 
 make the complete circuit of the structure, and with this view he 
 shaped his course towards the east. 
 
 He found two small doors on the left of the northern transept, 
 but both were fastened, and the low pointed windows beneath the 
 choir, lighting the subterranean church of Saint Faith's, were all 
 barred. Running on, he presently came to a flight of stone steps 
 at the north-east corner of the choir, leading to a portal opening 
 upon a small chapel dedicated to Saint George. But this was 
 secured like the others, and thinking it vain to waste time in trying 
 to force it, he pursued his course. 
 
 Skirting the eastern extremity of the fane — then the most 
 beautiful part of the structure, from its magnificent rose-window 
 — he speeded past the low windows which opened on this side, 
 as on the other upon Saint Faith's, and did not pause till he 
 came to the great southern portal, the pillars and arch of which 
 differed but slightly in character from those of the northern 
 entrance. 
 
 Here he knocked as before, and was answered, as on the former 
 occasion, by sullen echoes from within. When these sounds died 
 away, he placed his ear to the huge key-hole in the wicket, but 
 could not even catch the fall of a footstep. Neither could he 
 perceive any light, except that afforded by the moonbeams, which 
 flooded the transept with radiance. 
 
 Again hurrying on, he passed the cloister-walls surrounding 
 the Convocation House ; tried another door between that build- 
 ing and the church of Saint Gregory, — a small fane attached to 
 the larger structure ; and failing in opening it, turned the corner 
 and approached the portico, — the principal entrance to the cathe- 
 dral being then, as now, on the west. 
 
 Erected, as before-mentioned, from the designs of the cele- 
 brated Inigo Jones, this magnificent colonnade was completed 
 about 1640, at which time preparations were made for repairing 
 the cathedral throughout, and for strengthening the tower, for 
 enabling it to support a new spire. But this design, owing to the 
 disorganized state of affairs, was never carried into execution. 
 
 At the time of the commonwealth, while the interior of the 
 sacred fabric underwent every sort of desecration and mutilation, 
 
110 old saint paul's. 
 
 — while stones were torn from the pavement, and monumental 
 brasses from tombs, — while carved stalls were burnt, and statues 
 plucked from their niches, — a similar fate attended the portico. 
 Shops were built beneath it, and the sculptures ornamenting its 
 majestic balustrade were thrown down. 
 
 Amongst other obstructions, it appears that there was " a high 
 house in the north angle, which hindered the masons from repair- 
 that part of it." The marble door-cases, the capitals, cornices, 
 and pillars were so much injured by the fires made against them 
 that it required months to put them in order. At the Restoration, 
 Sir John Denham, the poet, was appointed surveyor-general of 
 the works, and continued to hold the office at the period of this 
 history. 
 
 As Leonard drew near the portico, he perceived, to his surprise, 
 that a large concourse of people was collected in the area in front 
 of it ; and, rushing forward, he found the assemblage listening to 
 the denunciations of Solomon Eagle, who was standing in the 
 midst of them with his brasier on his head. The enthusiast ap- 
 peared more than usually excited. He was tossing aloft his arms 
 in a wild and frenzied manner, and seemed to be directing his 
 menaces against the cathedral itself. 
 
 Hoping to obtain assistance from the crowd, Leonard resolved 
 to await a fitting period to address them. Accordingly, he joined 
 them, and listened to the discourse of the enthusiast. 
 
 " Hear me !" cried the latter, in a voice of thunder. " I had a 
 vision last night and will relate it to you. During my brief slum- 
 bers, I thought I was standing on this very spot, and gazing as 
 now upon yon mighty structure. On a sudden the day became 
 overcast, and ere long it grew pitchy dark. Then was heard a 
 noise of rushing wings in the air, and I could just discern many 
 strange figures hovering above the tower, uttering doleful cries 
 and lamentations. All at once, these figures disappeared, and 
 gave place to, — or, it may be, were chased away by others of more 
 hideous appearanee. The latter brought lighted brands, which 
 they hurled against the sacred fabric, and, in an instant, flames 
 burst forth from it on all sides. My brethren, it was a fearful, 
 yet a glorious sight to see that vast pile wrapped in the devouring 
 element 1 The flames were so vivid — so intense — that I could 
 not bear to look upon them, and I covered my face with my hands. 
 On raising my eyes again, the flames were extinguished, but the 
 building was utterly in ruins — its columns cracked — its tower 
 hurled from its place — its ponderous roof laid low. It was a 
 mournful spectacle, and a terrible proof of the divine wrath 
 and vengeance. Yes, my brethren, the temple of the Lord has 
 been profaned, and it will be razed to the ground. It has been 
 the scene of abomination and impiety, and must be purified by 
 fire. Theft, murder, sacrilege, and every other crime have been 
 committed within its walls, and its destruction will follow. The 
 
THE BLIND PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER. Ill 
 
 ministers of heaven's vengeance are even now hovering above it. 
 Repent, therefore, ye who listen to me, and repent speedily; for 
 sudden death, plague, fire, and famine are at hand. As the 
 prophet Amos saith, * The Lord will send a fire, the Lord will 
 commission a fire, the Lord will kindle a fire ;' and the fire so 
 commissioned and so kindled shall consume you and your city; 
 nor shall one stone of those walls be left standing on another. 
 Repent or burn, for he cometh to judge the earth. Repent or 
 burn, I say 1" 
 
 As soon as he concluded, Leonard Holt ran up the steps of 
 the portico, and in a loud voice claimed the attention of the 
 crowd. 
 
 " Solomon Eagle is right," he cried ; " the vengeance of heaven 
 will descend upon this fabric, since it continues to be the scene of 
 so much wickedness. Even now, it forms the retreat of a profli- 
 gate nobleman, who has this night forcibly carried off the daughter 
 of a citizen." 
 
 " What nobleman ?" cried a bystander. 
 
 " The Earl of Rochester," replied Leonard. " He has robbed 
 Stephen Bloundel, the grocer of Wood-street, of his daughter, 
 and has concealed her, to avoid pursuit, in the vaults of the 
 cathedral." 
 
 " I know Mr. Bloundel well," rejoined the man who had made 
 the inquiry, and whom Leonard recognised as a hosier named 
 Lamplugh, <( and I know the person who addresses us. It is his 
 apprentice. We must restore the damsel to her father, friends." 
 
 " Agreed," cried several voices. 
 
 " Knock at the door," cried a man, whose occupation of a smith 
 was proclaimed by his leathern apron, brawny chest, and smoke 
 begrimed visage, as well as by the heavy hammer which he bore 
 upon his shoulder. " If it is not instantly opened, we will break 
 it down. I have an implement here which will soon do the 
 business." 
 
 A rush was then made to the portal, which rang with the heavy 
 blows dealt against it. While this was passing, Solomon Eagle, 
 whose excitement was increased by the tumult, planted himself in 
 the centre of the colonnade, and vociferated — " I speak in the 
 words of the prophet Ezekiel : — ' Thou hast defiled thy sanc- 
 tuaries by the multitude of thine iniquities, by the iniquity of 
 thy traffic. Therefore will I bring forth a fire from the midst of 
 thee, and will bring thee to ashes upon the earth, in the sight ol 
 all them that behold thee !' " 
 
 The crowd continued to batter the door until they were checked 
 by Lamplugh, who declared he heard some one approaching, and 
 the next moment, the voice of one of the vergers inquired in 
 trembling tones who they were, and what they wanted ? 
 
 " No matter who we are," replied Leonard, "we demand admit- 
 tance to search for a young female who has been taken from her 
 
112 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 home by the Earl of Rochester, and is now concealed within the 
 vaults of the cathedral." 
 
 " If admittance is refused us, we will soon let ourselves in," 
 vociferated Lamplugh. 
 
 " Ay, that we will," added the smith. 
 
 " You are mistaken, friends," returned the verger, timorously. 
 " The Earl of Rochester is not here." 
 
 " We will not take your word for it," rejoined the smith. 
 " This will show you we are not to be trifled with." 
 
 So saying, he raised his hammer, and struck such a tremendous 
 blow against the door that the bolts started in their sockets. 
 
 u Hold ! hold !" cried the verger, " sooner than violence shall 
 be committed, I will risk your admission." 
 
 And he unfastened the door. 
 
 " Keep together," shouted the smith, stretching out his arms to 
 oppose the progress of the crowd. " Keep together, I say." 
 
 " Ay, ay, keep together," added Lamplugh, seconding his 
 efforts. 
 
 " Conduct us to the Earl of Rochester, and no harm shall befal 
 you," cried Leonard, seizing the verger by the collar. 
 
 " I tell you I know nothing about him," replied the man. " He 
 is not here." 
 
 " It is false ! you are bribed to silence," rejoined the apprentice. 
 " We will search till we find him." 
 
 " Search where you please," rejoined the verger; "and if you 
 do find him, do what you please with me." 
 
 " Don't be afraid of that, friend," replied the smith ; " we will 
 hang you and the earl to the same pillar," 
 
 By this time, the crowd had pushed aside the opposition offered 
 by the smith and Lamplugh. Solomon Eagle darted along the 
 nave with lightning swiftness, and mounting the steps leading to 
 the choir, disappeared from view. Some few persons followed 
 him, while others took their course along the aisles. But the 
 majority kept near the apprentice. 
 
 Snatching the lamp from the grasp of the verger, Leonard Holt 
 ran on with his companions till they came to the beautiful chapel 
 built by Thomas Kempe, Bishop of London. The door was open, 
 and the apprentice, holding the light forward, perceived there 
 were persons inside. He was about to enter the chapel, when a 
 small spaniel rushed forth, and, barking furiously, held him in 
 check for a moment. Alarmed by the noise, an old man in a 
 tattered garb, and a young female, who were slumbering on 
 benches in the chapel, immediately started to their feet, and ad- 
 -oviopr} towards them. 
 
 " V'» e aw mistaken," said Lamplugh, " this is only Mike 
 Macascree, the blind piper, and his daughter Nizza. I know 
 them well enough." 
 
 Leonard was about to proceed with his search, but a slight cir 
 
THE BLIND PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER. lib 
 
 cumstance detained him for a few minutes ; daring which time 
 he had sufficient leisure to note the extraordinary personal attrac- 
 tions of Nizza Macascree. 
 
 In age she appeared about seventeen, and differed in the cha- 
 racter of her beaut}', as well as in the natural gracefulness of 
 her carriage and demeanour, from all the persons he had seen in 
 her humble sphere of life. Her featiu-es were small, and of the 
 utmost delicacy. She had a charmingly-formed nose — slightly 
 ••etrousse — a small mouth, garnished with pearl-like teeth, and 
 lips as fresh and ruddy as the dew-steeped rose. Her skin was as 
 dark as a gipsy's, but clear and transparent, and far more attractive 
 than the fairest complexion. Her eyes were luminous as the 
 stars, and black as midnight; while her raven tresses, gathered 
 beneath a spotted kerchief tied round her head, escaped in many 
 a wanton curl down her shoulders. Her figure was slight, but 
 exquisitely proportioned ; and she had the smallest foot and ankle 
 that ever fell to the lot of woman. Her attire was far from unbe- 
 coming, though of the coarsest material ; and her fairy feet were 
 set off by the daintiest shoes and hose. Such was the singular 
 and captivating creature that attracted the apprentice's attention. 
 
 Her father, Mike Macascree, was upwards of sixty, but still in 
 the full vigour of life, with features, which, though not ill-looking, 
 bore no particular resemblance to those of his daughter. He had 
 a good-humoured, jovial countenance, the mirthful expression of 
 which even his slightless orbs could not destroy. Long white 
 locks descended upon his shoulders, and a patriarchal beard 
 adorned his chin. He was wrapped in a loose gray gown, patched 
 with different coloured cloths, and supported himself with a staff. 
 His pipe was suspended from his neck by a green worsted cord. 
 
 " Lie down, Bell," he cried to his dog ; " what are you barking 
 at thus ? Lie down, I say." 
 
 " Something is the matter, father," replied Nizza. " The 
 church is full of people." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed the piper. 
 
 " We are sorry to disturb you," said Leonard. " But we are 
 n search of a nobleman who has run away with a citizen's 
 daughter, and conveyed her to the cathedral, and we thought 
 they might have taken refuge in this chapel." 
 
 " No one is here, except myself and daughter," replied the 
 piper. " We are allowed this lodging by Mr. Quatremain, the 
 minor-canon." 
 
 " All dogs are ordered to be destroyed by the Lord Mayor," 
 cried the smith, seizing Bell by the neck. " This noisy animal 
 must be silenced." 
 
 " Oh no ! do not hurt her!" cried Nizza. " My father loves 
 poor Bell almost as well as he loves me. She is necessary to his 
 existence. You must not — will not destroy her 1" 
 
 " Wont I ?" replied the smith, gruffly ; — " we'll see that." 
 
 I 
 
JLJ it OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 "But wt are not afraid of contagion, are we, father ?" cried 
 Nizza, appealing to the piper. 
 
 " Not in the least," replied Mike, " and we will take care the 
 poor beast touches no one else. Do not harm her, sir, — for 
 pity's sake, do not. I should miss her sadly." 
 
 " The Lord Mayor's commands must be obeyed," rejoined the 
 smith, brutally. 
 
 As if conscious of the fate awaiting her, poor Bell struggled 
 hard to get free, and uttered a piteous yell. 
 
 "You are not going to kill the dog?" interposed Leonard. 
 
 " Have you anything to say to the contrary ?" rejoined the 
 smith, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to put an end to 
 further interference. 
 
 " Only this," replied Leonard, " that I will not allow it." 
 
 "You wont — eh!" returned the smith, derisively. 
 
 " I will not," rejoined Leonard, " so put her down and come 
 along." 
 
 " Go your own way," replied the smith, " and leave me to 
 mine." 
 
 Leonard answered by snatching Bell suddenly from his grasp. 
 Thus liberated, the terrified animal instantly flew to her mistress. 
 
 "Is this the return I get for assisting you?" cried the smith, 
 savagely. u You are bewitched by a pair of black eyes. But 
 you will repent your folly." 
 
 " I shall never forget your kindness," replied Nizza, clasping 
 Bell to her bosom, and looking gratefully at the apprentice. 
 " You say you are in search of a citizen's daughter and a noble- 
 man. About half an hour ago, or scarcely so much, I was 
 awakened by the opening of the door of the southern transept, 
 and peeping out, I saw three persons, — a young man in the dress 
 of a watchman, but evidently disguised, and a very beautiful 
 young woman, conducted by Judith Malmayns, bearing a lantern, 
 — pass through the doorway leading to Saint Faith's. Perhaps, 
 they are the very persons you are in search of." 
 
 " They are," returned Leonard ; " and you have repaid me a 
 hundred-fold for the slight service I have rendered you by the 
 information. We will instantly repair to the vaults. Come 
 along." 
 
 Accompanied by the whole of the assemblage, except the 
 smith, who skulked off in the opposite direction, he passed 
 through the low doorway on the right of the choir, and descended 
 to Saint Faith's. The subterranean church was buried in pro- 
 found darkness, and apparently wholly untenanted. On reach- 
 ing the charnel, they crossed it, and tried the door of the vault 
 formerly occupied by the sexton. It was fastened, but Leonard 
 knocking violently against it, it was soon opened by Judith 
 Malmayns, who appeared much surprised, and not a little 
 alarmed, at the sight of so many persons. She was not alone 
 
THE BLIND PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER. 115 
 
 and her companion was Chowles. He was seated at a table, on 
 which stood a flask of brandy and a couple of glasses, and 
 seemed a good deal confused at being caught in such a situation, 
 though he endeavoured to cover his embarrassment by an air of 
 effrontery. 
 
 '•Where is the Earl of Rochester — where is Amabel?" de- 
 manded Leonard Holt. 
 
 " I know nothing about either of them," replied Judith. 
 "Why do 3 7 ou put these questions to me?" 
 
 " Because you admitted them to the cathedral," cried the ap- 
 prentice, furiously; "and because } 7 ou have concealed them. If 
 you do not instantly guide me to their retreat, I will make you a 
 terrible example to all such evil-doers in future." 
 
 "If you think to frighten me by your violence, you are mis- 
 taken," returned Judith, boldly. " Mr. Chowles has been here 
 more than two hours. Ask him whether he has seen any one." 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Chowlcs. " There is no Amabel — 
 no Earl of Rochester here. You must be dreaming, young 
 man." 
 
 " The piper's daughter affirmed the contrary," replied Leonard. 
 ** She said she saw this woman admit them." 
 
 " She lies," replied Judith, fiercely. But suddenly altering 
 her tone, she continued, " If I had admitted them, you would 
 find them here." 
 
 Leonard looked round uneasily. He was but half convinced, 
 and yet he scarcely knew what to think. 
 
 " If you doubt what I say to you," continued Judith. "I will 
 take you to every chamber in the cathedral. You will then be 
 satisfied that I speak the truth. But I will not have this mob 
 with me. Your companions must remain here." 
 
 " Ay, stop with me and make yourselves comfortable," cried 
 Chowles. " You are not so much used to these places as I am. 
 I prefer a snug crypt, like this, to the best room in a tavern — 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 Attended by Judith, Leonard Holt searched every corner of 
 the subterranean church, except the vestry, the door of which 
 was locked, and the key removed ; but without success. They 
 then ascended to the upper structure, and visited the choir, the 
 transepts, and the nave, but with no better result. 
 
 " If you still think they are here," said Judith, " we will mount 
 to the summit of the tower ?" 
 
 " I will never quit the cathedral without them," replied 
 Leonard. 
 
 " Come on, then," returned Judith. 
 
 So saying, she opened a door in the wall on the left of the 
 choir, and ascending a winding stone staircase to a considerable 
 height, arrived at a small cell contrived within the thickness of 
 the wall, and desired Leonard to search it. The apprentice 
 
 ii 
 
116 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 unsuspectingly obeyed. But he had scarcely set foot inside 
 when the door was locked behind him, and he was made aware 
 of the treachery practised upon him by a peal of mocking laughter 
 from his conductress. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OLD LONDON FROM OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 After repeated, but ineffectual efforts to burst open the door, 
 Leonard gave up the attempt in despair, and endeavoured to 
 make his situation known by loud outcries. But his shouts, if 
 heard, were unheeded, and he was soon compelled from exhaus- 
 tion to desist. Judith having carried away the lantern, he was 
 left in total darkness ; but on searching the cell, which was about 
 four feet wide and six deep, he discovered a narrow grated loop- 
 hole. By dint of great exertion, and with the help of his sword, 
 which snapped in twain as he used it, he managed to force off 
 one of the rusty bars, and to squeeze himself through the aper- 
 ture. All his labour, however, was thrown away. The loophole 
 opened on the south side of the tower, near one of the large 
 buttresses, which projected several yards beyond it on the left, 
 and was more than twenty feet above the roof; so that it would 
 be certain destruction to drop from so great a height. 
 
 The night was overcast, and the moon hidden behind thick 
 clouds. Still, there was light enough to enable him to discern 
 the perilous position in which he stood. After gazing below for 
 some time, Leonard was about to return to the cell, when, casting 
 his eyes upwards, he thought he perceived the end of a rope 
 about a foot above his head, dangling from the upper part of the 
 structure. No sooner was this discovery made, than it occurred 
 to him that he might possibly liberate himself by this unlooked- 
 for aid ; and, regardless of the risk he ran, he sprang upwards 
 and caught hold of the rope. It was firmly fastened above, and 
 sustained his weight well. 
 
 Possessed of great bodily strength and activity, and nerved by 
 desperation, Leonard Holt placed his feet against the buttress, 
 and impelled himself towards one of the tall pointed windows 
 lighting the interior of the tower ; but though he reached the 
 point at which he aimed, the sway of the rope dragged him back 
 before he could obtain a secure grasp of the stone shaft; and, 
 after another ineffectual effort, fearful of exhausting his strength, 
 he abandoned the attempt, and began to climb up the rope with 
 his hands and knees. Aided b}' the inequalities of the roughened 
 walls, he soon gained a range of small Saxon arches ornamenting 
 the tower immediately beneath the belfry, and succeeded io 
 
OLD LONDON FROM OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 117 
 
 planting his rightfooton the moulding of one of them ; he instantly 
 steadied himself, and with little further effort clambered through 
 an open window. 
 
 His first act on reaching the belfry, was to drop on his knees, 
 and return thanks to Heaven for his deliverance. He then 
 looked about for an outlet; but though a winding staircase 
 existed in each of the four angles of the tower, all the doors, to 
 his infinite disappointment, were fastened on the other side. He 
 was still, therefore, a prisoner. 
 
 Determined, however, not to yield to despair, he continued his 
 search, and finding a small door opening upon a staircase com- 
 municating with the summit of the tower, he unfastened it (for 
 the bolt was on his own side,) and hurried up the steps. Pass- 
 ing through another door bolted like the first within side, he 
 issued upon the roof. He was now on the highest part of the 
 cathedral, and further from his hopes than ever, and so agonizing 
 were his feelings, that he almost felt tempted to fling himself 
 headlong downwards. Beneath him lay the body of the mighty 
 fabric, its vast roof, its crocketcd pinnacles, its buttresses and 
 battlements scarcely discernible through the gloom, but looking 
 like some monstrous engine devised to torture him. 
 
 Wearied with gazing at it, and convinced of the futility of any 
 further attempt at descent, Leonard Holt returned to the belfry, 
 and throwing himself on the boarded floor sought some repose. 
 The fatigue he had undergone was so great, that, notwithstand- 
 ing his anxiety, he soon dropped asleep, and did not awake for 
 several hours. On opening his eyes, it was just getting light, 
 and shaking himself, he again prepared for action. All the 
 events of the night rushed upon his mind, and he thought with 
 unutterable anguish of Amabel's situation. Glancing round the 
 room, it occurred to him that he might give the alarm by ring- 
 ing the enormous bells near him ; but though he set them 
 slightly in motion, he could not agitate the immense clappers 
 sufficiently to produce any sound. 
 
 Resolved, however, to free himself at any hazard, he once 
 more repaired to the summit of the tower, and leaning over the 
 balustrade, gazed below. It was a sublime spectacle, and, in 
 spite of his distress, filled him with admiration and astonishment. 
 He had stationed himself on the south side of the tower, and 
 immediately beneath him lay the broad roof of the transept, 
 stretching out to a distance of nearly two hundred feet. On the 
 right, surrounded by a double row of cloisters, remarkable for 
 the beauty of their architecture, stood the convocation, or chapter- 
 house. This exquisite building was octagonal in form, and sup- 
 ported by large buttresses, ornamented on each gradation by 
 crocketed pinnacles. Each side, moreover, had a tall pointed 
 window, filled with stained glass, and was richly adorned with 
 'refoils and cinquefoils. Further on, on the same side, was the 
 
118 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 small low church dedicated to Saint Gregory, overtopped by the 
 6outh-western tower of the mightier parent fane. 
 
 It was not, however, the cathedral itself, but the magnificent 
 view it commanded, that chiefly attracted the apprentice's atten- 
 tion. From the elevated point on which he stood, his eye ranged 
 over a vast tract of country bounded by the Surrey hills, and at 
 last settled upon the river, which in some parts was obscured by 
 a light haze, and in others tinged with the ruddy beams of the 
 newly-risen sun. Its surface was spotted, even at this early hour, 
 with craft, while innumerable vessels of all shapes and sizes were 
 moored to its banks. On the left, he noted the tall houses 
 covering London Bridge ; and on the right, traced the sweeping 
 course of the stream as it flowed from Westminster. On this 
 hand, on the opposite bank, lay the flat marshes of Lambeth ; 
 while nearer stood the old bull-baiting and bear-baiting estab- 
 lishments, the flags above which could be discerned above the 
 tops of the surrounding habitations. A little to the left was the 
 borough of Southwark, even then a large and populous district 
 — the two most prominent features in the scene being Winchester- 
 house, and Saint Saviour's old and beautiful church. 
 
 Filled with wonder at what he saw, Leonard looked towards 
 the east, and here an extraordinary prospect met his gaze. The 
 whole of the city of London was spread out like a map before 
 him, and presented a dense mass of ancient houses, with 
 twisted chimneys, gables, and picturesque roofs — here and there 
 overtopped by a hall, a college, a hospital, or some other lofty 
 structure. This vast collection of buildings was girded in by 
 grey and mouldering walls, approached by seven gates, and 
 intersected by innumerable narrow streets. The spires and 
 towers of the churches shot up into the clear morning air, — for, 
 except in a few quarters, no smoke yet issued from the chimneys. 
 On this side, the view of the city was terminated by the fortifi- 
 cations and keep of the Tower. Little did the apprentice think, 
 when he looked at the magnificent scene before him — and mar- 
 velled at the countless buildings he beheld, that, ere fifteen 
 months had elapsed, the whole mass, together with the mighty 
 fabric on which he stood, would be swept away by a tremendous 
 conflagration. Unable to foresee this direful event, and lamenting 
 only that so fair a city should be a prey to an exterminating pes- 
 tilence, he turned towards the north, and suffered his gaze to> 
 wander over Finsbury fields, and the hilly ground beyond them 
 — over Smithfield and Clerkenwell, and the beautiful open 
 country adjoining Gray's-inn-lane. 
 
 So smiling and beautiful did these districts appear, that he 
 could scarcely fancy they were the chief haunts of the horrible 
 distemper. But he could not blind himself to the fact that in 
 Finsbury-fieldr, as well as in the open country to the north of 
 Holborn, plague-pits had been digged and pest-houses erected; 
 
OLD LONDON FROM OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 119 
 
 and this considei-ation threw such a gloom over the prospect, 
 that, in order to dispel the effect, he changed the scene by look- 
 ing towards the west. Here his view embraced all the proudest 
 mansions of the capital, and, tracing the Strand to Charing Cross, 
 long since robbed of the beautiful structure from which it derived 
 its name, and noticing its numerous noble habitations, his eye 
 finally rested upon Whitehall ; and he heaved a sigh as he 
 thought that the palace of the sovereign was infected by as foul 
 a moral taint as the hideous disease that ravaged the dwellings 
 of his subjects. 
 
 At the time that Leonard Holt gazed upon the capital, its 
 picturesque beauties were nearly at their close. In a little more 
 than a year-and-a-quarter afterwards, the greater part of the old 
 city was consumed by (ire; and though it was rebuilt, and in 
 many respects improved, its original and picturesque character 
 was entirely destroyed. 
 
 It seems scarcely possible to conceive a finer view than can be 
 gained from the dome of the modern cathedral at sunrise on a May 
 morning, when the prospect is not dimmed by the smoke of a 
 hundred thousand chimneys, — when the ri'ver is just beginning to 
 stir with its numerous craft, or when they are slcephig on its 
 glistening bosom, — when every individual house, court, church, 
 square, or theatre can be discerned, — when the eye can range 
 over the whole city on each side, and calculate its vast extent. 
 It seems scarcely possible, we say, to suppose at any previous time 
 it could be more striking, — and yet, at. the period under considera- 
 tion, it was incomparably more so. Then, every house was 
 picturesque, and every street a collection of picturesque objects. 
 Then, that which was objectionable in itself and contributed to 
 the insalubrity of the city, namely, the extreme narrowness of 
 the streets, and overhanging stories of the houses, was the main 
 source of their beauty. Then, the huge projecting signs with 
 their fantastical iron-work — the conduits — the crosses (where 
 crosses remained) — the maypoles — all were picturesque ; and as 
 superior to what can now be seen, as the attire of Charles the 
 Second's age is to the ugly and disfiguring costume of our own day. 
 
 Satiated with this glorious prospect, Leonard began to recur to 
 his own situation, and carefully scrutinizing every available point 
 on the side of the tower, he thought it possible to effect his descent 
 by clambering down the gradations of one of the buttresses. Still, 
 as this experiment would be attended with the utmost danger, 
 while, even if he reached the roof, he would yet be far from his 
 object, he resolved to defer it for a short time, in the hope that ere 
 long some of the bell-ringers, or other persons connected with the 
 cathedral, might come thither and set him free. 
 
 While thus communing with himself he heard a door open 
 below ; and hurrying down the stairs at the sound, he beheld to 
 bis great surprise and joy the piper's daughter, Nizza Macascree. 
 
120 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " I have searched for you everywhere," she cried, u and began 
 to think some ill had befallen you. I overheard Judith Malmayns 
 say she had shut you up in a cell in the upper part of the tower. 
 How did you escape thence ?" 
 
 Leonard hastily explained. 
 
 " I told you I should never forget the service you rendered me 
 in preserving the life of poor Bell," pursued Nizza, " and what I 
 have done will prove I am not unmindful of my promise. I saw 
 you search the cathedral last night with Judith, and noticed that 
 she returned from the tower unaccompanied by you. At first, I 
 supposed you might have left the cathedral without my observing 
 you, and I was further confirmed in the idea by what I subse- 
 quently heard." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Leonard. " What did you hear?" 
 
 "I followed Judith to the vaults of Saint Faith's," replied 
 Nizza, " and heard her inform your companions that you had 
 found the grocer's daughter, and had taken her away." 
 
 " And this false statement imposed upon them ?" cried Leonard. 
 
 " It did," replied Nizza. " They were by this time more than 
 half intoxicated by the brandy given them by Chowles, the coffin- 
 maker, and they departed in high dudgeon with you." 
 
 " No wonder," exclaimed Leonard. 
 
 "They had scarcely been gone many minutes," pursued Nizza, 
 " when, having stationed myself behind one of the massive pillars 
 in the north aisle of Saint Faith's — for I suspected something 
 was wrong — I observed Judith and Chowles steal across the nave, 
 and proceed towards the vestry. The former tapped at the door, 
 and they were instantly admitted by Mr. Quatremain, the minor- 
 canon. Hastening to the door, which was left slightly ajar, 1 
 perceived two young gallants, whom I heard addressed as the 
 Earl of Rochester and Sir George Etherege, and a young female, 
 whom I could not doubt was Amabel. The earl and his com- 
 panion laughed heartily at the trick Judith had played you, and 
 which the latter detailed to them ; but Amabel took no part in 
 their merriment, but, on the contrary, looked very grave, and even 
 wept" 
 
 " Wept, did she ?" cried Leonard, in a voice of much emotion. 
 " Then there is hope for her yet." 
 
 " You appear greatly interested in her ?" observed Nizza, 
 pausing in her narration. " Do you love her ?" 
 
 " Can you ask it ?" cried Leonard, passionately. 
 
 " I would advise you to think no more of her, and to fix 
 your heart elsewhere," returned Nizza. 
 
 " You know not what it is to love," replied the apprentice, " or 
 you would not offer such a counsel." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied Nizza ; " but I am sorry you have 
 bestowed your heart upon one who so little appreciates the 
 boon." 
 
OLD LONDON FROM OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 121 
 
 And feeling she had said too much, she blushed deeply, and 
 cast down her eyes. 
 
 Unconscious of her confusion, and entirely engrossed by the 
 thought of his mistress, Leonard urged her to proceed. 
 
 " Tell me what has become of Amabel — where I shall find her?" 
 he cried. 
 
 " You will find her soon enough," replied Nizza. " She has not 
 left the cathedral. But hear me to an end. On learning you 
 were made a prisoner, I ran to the door leading to the tower, but 
 found that Judith had locked it, and removed the key. Not 
 daring to give the alarm — for I had gathered from what was said 
 that the three vergers were in the earl's pay, — I determined to 
 await a favourable opportunity to release you. Accordingly, I 
 returned to the vestry-door, and again played the caves-dropper. 
 By this time, another person, who was addressed as Major Pilli- 
 chody, and who, it appeared, had been employed in the abduc- 
 tion, had joined the party. He informed the earl that Mr. 
 Bloundcl was in the greatest distress at his (laughter's disappear- 
 ance, and advised him to lose no time in conveying her to some 
 secure retreat. These tidings troubled Amabel exceedingly, and 
 the earl endeavoured to pacify her by promising to espouse her 
 at daybreak, and as soon as the ceremony was over, to introduce 
 her in the character of his countess to her parents." 
 
 " Villain I" cried Leonard ; " but go on." 
 
 " I have little more to tell," replied Nizza," except that she 
 consented to the proposal, provided she was allowed to remain 
 till six o'clock, the hour appointed for the marriage, with 
 Judith." 
 
 " Bad as that alternative is, it is better than the other," observed 
 Leonard. " But how did you procure the key of the winding 
 staircase ?" 
 
 " I fortunately observed where Judith had placed it," replied 
 Nizza, " and when she departed to the crypt, near the charnel, 
 with Amabel, I possessed myself of it. For some time I was 
 unable to use it, because the Earl of Rochester and Sir George 
 Etherege kept pacing to and fro in front of the door, and their 
 discourse convinced me that the marriage was meant to be a 
 feigned one, for Sir George strove to dissuade his friend from the 
 step he was about to take ; but the other only laughed at his 
 scruples. As soon as they retired, which is not more than half 
 an hour ago, I unlocked the door, and hurried up the winding 
 stairs. I searched every chamber, and began to think you were 
 gone, or that Judith's statement was false. But I resolved to 
 continue my search until I was fully satisfied on this point, 
 and accordingly ascended to the belfry. You are aware of the 
 result." 
 
 " You have rendered me a most important service," replied 
 Leonard ; " and I hope hereafter to prove my gratitude. But let 
 
722 old saint Paul's. 
 
 us now descend to the choir, where I will conceal myself till 
 Amabel appears. This marriage must be prevented." 
 
 Before quitting the belfry, Leonard chanced to cast his eyes oq 
 a stout staff left there, either by one of the bell-ringers or some 
 chance visitant, and seizing it as an unlooked for prize, he ran down 
 the steps, followed by the piper's daughter. 
 
 On opening the lowest door, he glanced towards the choir, and 
 there before the high altar stood Quatremain in his surplice, with 
 the earl and Amabel, attended by Etherege and Pillichody. The 
 ceremony had just commenced. Not a moment was to be lost. 
 Grasping his staff, the apprentice darted along the nave, and 
 rushing up to the pair, exclaimed, in a loud voice, " Hold ! I 
 forbid this marriage. It must not take place 1" 
 
 " Back, sirrah !" cried Etherege, drawing his sword, and oppos 
 ing the approach of the apprentice. " You have no authority to 
 interrupt it. Proceed, Mr. Quatremain." 
 
 " Forbear I" cried a voice of thunder near them — and all 
 turning at the cry, they beheld Solomon Eagle, with his brasier 
 on his head, issue from behind the stalls. "Forbear!" cried the 
 enthusiast, placing himself between the earl and Amabel, both 
 of whom recoiled at his approach, " Heaven's altar must not be 
 profaned with these mockeries ! And you, Thomas Quatremain, 
 who have taken part in this unrighteous transaction, make clean 
 your breast, and purge yourself quickly of your sins, for your 
 hours are numbered. I read in your livid looks and red and 
 burning eye-balls that you are smitten by the pestilence." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 paul's walk. 
 
 It will now be necessary to ascertain what took place at the 
 grocer's habitation subsequently to Amabel's abduction. Leonard 
 Holt having departed, Pillichody was preparing to make good 
 his retreat, when he was prevented by Blaize, who, hearing a 
 noise in the yard, peeped cautiously out at the back-door, and 
 inquired who was there ? 
 
 "Are you Mr. Bloundel ?" rejoined Pillichody, bethinking 
 him of a plan to turn the tables upon the apprentice. 
 
 " No ; I am his porter," replied the other. 
 
 "What, Blaize!" replied Pillichody. "Thunder and light- 
 ning ! don't you remember Bernard Boutefeu, the watchman !" 
 
 "I don't remember any watchman of that name, and I cannot 
 discern your features," rejoined Blaize. " But your voice sounds 
 familiar to me. What are you doing there ?" 
 
KTexmaxft prruftitntg air (farl uf Kjxrbfster's JJitazriagf 
 imrli Amabx:! m thx O'lunr erf ^ainr Parti's. 
 
Paul's walk. 123 
 
 "1 have been trying to prevent Leonard Holt from carrying 
 off your master's daughter, the foir mistress Amabel," answered 
 Pillichody. " But he has accomplished his villanous purpose in 
 spite of me." 
 
 " The devil he has !" cried Blaize. " Here is a pretty piece 
 of news for my master. But how did you discover him ?" 
 
 "Chancing to pass along the entry on the other side of that 
 wall about a quarter of an hour ago," returned Pillichody, " I 
 perceived a rope ladder fastened to it, and wishing to ascertain 
 what was the matter, I mounted it, and had scarcely got over 
 into the yard, when I saw two persons advancing. I concealed 
 myself beneath the shadow of the wall, and they did not notice 
 me; but I gathered from their discourse who they were, and 
 what was their design. I allowed Amabel to ascend, but just 
 as the apprentice was following, 1 laid hold of the skirt of his 
 doublet, and, pulling him back, desired him to come with me to 
 his master. lie answered by drawing his sword, and would 
 have stabbed me, but I closed with him, and should have secured 
 him, if my foot had not slipped. While I was on the ground, he 
 dealt me a severe blow, and ran after his mistress." 
 
 "Just like him," replied Blaize. " lie took the same cowardly 
 advantage of me last night." 
 
 " No punishment will be too severe for him," rejoined Pilli- 
 chodv, "and 1 hope your master will make a terrible example of 
 him." 
 
 " How fortunate I was not gone to bed !" exclaimed Blaize. 
 "I had just taken a couple of rufuses, and was about to put on 
 my nightcap, when, hearing a noise without, and being ever on 
 the alert to defend my master's property, even at the hazard of 
 my life, I stepped forth and found you." 
 
 " I will bear testimony to your vigilance and courage," returned 
 Pillichody; " but you had better go and alarm your master. I 
 will wait here." 
 
 " Instantly ! — instantly !" cried Blaize, rushing up stairs. 
 
 On the way to Mr. Bloundel's chamber, he met Patience, and 
 told her what he had heard. She was inclined to put a very 
 different construction on the story, but as she bore the apprentice 
 no particular good-will, she determined to keep her opinion to 
 herself, and let affairs take their course. The grocer was soon 
 aroused, and scarcely able to credit the porter's intelligence, and 
 yet fearing something must be wrong, he hastily attired himself, 
 and proceeded to Amabel's room. It was empty, and it was 
 evident from the state in which every thing was left, that she had 
 never retired to rest. Confounded by the sight, Bloundel then 
 hurried down stairs in search of the apprentice, but he was 
 nowhere to be found. By this time, Mrs. Bloundel had joined 
 him, and on hearing Blaize's story, utterly scouted it. 
 
 K It cannot be," she cried. " Leonard could have no motive 
 
J24 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 for acting thus. He had our consent to the union, and the sole 
 obstacle to it was Amabel herself. Is it likely he would run 
 away with her?" 
 
 " I am sure I do not know/' replied Patience, " but he was 
 desperately in love, that's certain ; and when people are in love, 
 I am told they do very strange and unaccountable things. Per- 
 haps he may have carried her off against her will." 
 
 " Very likely," rejoined Blaize. " I thought I heard a scream, 
 and should have called out at the moment, but a rufus stuck in 
 my throat and prevented me." 
 
 " Where is the person who says he intercepted them ?" asked 
 Bloundel. 
 
 " In the yard/' answered Blaize. 
 
 " Bid him come hither," rejoined his master. " Stay, I will 
 go to him myself." 
 
 With this, the whole party, including old Josyna and Stephen 
 — the two boys, and little Christiana not having been disturbed 
 — proceeded to the yard, where they found Pillichody in his 
 watchman's dress, who related his story more circumstantially 
 than before. 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," cried Mrs. Bloundel ; " and I 
 will stake my life it is one of the Earl of Rochester's tricks." 
 
 " Were I assured that such was the case," said the grocer, in 
 a stern whisper, to his wife, "I would stir no further in the 
 matter. My threat to Amabel was not an idle one." 
 
 " I may be mistaken," relumed Mrs. Bloundel, almost at her 
 wit's end with anxiety. " Don't mind what I say. Judge for 
 yourself. Oh dear ! what will become of her !" she mentally 
 ejaculated. 
 
 " Lanterns and links !" cried Pillichody. " Do you mean to 
 impeach my veracity, good mistress ? I am an old soldier, and 
 as tenacious of my honour as your husband is of his credit." 
 
 " This blustering will not serve your turn, fellow," observed 
 the grocer, seizing him by the collar. " I begin to suspect my 
 wife is in the right, and will at all events detain you." 
 
 " Detain me ? on what ground ?" asked Pillichody. 
 
 " As an accomplice in my daughter's abduction," replied 
 Bloundel. " Here, Blaize — Stephen, hold him while I call tho 
 watch. This is a most mysterious affair, but I will soon get at 
 the bottom of it." 
 
 By the grocer's directions, Pillichody, who very quietly entered 
 the house, and surrendered his halbert to Blaize, was taken to 
 the kitchen. Bloundel then set forth, leaving Stephen on guard 
 3,t the yard door, while his wife remained in the shop, awaiting 
 his return. 
 
 On reaching the kitchen with the prisoner, Blaize besought 
 his mother, who, as well as Patience, had accompanied him 
 thither, to fetch a bottle of sack. While she went for the wine, 
 
PAUL'S WALK. 125 
 
 and the porter was stalking to and fro before the door with the 
 halbert on his shoulder, Patience whispered to Pillichody, " I 
 know who you are. You came here last night with the Earl of 
 Rochester in the disguise of a quack doctor." 
 
 "Hush!" cried Pillichody, placing his finger on his lips. 
 
 " I am not going to betray you," returned Patience, in the 
 same tone. " But you arc sure to be found out, and had better 
 beat a retreat before Mr. Bloundel returns." 
 
 " I wont lose a moment," replied Pillichody, starting to his feet. 
 
 " What's the matter?" cried Blaize, suddenly halting. 
 
 " I only got up to sec whether the wine was coming," replied 
 Pillichody. 
 
 "Yes, here it is," replied Blaize, as his mother reappeared; 
 " and now you shall have a glass of such sack as you never yet 
 tasted." 
 
 And pouring out a bumper, he offered it to Pillichody. The 
 latter took the" glass ; but his hand shook so violently that he 
 could not raise it to his lips. 
 
 " What ails you, friend?" inquired Blaize, uneasily. 
 
 "I don't know," replied Pillichody; "but I feel extremely 
 unwell." 
 
 " He looks to me as if he had got the plague," observed 
 Patience, to Blaize. 
 
 " The plague," exclaimed the latter, letting fall the glass, 
 which shivered to pieces on the stone floor. "And I have 
 touched him. Where is the vinegar-bottle? I must sprinkle 
 myself directly, and rub myself from head to foot with oil of 
 hartshorn and spirits of sulphur. Mother ! dear mother ! you 
 have taken away my medicine-chest. If you love me, go and 
 fetch me a little conserve of Roman wormwood and mithridate. 
 You will find them in two small jars." 
 
 " Oh, yes, do," cried Patience ; " or he may die with fright." 
 
 Moved by their joint entreaties, old Josyna again departed; 
 and her back was no sooner turned, than Patience said in an 
 undertone to Pillichody, — " Now is your time. You have not 
 a moment to lose." 
 
 Instantly taking the hint, the other uttered a loud cry, and 
 springing up, caught at Blaize, who instantly dropped the hal- 
 bert, and fled into one corner of the room. 
 
 Pillichody then hurried up stairs, while Blaize shouted after 
 him, "Don't touch him, Master Stephen. He has got the 
 plague ! he has got the plague I" 
 
 Alarmed by this outcry, Stephen suffered Pillichody to pass; 
 and the latter, darting across the yard, mounted the rope-ladder, 
 and quickly disappeared. A few minutes afterwards, Bloundel 
 returned with the watch, and was greatly enraged when he found 
 that the prisoner had got off. No longer doubting that he had 
 been robbed of his daughter by the Earl of Rochester, he could 
 
126 old saint paul's. 
 
 not make up his mind to abandon her to her fate, and his con« 
 flicting feelings occasioned him a night of indescribable anxiety. 
 The party of watch whom he had summoned searched the street 
 for him, and endeavoured to trace out the fugitives, — but with- 
 out success ; and they returned before daybreak to report their 
 failure. 
 
 About six o'clock, Mr. Bloundel, unable to restrain himself 
 longer, sallied forth with Blaize ki search of his daughter and 
 Leonard. Uncertain where to bend his steps, he trusted to 
 chance to direct him, resolved, if he were unsuccessful, to lay a 
 petition for redress before the throne. Proceeding along Cheap- 
 side, he entered Paternoster-row, and traversed it till he came to 
 Paul's Alley, — a narrow passage leading to the north-west corner 
 of the cathedral. Prompted by an unaccountable impulse, he no 
 
 sooner caught sight of the reverend structure, than he hastened 
 
 or? 7 
 
 towards it, and knocked against the great northern door. 
 
 We shall, however, precede him, and return to the party at 
 the altar. The awful warning of Solomon Eagle so alarmed 
 Quatremain, that he let fall his prayer-book, and after gazing 
 vacantly round for a few moments, staggered to one of the stalls, 
 where, feeling a burning pain in his breast, he tore open his 
 doublet, and found that the enthusiast had spoken the truth, and 
 that he was really attacked by the pestilence. As to Amabel, 
 on hearing the terrible denunciation, she uttered a loud cry, 
 and would have fallen to the ground but for the timely assistance 
 of the apprentice, who caught her with one arm, while with the 
 other he defended himself against the earl and his companions. 
 
 But, in spite of his resistance they would have soon compelled 
 him to relinquish his charge, if Solomon Eagle, who had hitherto 
 contented himself with gazing sternly on what was passing, had 
 not interfered; and, rushing towards the combatants, seized 
 Rochester and Etherege, and hurled them backwards with almost 
 supernatural foree. When they arose, and menaced him with 
 their swords, he laughed loudly and contemptuously, crying, 
 " Advance, if ye dare ! and try your strength against one armed 
 by Heaven, and ye will find how far it will avail." 
 
 At this juncture, Leonard Holt heard a musical voice behind 
 him, and turning, beheld Nizza Macascree. She beckoned him 
 to follow her ; and, raising Amabel in his arms, he ran towards 
 the door leading to Saint Faith's, through which his conductress 
 passed. All this was the work of a moment, and when Ro- 
 chester and Etherege, who rushed after him, tried the door, they 
 found it fastened withinside. 
 
 Just then, a loud knocking was heard at the northern entrance 
 of the cathedral, and a verger answering the summons, Mr. 
 Bloundel and Blaize were admitted. On beholding the new 
 comers, Rochester and his companions were filled with confusion. 
 Equally astonished at the rencounter, the grocer grasped his 
 
PAUL'S WALK. 127 
 
 6ta3" and rushing up to the carl, demanded, in a voice that 
 made the other, despite his natural audacity, quail, — " Where is 
 my child, my lord ? What have you done with her ?" 
 
 "I know nothing ahout her," replied Rochester, with affected 
 carelessness. — " Yes, I am wrong," he added, as if recollecting 
 himself; " I am told she has run away with your apprentice." 
 
 Pillichody, who had changed his attire since his escape from 
 the grocer's dwelling, thought he might now venture to address 
 him without fear of discovery, and setting his arms a-kimho, and 
 assuming a swaggering demeanour, strutted forward and said, 
 " Your daughter has just been wedded to Leonard Holt, Mr. 
 Bloundel." 
 
 "It is false," cried Bloundel, "as false as the character you 
 just personated, for I recognise you as the knave who recently 
 appeared before me as a 'watchman." 
 
 " I pledge you my word as a nobleman," interposed Rochester, 
 "that your daughter has just descended to Saint Faith's with 
 your apprentice." 
 
 " I can corroborate his lordship's assertion," said Etherege. 
 
 " And I," added Pillichody. " By the holy apostle to whom 
 this fane is dedicated ! it is so." 
 
 " To convince you that we speak the truth, we will go with 
 you and assist you to search," said Rochester. 
 
 Attaching little credit to what he heard, and yet unwilling to 
 lose a chance of recovering his daughter, the grocer rushed to the 
 door indicated by his informant, but found it fastened. 
 
 " You had better go to the main entrance," said one of the 
 vergers. " I have the keys with me, and will admit you." 
 
 " I will keep guard here till 3-011 return," said another verger. 
 
 Accompanied by Rochester and Etherege, Bloundel then pro- 
 ceeded to the chief door of the subterranean church. It was 
 situated at the south of the cathedral between two of the larger 
 buttresses, and at the foot of a flight of stone steps. On reaching 
 it, the verger produced his keys, but they were of no avail, for 
 the door was barred withinside. After many fruitless attempts 
 to obtain admission, they were fain to give up the attempt. 
 
 " Well, if we cannot get in, no one shall get out," observed 
 the verger. " The only key that opens this door is in my pos- 
 session, so we have them safe enough." 
 
 The party then returned to the cathedral, where they found 
 Blaize, Pillichody, and the two other vergers keeping watch at 
 the door near the choir. No one had come forth. 
 
 Rochester then walked apart with his companions, while 
 Eloundel, feeling secure so long as he kept the earl in view, 
 fcJded his arms upon his breast, and determined to await the 
 re«ult. 
 
 By this time, the doors being opened, a great crowd was soon 
 collected within the sacred structure. Saint Paul's Churchyard, 
 
128 old saint Paul's. 
 
 as is well known, was formerly the great mart for booksellers, wnc 
 have not, even in later times, deserted the neighbourhood, but 
 still congregate in Paternoster-row, Ave Maria-lane, and the 
 adjoining streets. At the period of this history they did not 
 confine themselves to the precincts of the cathedral, but, as has 
 been previously intimated, fixed their shops against the massive 
 pillars of its nave. Besides booksellers, there were seamstresses, 
 tobacco-merchants, vendors of fruit and provisions, and Jews — 
 all of whom had stalls within the cathedral, and who were now 
 making preparations for the business of the day. Shortly after- 
 wards, numbers who came for recreation and amusement made 
 their appearance, and before ten o'clock, Paul's Walk, as the 
 nave was termed, was thronged, by apprentices, rufflers, porters, 
 water-carriers, higglers, with baskets on their heads, or under their 
 arms, fish-wives, quack-doctors, cutpurses, bonarobas, mer- 
 chants, lawyers, and serving-men, who came to be hired, and who 
 stationed themselves near an oaken block attached to one of the 
 pillars, and which was denominated, from the use it was put to, 
 the " serving-man's log." Some of the crowd were smoking, 
 some laughing, others gathering round a ballad-singer, who was 
 chanting one of Rochester's own licentious ditties ; some were 
 buying quack medicines and remedies for the plague, the virtues 
 of which the vendor loudly extolled, while others were paying 
 court to the dames, many of whom were masked. Everything 
 seemed to be going forward within this sacred place, except 
 devotion. Here, a man, mounted on the carved marble of a 
 monument, bellowed forth the news of the Dutch war, while 
 another, not far from him, on a bench, announced in lugubrious 
 accents the number of those who had died on the previous day 
 of the pestilence. There, at the very font, was a usurer paying 
 over a sum of money to a gallant — it was Sir Paul Parravicin, — 
 who was sealing a bond for thrice the amount of the loan. There, 
 a party of choristers, attended by a troop of boys, were pursuing 
 another gallant, who had ventured into the cathedral booted and 
 spurred, and were demanding " spur-money" of him — an exac- 
 tion which they claimed as part of their perquisites. 
 
 An admirable picture of this curious scene has been given by 
 Bishop Earle, in his Microcosmographia, published in 1629. 
 " Paul's walk," he writes, " is the land's epitome, or you may 
 call it the lesser isle of Great Britain. It is more than this — it is 
 the whole world's map, which you may here discern in its 
 perfectest motion, jostling and turning. It is a heap of stones 
 and men, with avast confusion of languages, and were the steeple 
 not sanctified, nothing could be liker Babel. The noise in it is 
 like that of bees, a strange humming, or buzzing, mixed ot 
 walking, tongues, and feet: it is a kind of still roar, or loud 
 whisper. It is the great exchange of all discourse, and no 
 business whatsoever, but is here stirring and afoot. It is the 
 
Paul's walk. 12? 
 
 synod of all parts politic, jointed and laid together in most serious 
 posture, and they are not half so busy at the Parliament. It is 
 the market of young lecturers, whom you may cheapen here at 
 all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of all famous lies, •which 
 are here, like the legends of Popery, first coined and stamped in 
 the church. All inventions arc emptied here, and not a few 
 pockets. The best sign of the Temple in it is that it is the 
 thieves' sanctuary, who rob more safely in a crowd than a wilderness, 
 while every pillar is a bush to hide them. It is the other expense 
 of the day, after plays and taverns; and men have still some 
 oaths to swear here. The visitants are all men without excep- 
 tions ; but the principal inhabitants arc stale knights and captains 
 out of service, men of long rapiers and short purses, who after all 
 turn merchants here, and traffic for news. Some make it a pre- 
 face to their dinner, and travel for an appetite ; but thirstier men 
 make it their ordinary, and board here very cheap. Of all such 
 places it is least haunted by hobgoblins, for if a ghost would 
 walk here, he could not." 
 
 Decker, moreover, terms Paul's Walk, or the " Mediterranean 
 Isle," in his " Gull's Hornbook," — " the only gallery wherein the 
 pictures of all your true fashionate and complimental gulls are, and 
 ought to be, hung up." After giving circumstantial directions for 
 the manner of entering the walk, he proceeds thus: — " Bend your 
 course directly in the middle line that the whole body of the 
 church may appear to be your's, where in view of all, you may 
 publish your suit in what manner you affect most, either with the 
 slide of your cloak from the one shoulder or the other." He then 
 recommends the gull, after four or five turns in the nave, to betftke 
 himself to some of the semsters' shops, the new tobacco office, or 
 the booksellers' stalls, "where, if you cannot read, exercise your 
 smoke, and inquire who has written against the divine weed." 
 Such, or something like it, was Paul's Walk at the period of this 
 history. 
 
 The grocer, who had not quitted his post, remained a silent and 
 sorrowful spectator of the scene. Despite his anxiety, he could 
 not help moralizing upon it, and it furnished him with abundant 
 food for reflection. As to Rochester and his companions, they 
 mingled with the crowd — though the earl kept a wary eye on the 
 door — chatted with the prettiest damsels — listened to the news- 
 mongers, and broke their fast at the stall of a vendor of provisions, 
 who supplied them with tolerable viands, and a bottle of excellent 
 Rhenish. Blaize was soon drawn away by one of the quacks, and, 
 in spite of his master's angry looks, he could not help purchasing 
 one of the infallible antidotes offered for sale by the charlatan. 
 Parravicin had no sooner finished his business with the usurer 
 than he strolled along the nave, and was equally surprised and 
 delighted at meeting with his friends, who briefly explained to 
 him why they were there. 
 
 K 
 
ISO OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " And how do you expect the adventure to terminate ?" asked 
 parravicin, laughing heartily at the recital. 
 
 " Heaven knows/' replied the earl. " But what are you doing 
 hsre?" 
 
 * I came partly to replenish my purse, for I have had a run of 
 ill luck of late," replied the knight, and partly to see a most 
 beautiful creature, whom I accidentallv discovered here yester- 
 day." 
 
 " A new beauty !" cried Rochester. '.' Who is she ?" 
 
 " Before I tell you, you must engage not to interfere with me," 
 replied Parravicin. " I have marked her for my own." 
 
 " Agreed," replied Rochester. " Now, her name ?" 
 
 tc She is the daughter of a blind piper, who haunts the cathe- 
 dral," returned Parravicin, " and her name is Nizza Macascree. 
 Is it not charming? But you shall see her." 
 
 "We must not go too far from the door of Saint Faith's," 
 rejoined Rochester. " Can you not contrive to bring her 
 hither?" 
 
 "That is more easily said than done," replied Parravicin. 
 " She is as coy as the grocer's daughter. However, I will try to 
 oblige you." 
 
 With this, he quitted his companions, and returning shortly 
 afterwards, said, " My mistress has likewise disappeared. I 
 found the old piper seated at the entrance of Bishop Kempe's 
 chapel, attended by his dog — but he missed his daughter when 
 he awoke in the morning, and is in great trouble about her." 
 
 " Strange I" cried Etherege. " I begin to think the place is 
 enchanted." 
 
 " It would seem so, indeed," replied Rochester. 
 
 While they were thus conversing, Pillichody, who was leaning 
 against a column, with his eye fixed upon the door leading to 
 Saint Faith's, observed it open, and the apprentice issue from it 
 accompanied by two masked females. All three attempted to 
 dart across the transept, and gain the northern entrance, but they 
 were intercepted. Mr. Bloundel caught hold of Leonard's arm, 
 and Rochester seized her whom he judged by her garb to be 
 Amabel, while Parravicin, recognising Nizza Macascree, as he 
 thought, by her dress, detained her. 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this, Leonard ?" demanded the 
 grocer, angrily. 
 
 " You shall have an explanation instantly," replied the appren- 
 tice, " but think not of me — think only of your daughter." 
 
 " My father ! — my father !" cried the damsel, who had been 
 detained by Parravicin, taking off her mask, and rushing towards 
 the grocer. 
 
 " Who then have I got?" cried Rochester. 
 
 " The piper's daughter, I'll be sworn," replied Etherege. 
 
 •* You are right," replied Nizza, unmasking. " I changed 
 
taxi's aatalk 
 
THE AMULET. 131 
 
 dresses with Amabel, and hoped by so doing to accomplish her 
 escape, but we have been baffled. However, as her father is here, 
 it is of little consequence. 
 
 " Amabel," said the grocer, repulsing her, " before I receive 
 you again, I must be assured that you have not been alone with 
 the Earl of Rochester." 
 
 " She has not, sir," replied the apprentice. " Visit your dis- 
 pleasure on my head. I carried her off and would have wedded 
 her." 
 
 " What motive had you for this strange conduct ?" asked 
 Bloundel, incredulously. 
 
 Before Leonard could answer, Pillichody stepped forward, and 
 said to the grocer — " Mr Bloundel, you are deceived, — on the 
 faith of a soldier you are I" 
 
 u Peace, fool I" said Rochester, " I will not be outdone in gene- 
 rosity by an apprentice. Leonard Ilolt speaks the truth." 
 
 " If so," replied Bloundel, "he shall never enter my house 
 again. Send for your indentures to-night," he continued sharply, 
 to Leonard, " but never venture to approach me more." 
 
 " Father, you are mistaken," cried Amabel. " Leonard Holt 
 is not to blame. I alone deserve your displeasure." 
 
 " Be silent 1" whispered the apprentice; "you destroy your- 
 self. I care not what happens to me, provided you escape the 
 earl." 
 
 " Come home, mistress," cried the grocer, dragging her through 
 the crowd which had gathered round them. 
 
 " Here is a pretty conclusion to the adventure !" cried Parra- 
 vicin ; " but where is the apprentice — and where is the pretty 
 Nizza Macascree ? 'Fore heaven," he added, as he looked around 
 for them in vain ; " I should not wonder if they have not eloped 
 together." 
 
 " Nor I," replied Rochester. " I admire the youth's spirit, 
 and trust he may be more fortunate with his second mistress than 
 with his first." 
 
 " It shall be my business to prevent that," rejoined Parravicin. 
 " Help me to search for her." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE AMULET. 
 
 As the grocer disappeared with his daughter, Nizza Macascree, 
 who had anxiously watched the apprentice, observed him turn 
 deadly pale, and stagger, and instantly springing to his side she 
 supported him to a neighbouring column, against which he leaned 
 till he had in some degree recovered from the shock. He thea 
 
 k2 
 
1S2 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 accompanied her to Bishop Kempe's beautiful chapel in the 
 northern aisle, where she expected to find her father. But it was 
 empty. 
 
 " He will be back presently," said Nizza. " He is no doubt 
 making the rounds of the cathedral. Bell will take care of him. 
 Sit down on that bench w-hile I procure you some refreshment. 
 You appear much in need of it." 
 
 And without waiting for a repky, she ran off, and presently 
 afterwards returned with a small loaf of bread, and a bottle of 
 beer. 
 
 " I cannot eat," said Leonard, faintly. But seeing that his 
 kind provider looked greatly disappointed, he swallowed a few 
 mouthfuls, and raised the bottle to his lips. As he did so, a 
 sudden feeling of sickness seized him, and he set it down un- 
 tasted. 
 
 " What ails you ?" asked Nizza, noticing his altered looks with 
 uneasiness. 
 
 " I know not," he replied " I have never felt so ill before." 
 
 " I thought you were suffering from agitation," she rejoined, 
 as a fearful foreboding crossed her. 
 
 " I shall be speedily released from further trouble," replied the 
 apprentice. " I am sure I am attacked by the plague." 
 
 " Oh ! say not so !" she rejoined. " You may be mistaken." 
 
 But though she tried to persuade herself she spoke the truth, 
 her heart could not be deceived. 
 
 " I scarcely desire to live," replied the apprentice, in a melan- 
 choly tone, "for life has lost all charms for me. But do not 
 remain here, or you may be infected by the distemper. 
 
 " I will never leave you," she hastily rejoined ; " that is," she 
 added, checking herself, — "till I have placed you in charge of 
 some one who will w r atch over you." 
 
 " No one will watch over me," returned Leonard " My 
 master has dismissed me from his service, and I have no other 
 f riend left. If you will tell one of the vergers what is the matter 
 A'ith me, he will summon the Examiner of Health, who will bring 
 a litter to convey me to the pest-house." 
 
 " If you go thither your fate is sealed," replied Nizza. 
 
 " I have said I do not desire to live," returned the apprentice. 
 
 " Do not indulge in these gloomy thoughts, or you are certain 
 to bring about a fatal result," said Nizza. " Would I knew how 
 to aid you ! But I still hope you are deceived as to the nature 
 of your attack." 
 
 " I cannot be deceived," replied Leonard, whose countenance 
 proclaimed the anguish he endured. " Doctor Hodges, I think, 
 is interested about me," he continued, describing the physician's 
 residence, — " if you will inform him of my seizure, he may, 
 perhaps, come to me." 
 
 "I will fly to him instantly," replied Nizza; and she was 
 
THE AMULET. 133 
 
 about to quit the chapel, when she was stopped by Parravicin 
 and his companions. 
 
 " Let me pass," she said, trying to force her way through 
 them. 
 
 " Not so fast, fair Nizza," rejoined Parravicin, forcing her back, 
 " I must have a few words with you. Have I overrated her 
 charms?" he added to Rochester. "Is she not surpassingly 
 beautiful ?" 
 
 " In good sooth she is," replied the earl, gazing at her with 
 admiration. 
 
 " By the nut-brown skin of Cleopatra I" cried Pillichody, " she 
 beats Mrs. Disbrowe, Sir Paul." 
 
 " I have never seen any one so lovely," said the knight, 
 attempting to press her hand to his lips. 
 
 " Release me, sir," cried Nizza, struggling to free herself. 
 
 " Not till I have told you how much I love you," returned the 
 knight, ardently. 
 
 " Love me 1" she echoed, scornfully. 
 
 " Yes, love you," reiterated Parravicin. " It would be strange 
 if I, who profess myself so great an admirer of beauty, did other- 
 wise. I am passionately enamoured of you. If you will accom- 
 pany me, fair Nizza, you shall change your humble garb for the 
 richest attire that gold can purchase — shall dwell in a magnificent 
 mansion, and have troops of servants at your command. In 
 short, my whole fortune, together with myself, shall be placed at 
 your disposal." 
 
 " Do not listen to him, Nizza," cried Leonard Holt, in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 " Be assured I will not," she answered. " Your insulting 
 proposal only heightens the disgust I at first conceived for you," 
 she added to the knight: " I reject it with scorn, and command 
 you to let me pass." 
 
 " Nay, if you put on these airs, sweetheart," replied Parravicin, 
 insolently, " I must alter my tone likewise. I am not accustomed 
 to play the humble suitor to persons of your condition." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied Nizza ; " neither am I accustomed to 
 this unwarrantable usage. Let me go. My errand is one of life 
 and death. Do not hinder me, or you will have a heavy crime 
 on your soul — heavier, it may be, than any that now loads it." 
 
 " Where are you going ?" asked Parravicin, struck by her 
 earnest manner. 
 
 " To fetch assistance," she replied, " for one suddenly assailed 
 by the pestilence." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed the knight, trembling, and relinquishing his 
 grasp. K My path is ever crossed by that hideous spectre. Is it 
 your father who is thus attacked ?" 
 
 " No," she replied, pointing to Leonard, " it is that youth." 
 
 " The apprentice !" exclaimed Rochester. " I am sorry fa* 
 
loi OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 him. Let us be gone," he added to his companions. " It maj 
 be dangerous to remain here longer." 
 
 With this they all departed except Parravicin. 
 
 " Come with us, Nizza," said the latter; "we will send assist- 
 ance to the sufferer." 
 
 " I have already told you my determination," she rejoined ; 
 " I will not stir a footstep with you. And if you have any com- 
 passion in your nature, you will not detain me longer." 
 
 "I will not leave you here to certain destruction," said the 
 knight. " You shall come with me whether you will or not." 
 
 And as he spoke, he advanced towards her, while she retreated 
 towards Leonard, who, rising with difficulty, placed himself 
 between her and her persecutor. 
 
 " If you advance another footstep," cried the apprentice, " I 
 will fling myself upon you, and the contact may be fatal." 
 
 Parravicin gazed fui'iously at him, and half unsheathed his 
 sword. But the next moment he returned it to the scabbard, 
 and exclaiming, " Another time ! another time !" darted after his 
 companions. 
 
 He was scarcely gone, when Leonard reeled against the wall, 
 and, before Nizza could catch him, fell in a state of insensibility 
 on the floor. 
 
 After vainly attempting to raise him, Nizza flew for assistance, 
 and had just passed through the door of the chapel, when she 
 met Judith Malmayns and Chowles. She instantly stopped 
 them, and acquainting them with the apprentice's condition, 
 implored them to take charge of him while she went in search of 
 Doctor Hodges. 
 
 " Before you go," said Judith, " let me make sure that he is 
 attacked by the plague. It may be some other disorder." 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," said Nizza, pausing; "but I fear the 
 contrary." 
 
 So saying, she returned with them to the chapel. Raising the 
 apprentice with the greatest ease, Judith tore open his doublet. 
 
 " \our suspicion is correct," she said, with a malignant smile. 
 " Here is the fatal sign upon his breast." 
 
 " I will fetch Doctor Hodges instantly," cried Nizza. 
 
 " Do so," replied Judith ; " we will convey him to the vaults 
 in Saint Faith's where poor Mr. Quatremain has just been taken. 
 He will be better there than in the pest house." 
 
 " Anything is better than that," said Nizza shuddering. 
 
 As soon as she was gone, Chowles took off his long black 
 cloak, and, throwing it over the apprentice, laid him at full length 
 upon the bench, and, assisted by Judith, carried him towards 
 the choir. As they proceeded, Chowles called out, " Make way 
 for one sick of the plague !" and the crowd instantly divided, 
 and gave them free passage. In this way, they descended to 
 Saint Faith's, and, shaping their course to the vault, deposited 
 
THE AMULET. 135 
 
 their burden on the very bed lately occupied by the unfortunate 
 sexton. 
 
 " He has come here to die," observed Judith to her companion. 
 " His attack is but a slight one, and he might with care recover. 
 But I can bargain with the Earl of Rochester for his removal;' 
 
 " Take heed how you make such a proposal to his lordship," 
 returned Chowles. " From what I have seen, he is likely to 
 revolt at it." 
 
 " Every man is glad to get rid of a rival," rejoined Judith. 
 
 " Granted," replied Chowles ; " but no man will pay for the 
 riddance when the plague will accomplish it for him for nothing." 
 
 " With due attention, I would answer for that youth's recovery," 
 said Judith. " It is not an incurable case, like Mr. Quatremain's. 
 And so Doctor Hodges, when he comes, will pronounce it." 
 
 Shortly after this, Nizza Macascree appeared with a countenance 
 fraught with anxiety, and informed them that Doctor Hodges 
 was from home, and would not probably return till late at night. 
 
 " That's unfortunate," said Judith. " Luckily, however, there 
 are other doctors in London, and some who understand the treat- 
 ment of the plague far better than he docs — Sibbald, the apothe- 
 cary of Clerkcnwell, for instance." 
 
 " Do you think Sibbald would attend him ?" asked Nizza, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " To be sure he would," replied Mrs. Malmayns, " if he were 
 paid for it. But you seem greatly interested about this youth. 
 I have been young, and know what effect good looks and a manly 
 deportment have upon our sex. He has won your heart ! Ha ! 
 ha ! You need not seek to disguise it. Your blushes answer for 
 you." 
 
 " A truce to this," cried Nizza, whose cheeks glowed with 
 shame and anger. 
 
 " You can answer a plain question, I suppose," returned Judith. 
 " Is his life dear to you ?" 
 
 " Dearer than my own," replied Nizza. 
 
 " I thought as much," returned Judith. " What will you give 
 me to save him ?" 
 
 "I have nothing," rejoined Nizza with a troubled look, "nothing 
 but thanks to give you." 
 
 " Think again," said Judith. " Girls like you, if they have no 
 money, have generally some trinket — some valuable in their pos- 
 session." 
 
 " That is not my case," said Nizza, bursting into tears. " I 
 never received a present in my life, and never desired one till 
 now." 
 
 " But your father must have some money ?" said Judith, in- 
 quisitively. 
 
 " I know not," replied Nizza, " but I will ask him. What sum 
 will content you ?" 
 
13G OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Bring all you. can," returned Judith, " and I will do my 
 best." 
 
 Nizza then departed, while Judith, with the assistance of 
 Chowles, covered Leonard with blankets, and proceeded to light 
 a fire. Long before this, the sick youth was restored to animation. 
 But he was quite light-headed and unconscious of his situation 
 and rambled about Amabel and her father. After administering 
 such remedies as she thought fit, and as were at hand, Judith sat 
 down with the coffin-maker beside a small table, and entered 
 into conversation with him. 
 
 " Well," said Chowles, in an indifferent tone, as he poured out 
 a glass of brandy, " is it to be kill or cure ?" 
 
 " I have not decided," replied Judith, pledging him. 
 
 " I still do not see what gain there would be in shortening his 
 career," observed Chowles. 
 
 " If there would be no gain, there would be gratification," 
 replied Judith. " He has offended me." 
 
 " If that is the case, I have nothing further to say," returned 
 Chowles. " But you promised the piper's daughter to save him." 
 
 "We shall see what she offers," rejoined Judith; "all will 
 depend upon that." 
 
 " It is extraordinary," observed Chowles, after a pause, " that 
 while all around us are sick or dying of the pestilence, we should 
 escape contagion." 
 
 " We are not afraid of it," replied Judith. " Besides, we are 
 part of the plague ourselves. But I have been attacked, and am, 
 therefore, safe." 
 
 " True," replied Chowles ; " I had forgotten that. Well, if I 
 fall ill, you sha'n't nurse me." 
 
 " You wont be able to help yourself then," returned Judith. 
 
 *' Eh 1" exclaimed Chowles, shifting uneasily on his seat. 
 
 " Don't be afraid," returned Judith, laughing at his alarm. 
 "I'll take every care of you. We are necessary to each other." 
 
 " So we are," replied Chowles; " so we are, and if nothing else 
 could, that consideration would make us true to each other." 
 
 " Of course," assented Judith. " Let us reap as rich a harvest 
 as we can, and when the scourge is over, we can enjoy ourselves 
 upon the spoils." 
 
 " Exactly so," replied Chowles. " My business is daily — 
 hourly on the increase. My men are incessantly employed, and 
 my only fear is that an order will be issued to bury the dead 
 without coffins." 
 
 " Not unlikely," replied Mrs. Malmayns. " But there are 
 plenty of ways of getting money in a season like this. If one 
 fails, we must resort to another. I shall make all I can, and in 
 the shortest manner." 
 
 " Risrht 1" cried Chowles, with an atrocious laugh. " Right X 
 ha! ha!" 
 
THE AMULET. 137 
 
 "I have found out a means of propagating the distemper," 
 pursued Judith, in a low tone, and with a mysterious air, "of 
 inoculating whomsoever I please with the plague-venom. I have 
 tried the experiment on Mr. Quatremain and that youth, and 
 you see how well it has answered in both instances." 
 
 "I do," replied Chowles, looking askance at her. "But why 
 destroy the poor minor canon ?" 
 
 " Because I want to get hold of the treasure discovered by the 
 help of the Mosaical rods in Saint Faith's, which by right belonged 
 to my husband, and which is now in Mr. Quatremain's posses- 
 sion." replied Judith. 
 
 " I understand," nodded Chowles. 
 
 While they were thus conversing, Nizza Macascrcc again 
 returned, and informed them that she could not find her father. 
 " He has left the cathedral," she said, " and will not, probably, 
 return till nightfall." 
 
 " I am sorry for it on your account," observed Judith, coldly. 
 
 " Why, you will not have the cruelty to neglect the poor young 
 man till then — you will take proper precautions?" exclaimed 
 Nizza. 
 
 " Why should I exert myself for one about whose recovery I 
 am indifferent?" said Judith. 
 
 "Why?" exclaimed Nizza. "But it is in vain to argue with 
 you. I must appeal to your avarice, since you are deaf to the 
 pleadings of humanity. I have just bethought me that I have an 
 old gold coin, which was given me years ago by my father. He 
 told me it had been my mother's, and charged me not to part 
 with it. I never should have done so, except in an emergency 
 like the present." 
 
 As she spoke, she drew from her bosom a broad gold piece. A 
 hole was bored through it, and it was suspended from her neck 
 by a chain of twisted hair. 
 
 " Let me look at it," said Judith, taking the coin. " Who gave 
 you this?" she asked, in an altered tone. 
 
 " My father," replied Nizza; " I have just told you so. It was 
 my mother's." 
 
 " Impossible !" exclaimed Judith. 
 
 " Have you ever seen it before ?" inquired Nizza, astonished at 
 the change in the nurse's manner. 
 
 " I have," replied Judith, " and in very different hands." 
 
 " You surprise me," cried Nizza. " Explain yourself, I beseech 
 you." 
 
 " Not now — not now," cried Judith, hastily returning the com. 
 " And this is to be mine in case I cure the youth ?" 
 
 " I have said so," replied Ni/za. 
 
 " Then make yourself easy," rejoined Judith, " he shall be well 
 again in less than two days." 
 
 With this, she sat a pan on the fir", and began to prepare a 
 
138 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 poultice, the materials for which she took from a small oaken 
 chest in one corner of the vault. Nizza looked on anxiously, 
 and while they were thus employed, a knock was heard at the 
 door, and Chowles opening it found the piper and one of the 
 vergers. 
 
 " Ah I is it you, father ?" cried Nizza, rushing to him. 
 
 "lam glad I have found you," returned the piper, " for I 
 began to fear some misfortune must have befallen you. Missing 
 you in the morning, I traversed the cathedral in search of you 
 with Bell, well knowing if you were in the crowd she would 
 speedily discover you." 
 
 His daughter then hastily recounted what had happened. 
 When the piper heard that she had promised the piece of gold to 
 the plague nurse, a cloud came over his open countenance. 
 
 " You must never part with it," he said — " never. It is an 
 amulet, and if you lose it, or give it away, your good luck will go 
 with it." 
 
 "Judith Malmayns says she has seen it before," rejoined Nizza. 
 
 " No such thtng," cried the piper, hastily, " she knows nothing 
 about it. But come with me. You must not stay here longer." 
 
 lt But father — dear father ! — I want a small sum to pay the 
 nurse for attending this poor young man ?" cried Nizza. 
 
 " I have no money," replied the piper, " and if I had, 1 should 
 not throw it away in so silly a manner. Come along ; I shall 
 begin to think you are in love with the youth." 
 
 " Then you will not be far wide of the mark," observed Judith, 
 coarsely. 
 
 The piper uttered an angry exclamation, and taking his daugh- 
 ter's hand, dragged her out of the vault. 
 
 " You will not get your fee," laughed Chowles, as they were 
 left alone. 
 
 " So it appears," replied Judith, taking the pan from the fire; 
 "there is no use in wasting a poultice." 
 
 Shortly after this, the door of the vault again opened, and Par- 
 ravicin looked in. He held a handkerchief sprinkled with vine- 
 gar to his face, and had evidently, from the manner in which he 
 spoke, some antidote against the plague in his mouth. 
 
 " Nizza Macascree has been here, has she not ?" he asked. 
 
 " She has just left with her father," replied Judith. 
 
 Parravicin beckoned her to follow him, and led the way to the 
 north aisle of Saint Faith's. 
 
 " Is the apprentice likely to recover ?" he asked. 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed Judith ; " that depends upon circum- 
 stances. Nizza Macascree offered me a large reward to cure 
 him." 
 
 "Is he any connexion of hers?"' asked the knight, sharply. 
 
 " None whatever," returned Judith, with a significant smile 
 " But he may possibly be so " 
 
HOW LEONARD WAS CURED OF THE PLAGUE. 139 
 
 "I thought as much," muttered the knight. 
 
 " He never shall recover," said Judith, halting, and speaking 
 in a low tone, "if you make it worth my while." 
 
 "You read my wishes," replied Parravicin, in a sombre tone. 
 "Take this purse, and free me from him." 
 
 " He will never more cross your path," replied Judith, eagerly 
 grasping the reward. 
 
 " Enough I" exclaimed Parravicin. " What has passed between 
 us must be secret." 
 
 " As the grave which shall soon close over the victim," she 
 rejoined. 
 
 Parravicin shuddered, and hurried away, while Judith returned 
 at a slow pace, and chinking the purse as she went, to the vault. 
 
 She had scarcely passed through the door, when Nizza Ma- 
 cascree appeared from behind one of the massive pillars. " This 
 dreadful crime must be prevented," she cried — "but how? If I 
 run to give the alarm, it may be executed, and no one will 
 believe me. I will try to prevent it myself." 
 
 Crossing the charnel, she was about to enter the vault, when 
 Chowles stepped forth. She shrank backwards, and allowed 
 him to pass, and then trying the door, found it unfastened. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HOW LEONARD WAS CURED OF THE PLAGUE. 
 
 Nizza Macascrke found Judith leaning over her intended 
 victim, and examining the plague-spot on his breast. The nurse 
 was so occupied by her task that she did not. hear the door open, 
 and it was not until the piper's daughter was close beside her 
 that she was aware of her presence. Hastily drawing the 
 blankets over the apprentice, she then turned, and regarded 
 Nizza with a half-fearful, half-menacing look. 
 
 " What brings you here again ?" she inquired, sharply. 
 
 " Ask your own heart, and it will tell you," rejoined Nizza, 
 boldly. "I am come to preserve the life of this poor youth." 
 
 " If you think you can nurse him better than I can, you can 
 take my place and welcome," returned Judith, affecting n^t to 
 understand her. " I have plenty of other business to attend to, 
 and should be glad to be released from the trouble." 
 
 " Can she already have effected her fell purpose !" thought 
 Nizza, gazing at the apprentice, whose perturbed features pro- 
 claimed that his slumber procured him no rest from suffering. 
 " No — no — she has not had time. I accept your offer," she 
 added, aloud. 
 
140 old saint paitl's. 
 
 "But what will your father say to this arrangement?" asked 
 Judith. 
 
 "When he knows my motive, he will not blame me," answered 
 Nizza. " Here I take my place," she continued, seating herself, 
 " and will not quit it till he is out of danger." 
 
 " Your love for this youth borders upon insanity," cried Judith^ 
 angrily. "You shall not destroy yourself thus." 
 
 " Neither shall you destroy him," retorted Nizza. " It is to 
 prevent the commission of the crime you meditate — and for 
 which you have been paid, that I am determined to remain with 
 him." 
 
 As she said this, a singular and frightful change took place in 
 the nurse's appearance. A slight expression of alarm was at 
 first visible, but it was instantly succeeded by a look so savage 
 and vindictive that Nizza almost repented having provoked the 
 ire of so unscrupulous a person. But summoning up all her 
 resolution, she returned Judith's glance with one as stern and 
 steady, if not so malignant as her own. A deep silence pre- 
 vailed for a few minutes, during which each fancied she could 
 read the other's thoughts. In Nizza's opinion, the nurse was 
 revolving some desperate expedient, and she kept on her guard, 
 Jest an attack should be made upon her life. And some such 
 design did, in reality, cross Judith, but abandoning it as soon as 
 formed, she resolved to have recourse to more secret, but not 
 less certain measures. 
 
 " Well," she said, breaking silence, " since you are determined 
 to have your own way, and catch the plague, and most likely 
 perish from it, I shall not try to hinder you. Do what you 
 please, and see what will come of it." 
 
 And she made as if about to depart, but finding Nizza did 
 not attempt to stop her, she halted. 
 
 " I cannot leave you thus," she continued ; " if you will remain, 
 take this ointment," producing a small jar, "and rub the plague- 
 spot with it. It is a sovereign remedy, and will certainly effect 
 a cure." 
 
 " I will not touch it," returned Nizza. 
 
 " His death then be upon your head," rejoined Judith, quitting 
 the vault and closing the door after her. 
 
 Greatly relieved by her departure, Nizza began to consider 
 what she should do, and whether it would be possible to remove 
 the apprentice to some safer place. While occupied with these 
 reflections, the object of her solicitude heaved a deep sigh, and 
 opening his eyes, fixed them upon her. It was evident, however, 
 that he did not know her, but, as far as could be gathered from 
 his ravings, mistook her for Amabel. By degrees he grew calmer, 
 and the throbbing- anguish of the tumour in some measure sub- 
 Biding, his faculties returned to him. 
 
HOW LEONARD WAS CURED OF THE PLAGUE. 141 
 
 " Where am I ?" he exclaimed, pressing his hand forcibly to 
 his brow, " and what is the matter with me ?" 
 
 " You are in a vault near Saint Faith's," replied Nizza, u and 
 — I will not deceive you — the disorder you are labouring undei 
 is the plague." 
 
 " The plague !" echoed Leonard, with a look of horror. " Ah ! 
 now I recollect. I was attacked immediately after Amabel's 
 departure with her father. Heaven be praised ! she is safe. 
 That is some consolation amid all this misery. Could my 
 master behold me now, he would pity me, and so perhaps would 
 his daughter." 
 
 " Heed her not," rejoined Nizza, in a slightly reproachful 
 tone, " she does not deserve consideration. To return to your- 
 self. You are not safe here. Judith Malmayns has been hired 
 to take away your life. Are you able to move hence ?" 
 
 "I hope so," replied Leonard, raising himself on his arm. 
 
 " Wrap a blanket round you then, and follow me," said Nizza, 
 taking up the lamp and hastening to the door. " Ah !" she 
 exclaimed, with a cry of anguish — " it is locked." 
 
 " This building is destined to be my prison, and that treach- 
 erous woman my gaoler," groaned Leonard, sinking backwards. 
 
 " Do not despair," cried Nizza — " I will accomplish your 
 deliverance." 
 
 So saying, she tried, by knocking against the door and by 
 loud outcries, to give the alarm. But no answer was returned, 
 and she soon became convinced that Judith had fastened the 
 door of the charnel, which, it will be remembered, lay between 
 the vault and the body of Saint Faith's. Hence no sound could 
 reach the outer structure. Disturbed by what had just occurred, 
 Leonard's senses again wandered, but exerting all her powers to 
 tranquillize him, Nizza at last succeeded so well that he sunk 
 into a slumber. 
 
 Almost regarding his situation as hopeless, she took up the 
 lamp, and searching the vault, found the pan containing the 
 half-made poultice. The fire smouldered on the hearth, and 
 replenishing it from a scanty supply in one corner, she heated 
 the poultice and applied it to the tumour. This done, she con- 
 tinued her search. But though she found several phials, each 
 bearing the name of some remedy for the pestilence, her distrust 
 of Judith would not allow her to use any of them. Resuming 
 her seat by the couch of the sufferer, and worn out with fatigue 
 and anxiet} 7 , she presently dropped asleep. 
 
 She was awakened after awhile by a slight noise near her, 
 and beheld Judith bending over the apprentice, with a pot of 
 ointment in her hand, which she was about to apply to the part 
 affected. The poultice had already been removed. Uttering a 
 loud cry, Nizza started to her feet, and snatching the ointment 
 
142 OLD SAINT PAUL'S, 
 
 from the nurse, threw it away. As soon as the latter recovered 
 from her surprise, she seized her assailant, and forced her into 
 the seat she had just quitted. 
 
 " Stir not till I give you permission," she cried, fiercely. "I 
 wish to cure this young man, if you will let me." 
 
 "You intend to murder him," replied Nizza; "but while 1 
 live you shall never accomplish your atrocious purpose. Help ! 
 help !" And she uttered a prolonged piercing scream. 
 
 "Peace! or I will strangle you," cried Judith, compressing 
 Nizza's slender throat with a powerful gripe. 
 
 And she would, in all probability, have executed her terrible 
 threat, if a secret door in the wall had not suddenly opened and 
 admitted Solomon Eagle. A torch supplied the place of his 
 brasier, and he held it aloft, and threw its ruddy light upon the 
 scene. On seeing him, Judith relinquished her grasp, and glared 
 at him with a mixture of defiance and apprehension; while 
 Nizza, half dead with terror, instantly rushed towards him, and 
 throwing herself at his feet, besought him to save her. 
 
 " No harm shall befal you," replied Solomon Eagle, extending 
 his arm over her. " Tell me what has happened." 
 
 Nizza hastily explained the motive of Judith's attack upon her 
 life. The plague-nurse endeavoured to defend herself, and, in 
 her turn, charged her accuser with a like attempt. But Solomon 
 Eagle interrupted her. 
 
 " Be silent, false woman !" he cried, " and think not to delude 
 me with these idle fabrications. I fully believe that you would 
 have taken the life of this poor youth, and, did I not regard you 
 as one of the necessary agents of Heaven's vengeance, I would 
 instantly deliver you up to justice. But the measure of your 
 iniquities is not yet filled up. Your former crimes are not 
 unknown to me. Neither is the last dark deed, which you 
 imagined concealed from every human eye, hidden from 
 me." 
 
 " I know not what you mean," returned Judith, trembling, in 
 spite of herself. 
 
 " I will tell you, then," rejoined Solomon Eagle, catching her 
 hand, and dragging her into the furthest corner of the vault. 
 " Give ear to me," he continued, in a low voice, " and doubt, if 
 you can, that I have witnessed what I relate. I saw you enter a 
 small chamber behind the vestry, in which Thomas Quatremain, 
 who once filled the place of minor canon in this cathedral, was 
 laid. No one was there beside yourself and the dying man. 
 Your first business was to search his vestments, and take away 
 his keys." 
 
 " Ha J" exclaimed Judith, starting. 
 
 " While securing his keys," pursued Solomon Eagle, " the 
 owner wakened, and uttered a low, but angry remonstrance. 
 Better he had been silent. Dipping a napkin in an ewer of 
 
HOW LEONARD WAS CURED OF THE PLAGUE 143 
 
 water that stood beside him, you held the wet cloth over his face, 
 and did not remove it till life was extinct. All this I saw." 
 
 " But you will not reveal it," said Judith, tremblingly. 
 
 " I will not," replied Solomon Eagle, " for the reasons I have 
 just stated — namely, that I look upon you as one of the scourges 
 appointed by Heaven." 
 
 "And so I am," rejoined Judith, with impious exultation; 
 "it is my mission to destroy and pillage, and I will fulfil it." 
 
 " Take heed you do not exceed it," replied Solomon Eagle. 
 " Lift a finger against either of these young persons, and I will 
 reveal all. Yes," he continued, menacingly, " I will disclose 
 such dreadful tilings against you, that you will assuredly be 
 adjudged to a gibbet higher than the highest tower of this proud 
 fane." 
 
 "I defy you wretch!" retorted Judith. "You can prove 
 nothing against me." 
 
 " Defy me? — ha!" cried Solomon Eagle, with a terrible laugh. 
 " First," he added, dashing her backwards against the wall — 
 "first to prove my power. Next," he continued, drawing from 
 her pockets a bunch of keys, "to show that I speak the truth. 
 These were taken from the vest of the murdered man. No one, 
 as yet, but ourselves, knows that he is dead/' 
 
 "And who shall say which of the two is the murderer?" cried 
 Judith. "Villain! I charge you with the deed." 
 
 " You are, indeed, well fitted for your appointed task," re- 
 turned Solomon Eagle, gazing at her with astonishment, " for 
 sometimes Heaven, for its own wise purpose, will allow the 
 children of hell to execute its vengeance upon earth. But think 
 not you will always thus escape. No, you may pursue your evil 
 course for a while — you, and your companion in crime — but a 
 day of retribution will arrive for both — a day when ye shall be 
 devoured, living, by flames of fire — when all your sins shall arise 
 before your eyes, and ye shall have no time for repentance — and 
 when ye shall pass from one fierce fire to another yet fiercer, and 
 wholly unquenchable !" 
 
 As he concluded, he again dashed her against the wall with 
 such violence, that she fell senseless upon the ground. 
 
 " And now," he said, turning to Nizza Macascree, who looked 
 on in alarm and surprise, " what can I do for you ?" 
 
 " Bear this youth to a place of safety," was her answer. 
 
 Solomon Eagle answered by lifting up the pallet upon which 
 Leonard was laid with as much ease as if it had been an infant's 
 cradle, and calling on Nizza to bring the torch, passed with his 
 burden through the secret door. Directing her to close it after 
 them, he took his way along a narrow stone passage, until he 
 came to a chink in the wall commanding a small chamber, and 
 desired her to look through it. She obeyed, and beheld, 
 stretched upon a couch, the corpse of a man. 
 
Hi OLD SATNT PAUl/s. 
 
 "It is Mr. Quatremain, the minor canon," she said, retiring. 
 
 " It is," returned Solomon Eagle, " and it will be supposed 
 that he died of the plague. But his end was accelerated by 
 Judith Malmayns." 
 
 Without allowing her time for reply, he pursued his course, 
 traversing another long narrow passage. 
 
 " Where are we ?" asked Nizza, as they arrived at the foot of 
 a spiral stone staircase." 
 
 " Beneath the central tower of the cathedral," replied Solomon 
 Eagle. " I will take you to a cell known only to myself, where 
 this youth will be in perfect safety." 
 
 Ascending the staircase, they passed through an arched door, 
 and entered the great northern ambulatory. Nizza gazed down 
 for a moment into the nave, but all was buried in darkness, and 
 no sound reached her to give her an idea that any one was below. 
 Proceeding towards the west, Solomon Eagle arrived at a small 
 recess in the wall opposite one of the broad-arched openings look- 
 ing into the nave, and entering it, pressed against a spring at 
 the further extremity, and a stone door flying open, discovered a 
 secret cell, on the floor of which his brasier was burning. De- 
 positing his burden on the floor, he said to Nizza, " He is now 
 safe. Go in search of proper assistance and I will watch by him 
 till you return." 
 
 Nizza did not require a second exhortation, but quitting the 
 cell, and noticing its situation, swiftly descended the winding 
 staircase, and hurrying along the northern aisle, proceeded to a 
 small chamber beneath the tower at its western extremity, which 
 she knew was occupied by one of the vergers. Speedily arousing 
 him, she told him her errand, and implored him to remain on 
 the watch till she returned with Dr. Hodges. The verger pro- 
 mised compliance, and opening a wicket in the great doorway, 
 allowed her to go forth. A few seconds brought her to the 
 doctor's dwelling, and though it was an hour after midnight, her 
 summons was promptly answered by the old porter, who con- 
 veyed her message to his master. Doctor Hodges had just 
 retired to rest, but, on learning in whose behalf his services were 
 required, he sprang out of bed, and hastily slipped on his clothes. 
 
 " I would not for half I am worth that that poor youth should 
 perish," he cried. " I take a great interest in him — a very great 
 interest. He must not be neglected. How comes he at Saint 
 Paul's, I wonder? But I can obtain information on that point 
 as I go thither. No time must be lost." 
 
 Ruminating thus, he swallowed a glass of sack, and providing 
 himself with a case of instruments, and such medicines as he 
 thought he might require, he descended to Nizza. On the way 
 to the cathedral, she acquainted him with what had befallen Leo- 
 nard during the last four-and-twenty hours, and the only circum- 
 stance that she kept back was Judith's attempt on his life. Thia 
 
HOW LEONARD WAS CURED OF THE FLAGUE. 145 
 
 she intended to reveal at a more fitting opportunity. The doctor 
 expressed somewhat emphatically his disapproval of the conduct 
 of Mr. Bloundel, but promised to set all to rights without loss of 
 time. 
 
 " The only difficulty I foresee," he observed, " is that the poor 
 youth is attacked by the pestilence, and though I may succeed in 
 curing him, his master will probably have shut up his house be- 
 fore I can accomplish my object, in which case all chance of his 
 union with Amabel will be at an end." 
 
 " So much the better," rejoined Nizza, sharply ; "she does not 
 deserve him." 
 
 " There I agree with you," returned Hodges. — " But could you 
 point out any one who does?" he added, with a slight but signi- 
 ficant laugh. 
 
 No answer was returned, and as they had just reached the 
 portico of the cathedral, they entered the sacred structure in 
 sileuce. 
 
 As they ascended the winding stairs, loud outcries resounding 
 along the ambulatory, and echoed by the vaulted roof of the nave, 
 convinced them that the sufferer was again in a state of frenzy, 
 produced by fever and the anguish of his sore ; and on reaching 
 the cell, they found him struggling violently with Solomon Eagle, 
 who held him down by main force. 
 
 " He is in a fearfully excited state, truly," observed Hodges, 
 as he drew near, " and must not be left for a moment, or he will 
 do himself a mischief. I must give him a draught to allay the 
 fever, and compose his nerves — for in this state I dare not have 
 recourse to the lancet." 
 
 With this he dressed the tumour, and pouring the contents of 
 a lai'ge phial which he had brought with him in a cup, he held it 
 to the burning lips of the apprentice, who eagerly quaffed it. It 
 was soon apparent that the dose produced a salutary effect, and 
 a second was administered. Still the sufferer, though calmer, 
 continued to ramble as before — complained that his veins were 
 filled with molten lead — entreated them to plunge him in a 
 stream, so that he might cool his intolerable thirst, and appeared 
 to be in great agony. Doctor Hodges watched by him till day- 
 break, at which time he sank into a slumber, and Solomon Eagle, 
 who had never till then relinquished his hold of him, now ven- 
 tured to resign his post. The doctor was then about to depart, 
 but at the urgent solicitation of Nizza, who had stationed herself 
 at the door of the cell, he agreed to remain a little longer. 
 
 Two hours after this, the doors of the cathedral were opened, 
 and a large crowd soon assembled within the nave, as on the pre- 
 ceding day. The tumult of voices reached the cell and awakened 
 the sleeper. Before he could be prevented, he started from his 
 bed, and dashing aside the feeble opposition offered by Nizza and 
 the doctor, ran along the ambulatory, uttering a loud and fearful 
 
 L 
 
146 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 cry. Finding; the door of the winding staircase open, he darted 
 through it, and in a lew seconds reappeared in the aisle. Hearing 
 the cries, several persons rushed to meet him, but on beholding 
 his haggard looks and strange appearance, — he was merely 
 wrapped in a blanket, — they instantly recoiled. Meantime, 
 Doctor Hodges, who had run to one of the arched openings 
 looking on the nave, called out to them to secure the fugitive. 
 But all fled at his approach, and when he reached the door of 
 the southern transept, the verger, instead of attempting to stop 
 him, retreated with a cry of alarm. As he passed through the 
 outlet, one man bolder than the rest caught hold of him, and 
 endeavoured to detain him. But leaving the blanket in his 
 hands, and without other covering than his shirt, the apprentice 
 dashed across the church-yard — next shaped his course down 
 Saint Bennet's-hill — then crossed Thames-street, — and finally 
 speeding along another narrow thoroughfare, reached Paul's- 
 wharf. Gazing for a moment at the current sweeping past 
 him, — it was high-tide, — he plunged head foremost into it from 
 the high embankment, and on rising to the surface, being a 
 strong and expert swimmer, struck out for the opposite shore. 
 Those who beheld him were filled with amazement, but such was 
 the alarm occasioned by his appearance that none ventured to 
 interfere with him. He had not crossed more than a fourth part 
 of the stream when Doctor Hodges arrived at the wharf; but 
 neither promises of reward nor threats could induce any of the 
 watermen to follow him. The humane physician would have 
 sprung into a boat, but feeling he should be wholly unable to 
 manage it, he most reluctantly abandoned his purpose. Scarcely 
 doubting what the result of this rash attempt would be, and yet 
 unable to tear himself away, he lingered on the wharf till he saw 
 Leonard reach the opposite bank, where an attempt was made 
 by a party of persons to seize him. But instead of quietly sur- 
 rendering himself, the apprentice instantly leapt into the river 
 again, and began to swim back towards the point whence he had 
 started. Amazed at what he saw, the doctor ordered his 
 servant, who by this time had joined the group, to bring a 
 blanket, and descending to the edge of the river, awaited the 
 swimmer's arrival. In less than ten minutes he had reached the 
 shore, and clambering on the bank, fell from exhaustion. 
 
 " This is a violent effort of nature, which has accomplished 
 more than science or skill could do," said Hodges, as he gazed 
 on the body, and saw that the pestilential tumour had wholly 
 disappeared — " he is completely cured of the plague." 
 
 And throwing the blanket over him, he ordered him to be con* 
 veyed to his own house. 
 
147 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PEST-HOUSE IN FIXSBUEY FIELDS. 
 
 Not a word passed between the grocer and his daughter, as he 
 took her home from Saint Paul's. Amabel, in fact, was so over- 
 powered by conflicting emotions that she could not speak ; while 
 her father, who could not help reproaching himself for the harsh- 
 ness he had displayed towards Leonard Holt, felt no disposition 
 to break silence. They found Mrs. Bloundel at the shop-door, 
 drowned in tears, and almost in a state of distraction. On seeing 
 them, she rushed towards her daughter, and straining her to her 
 bosom, gave free vent to the impulses of her affection. Allowing 
 the first transports of joy to subside, Mr. Bloundel begged her to 
 retire to her own room with Amabel, and not to leave it till they 
 had both regained their composure, when he wished to have 
 some serious conversation with them. 
 
 His request complied with, the grocer then retraced his steps 
 to the cathedral with the intention of seeking an explanation 
 from Leonard, and, if he saw occasion to do so, of revoking his 
 severe mandate. But long before he reached the southern 
 transept, the apprentice had disappeared, nor could he learn what 
 had become of him. While anxiously pursuing his search among 
 the crowd, and addressing inquiries to all whom he thought 
 likely to afford him information, he perceived a man pushing his 
 way towards him. As this person drew near, he recognised 
 Pillichody, and would have got out of his way had it been 
 possible. 
 
 " You are looking for your apprentice, I understand, Mr. 
 Bloundel," said the bully, raising his hat — " if you desire it, I will 
 lead you to him." 
 
 Unwilling as he was to be obliged to one whom he knew to be 
 leagued with the Earl of Rochester, the grocer's anxiety over- 
 came his scruples, and signifying his acquiescence, Pillichody 
 shouldered his way through the crowd, and did not stop till 
 they reached the northern aisle, where they were comparatively 
 alone. 
 
 " Your apprentice is a fortunate spark, Mr. Bloundel," he said. 
 *■'* No sooner does he lose one mistress than he finds another. 
 Your daughter is already forgotten, and he is at this moment 
 enjoying a tender tete-a-tete in Bishop Kempe's chapel with 
 Nizza Macascree, the blind piper's daughter." 
 
 " It is false, sir," replied the grocer, incredulously. 
 
 " Unbelieving dog !" cried Pillichody, in a furious tone, and 
 clapping his hand upon his sword, " it is fortunate for you that 
 the disparity of our stations prevents me from compelling you to 
 yield me satisfaction for the insult you have offered me. But T 
 
 L2 
 
J 48 OLD SAINT PAUl/S. 
 
 caution you to keep better guard upon your tongue for the 
 future, especially when addressing one who has earned his laurels 
 under King Charles the Martyr." 
 
 " I have no especial reverence for the monarch you served 
 under," replied Bloundel. " But he would have blushed to own 
 such a follower." 
 
 " You may thank my generosity that I do not crop your ears, 
 base roundhead," rejoined Pillichody. " But I will convince you 
 that I speak the truth, and if you have any shame in your compo- 
 sition it will be summoned to your cheeks." 
 
 So saying, he proceeded to Bishop Kempe's chapel, the door of 
 which was slightly ajar, and desired the grocer to look through 
 the chink. This occurred at the precise time that the apprentice 
 ■was seized with sudden faintness, and was leaning for support 
 upon Nizza Macascree's shoulder. 
 
 " You see how lovingly they are seated together," observed 
 Pillichody, with a smile of triumph. " Bowers of Paphos ! I 
 would I were as near the rich widow of Watling-street. Will you 
 speak with him ?'* 
 
 " No," replied Bloundel, turning away, " I have done with 
 him for ever. I have been greatly deceived." 
 
 " True," chuckled Pillichudy, as soon as the grocer was out of 
 hearing ; " but not by your apprentice, Mr. Bloundel. I will go 
 and inform Parravicin and Rochester that I have discovered the 
 girl. The knight must mind what he is about, or Leonard Holt 
 will prove too much for him. Either I am greatly out, or the 
 apprentice is already master of Nizza's heart." 
 
 To return to Amabel. As soon as she was alone with her 
 mother, she threw herself on her knees before her, and imploring 
 her forgiveness, hastily related all that had occurred. 
 
 " But for Leonard Holt," she said, " I should have been duped 
 into a false marriage with the earl, and my peace of mind would 
 have been for ever destroyed. As it is, I shall never be easy till 
 he is restored to my father's favour. To have done wrong my- 
 self is reprehensible enough ; but that another should suffer for 
 my fault is utterly inexcusable." 
 
 " I lament that your father should be deceived," rejoined Mrs. 
 Bloundel, " and I lament still more that Leonard Holt should be 
 so unjustly treated. Nevertheless, we must act with the utmost 
 caution. I know my husband too well to doubt for a moment 
 that he will hesitate to fulfil his threat. And now, my dear 
 ihild," she continued, " do not the repeated proofs you have 
 received of this wicked nobleman's perfidy, and of Leonard's devo- 
 tion — do they not, I say, open your eyes to the truth, and show 
 you which of the two really loves you, and merits your regard ?" 
 
 " I will hide nothing from you, mother," replied Amabel. " In 
 spite of his perfidy— in spite of my conviction of his unworthi- 
 ness, I still love the Earl of Rochester. Nor can I compel 
 
THE PEST-HOUSE IN" FTNSBITRY FIELDS. 149 
 
 myself to feel any regard, stronger than that of friendship, for 
 Leonard Holt." 
 
 " You distress me sadly, child," cried Mrs. Bloundel. " What 
 will become of you ! I wish my husband would shut up his 
 house. That might put an end to the difficulty. I am not half 
 so much afraid of the plague as I am of the Earl of Rochester. 
 But compose yourself, as your lather desired, that when he sends 
 for us we may be ready to meet him with cheerfulness." 
 
 Mr. Bloundel, however, did not send for them. He remained 
 in the shop all day, except at meal times, when he said little, 
 and appeared to be labouring under a great weight of anxiety. 
 As Amabel took leave of him for the night, he dismissed her 
 with coldness ; and though he bestowed his customary blessing 
 upon her, the look that accompanied it was not such as it used 
 to be. 
 
 On the following day things continued in the same state. The 
 grocer was cold and inscrutable, and his wife, fearing he was 
 meditating some severe course against Amabel, and aware of his 
 inflexible nature, if a resolution was once formed, shook off her 
 habitual awe, and thus addressed him : — 
 
 ' k I fear you have not forgiven our daughter. Be not too hasty 
 in your judgment However culpable she may appear, she has 
 been as much deceived as yourself." 
 
 "It may be so," replied Bloundel. " Still she has acted with 
 euch indiscretion that I can never place confidence in her again, 
 and without confidence affection is as nought. Can I say to him 
 who may seek her in marriage, and whom I may approve as a 
 husband, — ' Take her ! she has never deceived me, and will never 
 deceive you ?' No. She has deceived me, and will, therefore, 
 deceive others. I do not know the precise truth of the story of 
 her abduction (if such it was) by Leonard Holt, neither do I wish 
 to know it, because I might be compelled to act with greater 
 severit} r than I desire towards her. But I know enough to satisfy 
 me she has been excessively imprudent, and has placed herself 
 voluntarily in situations of the utmost jeopardy." 
 
 " Not voluntariby," returned Mrs. Bloundel. " She has been 
 lured into difficulties by others." 
 
 " No more I" interrupted the grocer, sternly. " If you wish 
 to serve her, keep guard upon } r our tongue. If you have any 
 preparations to make, they must not be delayed. I shall shut up 
 my house to-morrow." 
 
 " Whether Leonard returns or not ?" asked Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " I shall wait for no one," returned her husband, peremptorily. 
 
 They then separated, and Mrs. Bloundel hastened to her 
 laughter to acquaint her with the result of the interview. 
 
 In the afternoon of the same da}', the grocer, who began to 
 feel extremely uneasy about Leonard, again repaired to Saint 
 Paul's, to see whether he could obtain any tidings of him, and 
 
150 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 learnt, to his great dismay, from one of the vergers, that a young 
 man, answering to the description of the apprentice, had been 
 attacked by the pestilence, and having been taken to the vaults 
 of Saint Faith's had made his escape from his attendants, and, it 
 was supposed, had perished. Horror-stricken by this intelligence, 
 he descended to the subterranean church, where he met Judith 
 Malmayns and Chowles, who confirmed the verger's statement. 
 
 " The poor young man, lam informed," said Chowles, "threw 
 himself into the Thames, and was picked up by a boat, and 
 afterwards conveyed, in a dying state, to the pest-house in 
 Finsbury-fields, where vou will probably find him, if he is still 
 alive." 
 
 Mr. Bloundel heard no more. Quitting the cathedral, he 
 hastened to Finsbury-fields, and sought out the building to which 
 he had been directed. It was a solitary farm-house, of consider- 
 able size, surrounded by an extensive garden, and had only been 
 recently converted to its present melancholy use. Near it was a 
 barn, also fitted up with beds for the sick. On approaching the 
 pest-house, Mr. Bloundel was greatly struck with the contrast 
 presented by its exterior to the misery he knew to be reigning 
 within. Its situation was charming, — in the midst, as has just 
 been stated, of a large and, until recently, well cultivated garden, 
 and seen under the influence of a bright and genial May day, 
 the whole place looked the picture of healthfulness and comfort. 
 But a closer view speedily dispelled the illusion, and showed that 
 it was the abode of disease and death. Horrid sounds saluted 
 the ears ; ghastly figures met the eyes ; and the fragrance of the 
 flowers was overpowered by the tainted and noisome atmosphere 
 issuing from the open doors and windows. The grocer had 
 scarcely entered the gate when he was arrested by an appalling 
 shriek, followed by a succession of cries so horrifying that he felt 
 half disposed to fly. But mustering up his resolution, and 
 breathing at a phial of vinegar, he advanced towards the prin- 
 cipal door, which stood wide open, and called to one of the 
 assistants. The man, however, was too busy to attend to him, 
 and while waiting his leisure, he saw no fewer than three corpses 
 carried out to an outbuilding in the yard, where they were left 
 till they could be taken away at night for interment. 
 
 Sickened by the sight, and blaming himself for entering near 
 this contagious spot, Mr. Bloundel was about to depart, when a 
 young chirurgeon stepped out to him, and, in reply to his 
 inquiries after Leonard, said — " Twelve persons were brought in 
 here last night, and five this morning, but I do not remember 
 any of their names. You can go through the rooms and search 
 for your apprentice, if you think proper." 
 
 Mr. Bloundel hesitated, but his humanity overcame his appre- 
 hension, and murmuring a prayer that he might be preserved 
 from infection, he followed his conductor into the house. Pre- 
 
THE PEST-HOUSE IN FINSBURY FIELDS. 151 
 
 pared as he was for a dreadful spectacle, the reality far exceeded 
 his anticipations. Along both sides of a large room, occupying 
 nearly the whole of the ground-floor, were rows of pallets, on 
 which were laid the sick, many of whom were tied down to their 
 couches. Almost all seemed in a hopeless state, and the cada- 
 verous hue of their countenances proclaimed that death was not 
 far off. Though the doors and windows were open, and the 
 room was filled with vapours and exhalations, arising from pans 
 of coal and plates of hot iron, on which drugs were burning, 
 nothing could remove the putrid and pestilential smell that per- 
 vaded the chamber. The thick vapour settled on the panes of 
 the windows, and on the roof, and fell to the ground in heavy 
 drops. Marching quickly past each bed, the grocer noted the 
 features of its unfortunate occupant, but though there were many 
 young men, Leonard was not among the number. His con- 
 ductor then led him to an upper room, where he found the 
 chirurgeons dressing the sores of their patients, most of whom 
 uttered loud shrieks while under their hands. Here an incident 
 occurred which deeply affected the grocer. A poor young 
 woman, who had been brought to the pest-house with her child 
 on the previous evening, had just expired, and the infant, unable 
 to obtain its customary nourishment, uttered the most piteous 
 cries. It w 7 as instantly removed by a nurse and proper food 
 given it, but Mr. Bloundel was informed that the plague-tokens 
 had already appeared, and that it would not probably live over 
 the night. " I have no doubt," said the young chirurgeon, "it 
 will be buried with its mother." And so it happened. 
 
 The grocer turned away to hide his emotion, and endeavoured 
 through his blinded gaze to discover Leonard, but, as will be 
 anticipated, without success. Stunned by the cries and groans 
 that pierced his ears, and almost stifled by the pestilential 
 effluvia, he rushed out of the house, and gladly accepted a glass 
 of sack offered him by his conductor, which removed the dreadful 
 nausea that affected him. 
 
 " I now remember that the two last persons brought here were 
 taken to the barn," observed the chirurgeon. " I will go with 
 you thither, if you think proper." 
 
 The grocer assented, and the chirurgeon crossed the yard, and 
 opened the door of the barn, on the floor of which upwards of 
 twenty beds were laid. Passing between them, Mr. Bloundel 
 narrowly scrutinized every countenance, but, to his great relief, 
 recognised no one. One couch alone remained to be examined. 
 The poor sufferer within it had drawn the coverings over his face, 
 and when they were removed, he was found quite dead ! He 
 was a young man, and the agony he had endured in the last 
 struggle was shown by his collapsed frame and distorted features. 
 It was not, however, Leonard, and, so far satisfied, though greatly 
 shocked, Mr. Bloundel hurried out. 
 
152 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! he is not here !" he exclaimed, to his con- 
 ductor. 
 
 " You have not seen the dead bodies in the outhouse," returned 
 the other. " It is possible his may be among them." 
 
 "I trust not," rejoined the grocer, shuddering. "But as I 
 have gone thus far, 1 will not leave my errand unaccomplished. 
 Suffer me to look at them." 
 
 The chirurgeon then led the way to a spacious outbuilding, 
 once used for cattle, in the midst of which stood a large frame 
 supporting six bodies, covered only with a sheet. Mr. Bloundel 
 could not overcome his repugnance to enter this shed ; but the 
 chirurgeon, who appeared habituated to such scenes, and to regard 
 them lightly, threw off the sheet, and raised the corpses, one by 
 one, that he might the better view them. One peculiarity 
 Mr. Bloundel noticed ; namely, that the limbs of these unfortu- 
 nate victims of the pestilence did not stiffen as would have been 
 the case, if they had died of any other disorder, while the 
 blotches that appeared on the livid flesh made them objects 
 almost too horrible to look upon. In many cases the features 
 were frightfully distorted — the tongues of the poor wretches 
 swollen and protruding — the hands clenched, and the toes bent 
 towards the soles of the feet. Everything denoted the dreadful 
 pangs that must have attended dissolution. 
 
 Greatly relieved to find that the whole of this ghastly group 
 were strangers to him, Mr. Bloundel thanked the chirurgeon, 
 and departed. Convinced that he had been deceived by the 
 coffin-maker, he now began to hope that the whole story was 
 false, but he determined not to rest till he had thoroughly 
 investigated the matter. Before doing so, however, he thought 
 it advisable to return home, and accordingly shaped his course 
 towards Cripplegate, and passing through the postern, stopped at 
 an apothecary's shop and got his apparel fumigated, and sprinkled 
 with spirits of hartshorn and sulphur. 
 
 On reaching Wood-street, he noticed with some uneasiness a 
 number of persons gathered together before his dwelling. His 
 fears were speedily relieved by finding that the assemblage was 
 collected by a preacher, who was pronouncing an exhortation to 
 them in tones almost as loud and emphatic as those of Solomon 
 Eagle. The preacher's appearance was very remarkable, and 
 attracted the attention of the grocer, who joined the crowd to 
 listen to him. As far as could be judged, he was a middle-aged 
 man, with black hair floating over his shoulders, earnest features, 
 and a grey eye of extraordinary brilliancy. His figure was slight 
 and erect, and his gestures as impassioned as his looks. He 
 spoke with great rapidity, and his eloquence, combined with his 
 fervent manner and expression, completely entranced his audience. 
 He was habited in a cassock and bands, and had taken off his 
 
THE PEST-HOUSE IN FINSBURY FIELDS. 153 
 
 cap, which was held by an attendant, who stood near the stool 
 on which he was mounted. The latter differed materially from 
 his master. His closely-cropped hair, demure looks, sugar-loaf 
 hat, and suit of rusty sable seemed to proclaim him a Puritan ; 
 but his twinkling eye, — for he had but one, and wore a black 
 patch over the orifice, — his inflamed cheeks and mulberry nose 
 contradicted the idea. 
 
 As soon as the preacher distinguished Mr. Bloundel, he 
 addressed his discourse to him ; and alluding to his religious 
 habits and general excellence of character, held him up as an 
 example to others. The grocer would fain have retreated, but 
 the preacher besought him to stay, and was proceeding in the 
 same strain when a sudden interruption took place. A slight 
 disturbance occurring amid the crowd, the attendant attempted 
 to check it, and in doing so, received a sound buffet on the ears. 
 In endeavouring to return the blow, he struck another party, who 
 instantly retaliated, and a general affray commenced, — some 
 taking one side, some the other. In the midst of the confusion 
 three persons forced their way towards the preacher, knocked 
 him from his stool, and assailing him with the most opprobrious 
 epithets, dealt him several seemingly severe blows, and would 
 have further maltreated him, if Mr. Bloundel had not interposed, 
 and, pushing aside his assailants, gave him his hand, and led him 
 into his dwelling, the door of which he closed. Shortly after- 
 wards, the crowd dispersing, the preacher's companion entered 
 the shop in search of his master. 
 
 " I hope you have sustained no injury during this tumult, 
 reverend and dear sir?" he asked, with great apparent solicitude. 
 
 " I am not much hurt," replied the preacher ; " but I have 
 received a blow on the head, which has stunned me. The 
 faintness will go off presently. You were the cause of this dis- 
 turbance, Bambolio." 
 
 " I, Doctor Maplebury ?" replied Bambolio — " I endeavoured 
 to stop it. But your reverence looks extremely ill. I am sure, 
 sir," he added, to Mr. Bloundel, "after the high character my 
 master gave you in his discourse, and which I am persuaded you 
 deserve, you will extend your hospitality towards him." 
 
 " Readily," replied the grocer. " Here, Blaize, assist the 
 reverend gentleman within, and bid your mistress come down 
 stairs immediately." 
 
 Doctor Maplebury was then conveyed between the porter and 
 Bambolio into the inner room, where he sank into a chair in a 
 complete state of exhaustion. The next moment Mrs. Bloundel 
 made her appearance with Amabel. The latter no sooner beheld 
 the preacher than she started and trembled so violently, that she 
 could scarcely support herself; but her mother, who only saw a 
 fainting man, flew to his assistance, and called to Patience to 
 
154 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 bring restoratives. These applied, Doctor Maplebury was soon 
 able to rouse himself sufficiently to gaze round the room, and fix 
 his eyes on Amabel. 
 
 " So our old friends are here again," said Patience, in a low 
 tone to Blaize, as they left the room together. 
 
 " Old friends ! — What do you mean ?" rejoined the porter. 
 
 " Why, the Earl of Rochester and Major Pillichody," replied 
 Patience. " I knew them at a glance, and so did Mistress 
 Amabel. But if I hadn't discovered them, the major would soon 
 have let me into the secret, by the way in which he squeezed my 
 hand." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Blaize, angrily. " I'll go and acquaint 
 my master with the trick directly." 
 
 " Do so," replied Patience, " and the house will be shut up 
 to-morrow. Our only chance of averting that calamity is in the 
 earl." 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 HOW THE GROCER SHUT UP HIS HOUSE. 
 
 Placed in a warm bed, and carefully tended by the humane 
 physician, Leonard Holt slept tranquilly for some hours, and 
 when he awoke, though so weak as scarcely to be able to lift an 
 arm, he was free from all ailment. Feeling ravenously hungry, 
 he made known his wants, and provisions being set before him, 
 he was allowed to eat and drink in moderation. Greatly 
 revived by the meal, he arose and attired himself in habiliments 
 provided for him by Hodges, who finding him fully equal to 
 conversation, questioned him as to all that had occurred prior to 
 his seizure. 
 
 " You have acted nobly," observed the doctor, at the close of 
 his recital, " and if Amabel had a spark of generosity in her com- 
 position, she would worthily requite you. But I do not expect it. 
 How different is her conduct from that of the piper's pretty 
 daughter. The latter really loves you, and I would advise you as 
 a friend to turn your thoughts to her. She will make you happy ; 
 whereas the indulgence of your present hopeless passion — for 
 hopeless it is — can only lead to wretchedness." 
 
 " Would I could follow your advice I" replied Leonard, "but 
 alas ! I cannot. Amabel does not love the Earl of Rochester mort 
 blindly, more constantly, than I love her ; and I could as soor 
 change my nature as transfer my affection to another." 
 
 " I am truly sorry for it," rejoined Hodges, in a tone of deep 
 sympathy. " And you still desire to return to your master ?" 
 
 " Unquestionably," replied Leonard. " If I am banished the 
 house, I shall wander round it night and day like a ghost." 
 
HOW THE 'JtROCER SHUT UP HIS HOUSE. 155 
 
 " I will accompany you there this evening," rejoined Hodges, 
 " and trust I shall be able to arrange matters without compro- 
 mising Amabel. I wish I could forward your suit more efficiently. 
 But I see no chance of it, and to deal plainly with you, I do not 
 think a marriage with her would be for your happiness. The 
 brilliant qualities of your noble rival at present so dazzle her eyes, 
 that your own solid worth is completely overlooked. It will be 
 well if her father can preserve her from ruin." 
 
 " The earl shall die by my hand rather than he shall succeed 
 in his infamous purpose," cried Leonard, fiercely. 
 
 " No more of this 1" exclaimed Hodges. " If you would have 
 me take an interest in you, you will never give utterance to such 
 a sentiment again. Amabel has another guardian, more powerful 
 even than her father — the plague. Ere long, the earl, who has 
 a sufficient value for his own safety, will fly the city." 
 
 " I hope the pestilence will number him among its victims," 
 observed Leonard, in a sombre tone. 
 
 At this juncture, the old porter entered the room, and informed 
 his master that the piper's daughter was below, and had called to 
 inquire after the apprentice. 
 
 Hodges desired she might be shown up-stairs, and the next 
 moment Nizza was ushered into the room. On beholding the 
 improved appearance of Leonard, she could not repress an excla- 
 mation of delight, while a deep blush suffused her cheeks. 
 
 " You are surprised to find him quite well," observed Hodges, 
 with a smile. " Nay, you may approach him with safety. There 
 is no fear of contagion now." 
 
 " Having satisfied myself on that point, I will take my leave," 
 rejoined Nizza, in some confusion. 
 
 " Not till you have allowed me to return my thanks, I trust," 
 said Leonard, advancing towards her and taking her hand. " I 
 owe my life to you." 
 
 " Then pay the debt by devoting it to her," rejoined Hodges. 
 " Excuse me for a few minutes. I have business to attend to, but 
 will be back again directly." 
 
 Left alone together, the young couple felt so much embarrass- 
 ment that for some moments neither conld utter a word. At 
 length, Nizza, who had suffered her hand to remain in that of 
 Leonard, gently withdrew it. 
 
 " Circumstances have given me a claim to your confidence," 
 she faltered, "and you will not misconstrue my motive, when I 
 ask you whether you still retain the same affection as formerly for 
 Amabel ?" 
 
 " Unfortunately for myself, I do," replied Leonard. 
 
 " And unfortunately for me, too," sighed Nizza. " Doctor 
 Hodges says he can restore you to your master's favour. You 
 will therefore return home, and we shall meet no more." 
 
 *' In these precarious times, those who part, though even for 
 
]5G OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 a few days, can feel no certainty of meeting again," rejoined 
 Leonard. " But I hope we shall be more fortunate." 
 
 " You mistake me," replied Nizza. " Henceforth, I shall sedu- 
 lously avoid you. Till I saw you, I was happy, and indifferent 
 to all else — my affections being centered in my father and in my 
 dog. Now, I am restless and miserable. My former pursuits 
 are abandoned, and I think only of you. Despise me if you will 
 after this frank avowal. But believe that I would not have made 
 it, if I had not resolved to see you no more." 
 
 " Despise you !" echoed Leonard. c ' Oh no ! I shall ever feel 
 the deepest gratitude towards you ; but, perhaps, it is better we 
 should meet no more." 
 
 " And yet you throw yourself in the way of Amabel," cried 
 Nizza. "You have not resolution to fly from the danger v.hich 
 you counsel me to shun." 
 
 " It is too true," replied Leonard ; " but she is beset by tempta- 
 tions from which I hope to preserve her." 
 
 " That excuse will not avail me," returned Nizza, bitterly. 
 " You cannot live without her. But I have said enough — more 
 than enough," she added, correcting herself. " I must now bid 
 you farewell — for ever. May you be happy with Amabel, and 
 may she love you as I love you !" 
 
 As she said this she would have rushed out of the room, if she 
 had not been stopped by Doctor Hodges. 
 
 " Whither so fast ?" he inquired. 
 
 " Oh ! let me go — let me go, I implore of you I" she cried, 
 bursting into an agony of tears. 
 
 " Not till you have composed yourself," rejoined the doctor. 
 " What is the matter ? — But 1 need not ask. I wonder Leonard 
 can be insensible to charms like yours, coupled with such devotion. 
 Everything seems to be at cross purposes, and it requires some 
 one more skilled in the affairs of the heart than an old bachelor 
 like myself to set them right. Sit down. I have a few questions 
 of importance to ask you before you depart." 
 
 And partly by entreaty, partly by compulsion, he made her 
 take a chair, and as soon as she was sufficiently composed to 
 answer him, questioned her as to what she knew relating to Judith 
 Malmayns and Chowles. 
 
 " Mr. Quatremain, the minor-canon, has died of the plague in 
 one of the vaults of Saint Faith's," he observed, " and I more than 
 suspect, from the appearance of the body, has not met with fair 
 
 P la J-" 
 
 " Your suspicion is well founded, sir," replied Nizza. " Solomon 
 
 Eagle told me that the unfortunate man's end was hastened by 
 the plague-nurse. Nor is this her sole crime. She was hired to 
 make away with Leonard Holt in the same manner, and would 
 have accomplished her purpose but for the intervention of Solo- 
 mon Eagle." 
 
HOW THE GROCER SHUT UP HIS HOUSE. 157 
 
 u Neither she nor her partner in guilt, the coffin-maker, shall 
 escape justice this time," replied Hodges. " I will instantly cause 
 her to be arrested, and I trust she will expiate her offences at 
 Tj-burn. But, to change the subject. I am sincerely interested 
 about you, Nizza, and wish I could make Leonard as sensible of 
 your merits as I am myself. I still hope a change will take place 
 in his feelings." 
 
 " My heart tells me the contrary," replied Nizza. " There ig 
 no hope for either of us. Farewell, Leonard !" And she rushed 
 out of the room. 
 
 Soon after this, Hodges quitted the apprentice, and going before 
 a magistrate, detailed all that had come to his knowledge con- 
 cerning the criminal practices of Judith Malmayns and Chowles. 
 In the course of the day, the accused parties were arrested, and 
 after a long examination, conveyed to Newgate. Solomon Eagle 
 could not be found, neither could Sir Paul Parravicin. It appeared 
 that Mr. Quatremain's residence had been entered on that very 
 morning, and the box: of treasure discovered in Saint Faith's 
 abstracted. But though the strongest suspicion of the robbery 
 attached to Chowles and Judith, it could not be brought home to 
 them. 
 
 We shall now proceed to Wood-street, and ascertain what took 
 place there. Refreshments were placed before the supposed 
 Doctor Maplebury by the grocer, while his attendant was sent to 
 the kitchen, and directions given to Blaize to take every care of 
 him, old Josyna was occupied about her own concerns, and Pilli- 
 chody, perceiving from the porter's manner that his disguise was 
 detected, laid aside concealment altogether, and endeavoured to 
 win the other over to his patron's interests. 
 
 " If this marriage takes place," he said, " I am authorized by 
 my noble friend to state that he will appoint you his steward with 
 a large salary, and that will be a very different situation from the 
 one you hold at present. A nobleman's steward I Think of that. 
 You will have a retinue of servants under your control, and will 
 live quite as well as his lordship." 
 
 " I have some scruples," hesitated Blaize. 
 " Scruples ! phsaw !" cried Pillichody. " You can have no 
 hesitation in benefiting yourself. If you remain here, the house 
 will be shut up, and you will be kept a close prisoner for months 
 in the very heart of an infected city, and I daresay will be buried 
 in yonder cellar; whereas, if you go with the Earl of Rochester, 
 you will dwell in a magnificent country mansion — a palace, I 
 ought to call it — enjoy every luxury, and remain there till the 
 plague is ovei\" 
 
 " That last reason decides me," replied Blaize. " But I suppose 
 his lordship will provide himself with a medicine chest ?" 
 
 " He has already got one as large as this table," said Pillichody, 
 * and you shall have the key of it." 
 
158 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Enough !" exclaimed Blaize. " I am yours." 
 
 " Pray, what am I to be ?" asked Patience, who had listened 
 to the foregoing conversation with a smile at Blaize's credulity. 
 
 "You, sweetheart !" exclaimed Pillichody. " I will take care 
 of you. You shall be my housekeeper." 
 
 " Hold !" cried Blaize. " I cannot admit that. Patience and 
 I are engaged." 
 
 " Since you are promoted to such an important situation, you 
 can make a better match," observed Patience. " I release you 
 from the engagement." 
 
 "I don't choose to be released," returned Blaize, "I will marry 
 you on the same day that the earl weds Amabel," 
 
 " That will be to-night, or to-morrow at the latest," said Pilli- 
 chody. " Consent, sweetheart," he added in a whisper to 
 Patience, " if we can once get you and your pretty mistress out of 
 the house, we will leave this simpleton fool in the lurch." 
 
 "No, I will never consent to any such thing," returned Patience, 
 in the same tone. 
 
 " What's that you are saying ?" inquired Blaize, suspiciously. 
 
 " Major Pillichody says he will marry me, if you wont," returned 
 Patience. 
 
 "I have just told you I will," rejoined Blaize. " But he must 
 not continue his attentions. I feel I shall be very jealous." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," returned Patience, bursting into a loud 
 laugh, " for that proves you love me." 
 
 " Well," observed Pillichody, " I wont interfere with a friend ; 
 and as there is no knowing what may occur, it will be well to 
 prepare accordingly." 
 
 So saying, he fell to work upon the provisions loading the 
 board, and ate and drank as if determined to lay in a stock for 
 the next two days. 
 
 Meantime, the earl made rapid progress in the good opinion 
 both of Mr. Bloundel and his wife. Adapting his discourse pre- 
 cisely to their views, and exerting his matchless conversational 
 powers to their full extent, he so charmed them that they thought 
 they could listen to him for ever. While thus engaged, he con- 
 tinued ever and anon to steal a glance at Amabel, and on these 
 occasions, his eyes were quite as eloquent and intelligible as his 
 tongue. 
 
 Among other topics interesting to the grocer, the persecution 
 to which his daughter had been recently subjected was brought 
 forward. Mr. Bloundel could not reprobate the earl's conduct 
 more strongly than his guest did ; and he assailed himself with 
 such virulence that, in spite of her uneasiness, Amabel could not 
 repress a smile. In short, he so accommodated himself to the 
 grocer's opinions, and so won upon his regard, that the latter 
 offered him an asylum in his house during the continuance ot 
 the pestilence. This was eagerly accepted, and the earl, hazarding 
 
HOW THE GROCER SHUT UP HIS HOUSE. 159 
 
 a look at Amabel at the moment, perceived her change colour 
 and become greatly agitated. Mrs. Bloundel also noticed her 
 confusion, but attributing it to any other than the right cause, 
 begged her, in a low tone, to control herself. 
 
 At length, the opportunity for which the earl had been secretly 
 sighing occurred. Mr. Bloundel called his wife out of the room 
 for a moment, and as their eldest son, Stephen, was in the shop, 
 and the two other children upstairs, Amabel was left alone with 
 her lover. The door was no sooner closed than he sprang towards 
 her and threw himself at her feet. 
 
 "Shall I avail myself of your father's offer, sweetheart?" he 
 cried. " Shall I remain here with you — the happiest of prisoners 
 — or will you once more accompany me ? This time, our mar- 
 riage shall not be interrupted." 
 
 " Perhaps not, my lord," she replied, gravely ; " but it will be 
 a mock ceremonial, like the last. Do not attempt to deceive 
 me. I am fully aware of your intentions, and after the awful 
 fate of the wretched instrument of your purposed criminality, 
 you will not readily get another person to tempt in like manner 
 the vengeance of Heaven. I have had a severe struggle with 
 myself. But at length I have triumphed over my irresolution. 
 I will not disguise from you that I love you still, — and must 
 ever, I fear, continue to love you. But I will not be yours on 
 the terms you propose. Neither will I leave this house with 
 you, nor suffer you to remain in it, in any other than your 
 proper character. On my father's return I will disclose all to 
 him. If your designs are honourable, I am sure he will no 
 longer oppose my union with you. If not, we part for ever." 
 
 "Be prudent, sweet girl, I entreat of you," cried the earl, 
 imploringly. "Your indiscretion will ruin all. There are a 
 thousand reasons why your father should not be consulted on 
 the matter." 
 
 " There are none that weigh with me," she interrupted, 
 decidedly. "I have been bewildered — beside myself, — but, 
 thank Heaven, I have recovered before it is too late." 
 
 "You are beside yourself at this moment," cried Rochester, 
 unable to control his anger and mortification, "and will bitterly 
 repent your folly. Neither your supplications nor my rank will 
 have any weight with your father, prejudiced as he is against 
 me. Fly with me, and I swear to make 3'ou mine, without a 
 moment's loss of time. Will not my plighted word content you?" 
 
 " No, my lord, you have broken it already," returned Amabel. 
 • My father shall know the truth." 
 
 A dark shade passed over Rochester's countenance, and a sin- 
 gular and most forbidding expression, which Amabel had once 
 before noticed, took possession of it. His love for her seemed 
 changed to hate, and she tremblingly averted her gaze. At this 
 juncture, the door opened, and the grocer and his wife entered 
 
160 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 the room. The former started, on seeing Amabel and the sup- 
 posed preacher in such close propinquity, and a painful suspicion 
 of the truth crossed his mind. He was not, however, kept long; 
 in suspense. Throwing off his wig, and letting his own fair 
 ringlets fall over his shoulders, the earl tore open his cassock, 
 and disclosed his ordinary rich attire. At the same time, his face 
 underwent an equally striking change, — each feature resuming 
 its original expression ; and the grocer, though he witnessed the 
 whole transformation, could scarcely believe that the same indi- 
 vidual he had recently beheld stood before him. 
 
 " You now know who I am, Mr. Bloundel, and what brought 
 me hither," said Rochester, with a haughty salutation. 
 
 " I do, my lord," replied the grocer, " and I give you full 
 credit for your daring and ingenuity. After the manner in 
 which I have been imposed upon myself, I can make allowance 
 for others." He then turned to Amabel, and said, in a severe 
 tone, " You are no longer my daughter." 
 
 " Father 1" she cried, rushing towards him and throwing herseli 
 at his feet, u do not cast me off for ever. I am not now to blame. 
 It is owing to my determination to disclose all to you that the 
 earl has thus revealed himself. I might have deceived you 
 further — might have fled with him." 
 
 « Forgive her ! oh, forgive her !" cried Mrs. Bloundel — " or, if 
 any ill happens to her, you will be answerable for it." 
 
 " Is this the truth, rny lord ?" asked the grocer. 
 
 Rochester bowed stiffly in acquiescence. 
 
 " Then you are again my child," said Bloundel, raising her, 
 and pressing her to his bosom. "What are your intentions 
 towards her?" he continued, addressing the earl. 
 
 " They may be readily surmised," replied Rochester, with a 
 scornful laugh. 
 
 " Will you wed her, if I agree to the union ?" asked Bloundel, 
 trembling with concentrated rage. 
 
 Amabel looked at her lover as if her life hung on his answer. 
 
 Rochester affected not to hear the question, but, as it was 
 repeated still more peremptorily, he repeated carelessly, — " I will 
 consider of it." 
 
 " Deceived ! deceived !" cried Amabel, falling on her mother's 
 neck, and bursting into tears. 
 
 " This outrage shall not pass unpunished," cried Bloundel. 
 And before the earl could draw his sword or offer any resistance, 
 he threw himself upon him, and hurling him to the ground, set 
 his foot upon his bosom. 
 
 " Do not kill him," shrieked Amabel, terrified by the stern 
 expression of her father's countenance. 
 
 " What are you about to do ?" gasped Rochester, struggling 
 neffectually to get free. 
 
 " Bid Stephen bring a cord," cried the grocer. 
 
HOW THE GROCKIl SHUT UP HIS HOUSE. 161 
 
 " You are not going to hang him ?" inquired Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " Do as I bid you," rejoined her husband, " and lose no 
 time." 
 
 As she was about to leave the room, the door opened, and 
 Doctor Hodges entered, followed by Leonard and Stephen. 
 
 " Mercy on us I what's the matter ?" cried the former, in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " You are just arrived in time to prevent mischief," replied 
 Mrs. Bloundel. " Pray interfere between them. My husband 
 will attend to you !" 
 
 " Arise, my lord," said Mr. Bloundel, removing his foot from 
 the prostrate nobleman — "you are sufficiently punished by being 
 found in this disgraceful condition. Remember that your life 
 has been at my disposal. 
 
 Thus liberated, Rochester sprang to his feet, and regarding the 
 group with a menacing and disdainful look, walked up to Amabel, 
 and saying to her, " You shall yet be mine," strode out of the 
 room. He then marched along the passage, and called to 
 Pillichod}', w 7 ho instantly answered the summons. Accompanied 
 by Hodges, the grocer followed them to the shop, where the 
 bully not departing so quickly as he desired, and refusing to be 
 more expeditious, he kicked him into the street. This done, and 
 the door fastened, he tarried only till he had received all needful 
 explanations from the friendly physician, and then returning to 
 the inner room, warmly greeted Leonard, and congratulated him 
 on his extraordinary recovery from the plague. 
 
 Happiness was thus once more restored to every member of 
 the grocer's family, except Amabel, who still continued down- 
 cast and dejected, and entreated permission to retire to her own 
 room. A cheerful evening was then passed by the others, and 
 the doctor did not offer to take his departure till the clock struck 
 eleven. 
 
 " It is the last night I shall spend here for some months," he 
 said ; " perhaps the last I shall ever spend here, and I have stayed 
 longer than I intended, but I did not like to abridge my enjoy- 
 ment." After shaking hands cordially with the whole party, he 
 added, in an under tone, as he took leave of Leonard, " Do not 
 forget Nizza Macascree." 
 
 On the following day the grocer nailed up the shutters, and 
 locked and barred the doors of his house. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE IMPRISONED FAMILY. 
 
 The first few days of their confinement were passed by the 
 grocer's family in a very uncomfortable manner. No one, except 
 Mr. Bloundel, appeared reconciled to the plan, and even he 
 found it more difficult of accomplishment than he had antici- 
 pated. The darkness of the rooms, and the want of ventilation 
 caused by the closed windows and barred doors, gave the house 
 the air of a prison, and occasioned a sense of oppression almost 
 intolerable. Blaize declared it "was worse than being in New- 
 gate, and that he must take an additional rufus a day to set right 
 his digestion ;" while Patience affirmed " that it was like being 
 buried alive, and that she would not stand it." Mr. Bloundel 
 paid no attention to their complaints, but addressed himself 
 seriously to the remedy. Insisting upon the utmost attention 
 being paid to cleanliness, he had an abundant supply of water 
 drawn, with which the floors of every room and passage were 
 washed down daily. By such means the house was kept cool 
 and wholesome; and its inmates, becoming habituated to the 
 gloom, in a great degree recovered their cheerfulness. 
 
 The daily routine of the establishment was as follows. The 
 grocer arose at dawn, and proceeded to call up the whole of his 
 family. They then assembled in a large room on the second 
 story, where he offered up thanks that they had been spared 
 during the night, and prayed for their preservation during the 
 day. He next assigned a task to each, and took care to see it 
 afterwards duly fulfilled ; well knowing that constant employment 
 was the best way to check repining and promote contentment. 
 Heretofore the servants had always taken their meals in the 
 kitchen, but now they always sat down to table with him. " I 
 will make no distinction at this season," he said ; " all shall fare 
 as I fare, and enjoy the same comforts as myself. And I trust 
 that my dwelling may be as sure a refuge amid this pestilential 
 storm as the ark of the patriarch proved when Heaven's ven- 
 geance was called forth in the mighty flood." 
 
 Their devotions ended, the whole party repaired to one of the 
 
THE IMPRISONED FAMILY. 163 
 
 lower rooms, where a plentiful breakfast was provided, and of 
 which they all partook. The business of the day then began, 
 and, as has just been observed, no one was suffered to remain 
 idle. The younger children were allowed to play and exercise 
 themselves as much as they chose in the garret, and Blaize and 
 Patience were occasionally invited to join them. A certain 
 portion of the evening was also devoted to harmless recreation 
 and amusements. The result may be anticipated. No one 
 suffered in health, while all improved in spirits. Prayers, as 
 usual, concluded the day, and the family retired to rest at an 
 early hour. 
 
 This system of things may appear sufficiently monotonous, but 
 it was precisely adapted to the exigencies of the case, and pro- 
 duced a most salutary effect. Regular duties and regular 
 employments being imposed upon each, and their constant 
 recurrence, so far from being irksome, soon became agreeable. 
 After a while the whole family seemed to grow indifferent to the 
 external world — to live only for each other, and to think only of 
 each other — and to Leonard Holt, indeed, that house was all the 
 world. Those walls contained everything dear to him, and he 
 would have been quite content never to leave them if Amabel 
 had been always near. He made no attempt to renew his suit — 
 seldom or ever exchanging a word with her, and might have 
 been supposed to have become wholly indifferent to her. But it 
 was not so. His heart was consumed by the same flame as 
 before. No longer, however, a prey to jealousy — no longer 
 apprehensive of the earl — he felt so happy, in comparison with 
 what he had been, that he almost prayed that the term of their 
 imprisonment might be prolonged. Sometimes the image of 
 Nizza Macascree would intrude upon him, and he thought, with 
 a feeling akin to remorse, of what she might suffer — for he was 
 too well acquainted with the pangs of unrequited love not to 
 sympathize deeply with her. As to Amabel, she addressed 
 herself assiduously to the tasks enjoined by her father, and 
 allowed her mind to dwell as little as possible on the past, but 
 employed all her spare time in devotional exercises. 
 
 It will be remembered that the grocer had reserved a com- 
 munication with the street, by means of a shutter, opening from 
 a small room in the upper story. Hither he would now fre- 
 quently repair, and though he did not as yet think it necessary 
 to have recourse to all the precautionary measures he intended 
 eventually to adopt — such as flashing a pistol when he looked 
 forth — yet he never opened the shutter without holding a phial 
 of vinegar, or a handkerchief wetted with the same liquid, to his 
 face. 
 
 Before closing his house he had hired a porter, who occupied 
 the hutch at his door, and held himself in readiness to execute 
 any commission, or perform any service that might be required. 
 
 M2 
 
164 old saint Paul's. 
 
 Fresh vegetables, poultry, eggs, butter, and milk, were brought 
 by a higgler from the country, and raised by means of a basket 
 or a can attached to the pulley. Butcher's meat was fetched him 
 from Newgate-market by the porter. This man, whose name 
 was Ralph Dallison, had been formerly in the employ of the 
 grocer, who, knowing his character, could place entire reliance 
 on him. Dallison reported the progress of the pestilence daily, 
 and acquainted him with the increasing amount of the bills of 
 mortality. Several houses, he said, were infected in Cheapside, 
 and two in Wood-street, one of which was but a short distance 
 from the grocer's habitation. A watchman was stationed at the 
 door, and the red cross marked upon it, and on the following 
 night the grocer heard the sound of the doleful bell announcing 
 the approach of the pest-cart. 
 
 The weather still continued as serene and beautiful as ever, but 
 no refreshing showers fell — no soft and healthful breezes blew — ■ 
 and it was now found to be true, what had been prognosticated — 
 viz., that with the heats of summer the plague would fearfully 
 increase. The grocer was not incommoded in the same degree 
 as his neighbours. By excluding the light he excluded the heat, 
 and the care which he took to have his house washed down kept 
 it cool. The middle of June had arrived, and such dismal 
 accounts were now brought him of the havoc occasioned by the 
 scourge, that he would no longer take in fresh provisions, but 
 began to open his stores. Dallison told him that the alarm was 
 worse than ever — that vast numbers were endeavouring to leave 
 the city, but no one could now do so without a certificate, which 
 was never granted if the slightest suspicion was attached to the 
 party. 
 
 " If things go on in this way," said the porter, " London will 
 soon be deserted. No business is conducted as it used to be, and 
 everybody is viewed with distrust. The preachers, who ought to 
 be the last to quit, have left their churches, and the Lord's day 
 is no longer observed. Many medical men even have departed, 
 declaring their services are no longer of any avail. All public 
 amusements are suspended, and the taverns are only open to the 
 profane and dissolute, who deride God's judgments, and declare 
 they have no fear. Robberies, murders, and other crimes, have 
 greatly increased, and the most dreadful deeds are now committed 
 with impunity. You have done wisely, sir, in protecting yourself 
 against them." 
 
 " I have reason to be thankful that I have done so," replied 
 Bloundel. And he closed his shutter to meditate on what he had 
 just heard. 
 
 And there was abundant food for reflection. Around him lay 
 a great and populous city, hemmed in, as by a fire, by an exter- 
 minating plague, that spared neither age, condition, nor sex. No 
 man could tell what the end of all this would be — neither at what 
 
THE IMPRISONED FAMILY. 165 
 
 point the wrath of the offended Deity would stop — nor whether 
 He would relent, till He had utterly destroyed a people who so 
 contemned his word. Scarcely daring to hope for leniency, and 
 filled with a dreadful foreboding of what would ensue, the grocer 
 addressed a long and fervent supplication to Heaven, imploring a 
 mitigation of its wrath. 
 
 On joining his family, his grave manner and silence showed 
 how powerfully he had been affected. No one questioned him 
 as to what had occurred, but all understood he had received some 
 distressing intelligence. 
 
 Amid his anxiety one circumstance gave him unalloyed satis- 
 faction. This was the change wrought in Amabel's character. It 
 has been stated that she had become extremely devout, and passed 
 the whole of the time not appointed for other occupations, in the 
 study of the Scriptures, or in prayer. Her manner was extremely 
 sedate, and her conversation assumed a tone that gave her parents, 
 and especially her father, inexpressible pleasure. Mrs. Bloundel 
 would have been equally delighted with the change, if it had 
 tended to forward her own favourite scheme of an union with 
 Leonard ; but as this was not the case, though she rejoiced in the 
 improvement, she still was not entirely satisfied. She could not 
 help noting also, that her daughter had become pale and thin, 
 and though she uttered no complaint, Mrs. Bloundel began to 
 fear her health was declining. Leonard Holt looked on in wonder 
 and admiration, and if possible his love increased, though his 
 hopes diminished ; for though Amabel was kinder to him than 
 before, her kindness seemed the result rather of a sense of duty 
 than regard. 
 
 Upon one occasion they were left alone together, and instead 
 of quitting the room, as she had been accustomed, Amabel called 
 to Leonard, who was about to depart, and requested him to stay. 
 The apprentice instantly obeyed ; the colour forsook his cheeks, 
 and his heart beat violently. 
 
 " You desire to speak with me, Amabel," he said: — " Have 
 you relented ? — Is there any hope for me ?" 
 
 " Alas ! no," she replied; "and it is on that very point I have 
 now detained you. You will, I am sure, rejoice to learn that I 
 have at length fully regained my peace of mind, and have be- 
 come sensible of the weakness of which I have been guilty — of 
 the folly, worse than folly, I have committed. M} r feelings are 
 now under proper restraint, and viewing myself with other eyes, 
 I see how culpable I have been. Oh ! Leonard, if you knew the 
 effort it has been to conquer the fatal passion that consumed me 
 — if I were to tell you of the pangs it has cost me — of the tears 
 I have shed — of the heart- quakes endured, you would pity me." 
 
 a I do, indeed, pity you," replied Leonard, " for my own 
 sufferings have been equally severe. But I have not b^en as 
 successful as you in subduing them." 
 
166 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Because you have not pursued the right means, Leonard/' 
 she rejoined. " Fix your thoughts on high; build your hopes of 
 happiness on Heaven ; strengthen your faith ; and you will soon 
 find the victory easy. A short time ago, I thought only of 
 worldly pleasures, and was ensnared by vanity and admiration — 
 enchained to one whom I knew to be worthless, and who pursued 
 me only to destroy me. Religion has preserved me from the 
 snare, and religion will restore you to happiness. But you must 
 devote yourself to Heaven, not lightly, but with your whole soul. 
 You must forget me, — forget yourself, — forget all but the grand 
 object. And this is a season of all others, when it is most need- 
 ful to lead a life of piety, to look upon yourself as dead to this 
 world, and to be ever prepared for that to come. I shudder to 
 think what might have been my portion had I perished in my 
 sin." 
 
 " Yours is a most happy frame of mind," returned Leonard, 
 " and I would I had a chance of attaining the same tranquillity. 
 But if you have conquered your love for the earl, — if your heart 
 is disengaged, why deny me a hope ?" 
 
 " My heart is not disengaged, Leonard," she replied ; " it is 
 engrossed by Heaven. While the plague is raging around us 
 thus, — while thousands are daily carried off by that devouring 
 scourge, — and while every hour, every moment, may be our last, 
 our thoughts ought always to be fixed above. I have ceased to 
 love the earl, but I can never love another, and therefore it would 
 be unjust to you, to whom I owe so much, to hold out hopes that 
 never can be realized." 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" cried Leonard, unable to control his emotion. 
 
 " Compose yourself, dear Leonard," she cried, greatly moved. 
 " I would I could comply with your wishes. But, alas ! I cannot. 
 I could only give you," she added, in a tone so thrilling, that it 
 froze the blood in his veins, — "a breaking, perhaps a broken 
 heart !" 
 
 " Gracious heaven !" exclaimed Leonard, becoming as pale 
 as death ; " is it come to this ?" 
 
 " Again, I beg you to compose yourself," she rejoined, calmly — ■ 
 " and I entreat you not to let what I have told you pass your lips. 
 I would not alarm my father, or my dear and anxious mother, on 
 my account. And there may be no reason for alarm. Promise 
 me, therefore, you will be silent." 
 
 Leonard reluctantly gave the required pledge. 
 
 " I have unwittingly been the cause of much affliction to you," 
 pursued Amabel — " and would gladly see you happy, and there is 
 one person, I think, who would make you so, — I mean Nizza 
 Macascree. From what she said to me when we were alone 
 together in the vaults of Saint Faith's, I am sure she is sincerely 
 attached to you. Could you not requite her love?" 
 
 " No," replied Leonard. " There is no change in affection like 
 mine." 
 
THE IMPRISONED FAMILY. 167 
 
 " Pursue the course I have advised," replied Amabel, "and 
 you will find all your troubles vanish. Farewell ! I depend upon 
 your silence !" 
 
 And she quitted the room, leaving Leonard in a state of in« 
 describable anxiety. 
 
 Faithful, however, to his promise, he made no mention of his 
 uneasiness to the grocer or his wife, but indulged his grief in 
 secret Ignorant of what was passing, Mr. Bloundel, who was 
 still not without apprehension of some further attempt on the part 
 of the carl, sent Dallison to make inquiries after him, and learnt 
 that he was at Whitehall, but that the court had fixed to remove 
 to Hampton Court at the end of June. The porter also informed 
 him that the city was emptying fast, — that the Lord Mayor's 
 residence was literally besieged with applications for bills of 
 health, — that officers were stationed at the gates. — and that, 
 besides these, barriers and turnpikes were erected on all the main 
 roads, at which the certificates were required to be exhibited, — 
 and that such persons as escaped without them were driven back 
 by the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages, who refused to 
 supply them with necessaries ; and as they could not return home, 
 many had perished of want, or perhaps of the pestilence, in the 
 open fields. Horses and coaches, he added, were not to be pro- 
 cured, except at exorbitant prices ; and thousands had departed 
 on foot, locking up their houses, and leaving their effects behind 
 them. 
 
 " In consequence of this," added Dallison, several nouses have 
 been broken open ; and though the watch had been trebled, still 
 they cannot be in all places at once ; and strong as the force is, 
 it is not adequate to the present emergency. Bands of robbers 
 stalk the streets at night, taking vehicles with them, built to 
 resemble pest-carts, and beating off the watch, they break open 
 the houses, and carry off any goods they please." 
 
 " This intelligence greatly alarmed the grocer, and he began to 
 fear his plans would be defeated in an unexpected manner. He 
 engaged Dallison to procure another trust)' companion to take his 
 place at night, and furnished him with money to purchase arms. 
 He no longer slept as tranquilly as before, but frequently repaired to 
 his place of observation to see that the watchman was at his post, 
 and that all was secure. For the last few days, he had remarked 
 with some uneasiness that a youth frequently passed the house 
 and gazed at the barred windows, and he at first imagined he 
 might be leagued with the nocturnal marauders he had heard of, 
 but the prepossessing appearance of the stripling, who could not be 
 more than sixteen, and who was singularly slightly made, soon 
 dispelled the idea. Still, as he constantly appeared at the same 
 spot, the grocer began to have a new apprehension, and to suspect 
 he was an emissary of the Earl of Rochester, and he sent Dallison 
 to inquire his business. The youth returned an evasive answer, 
 
J68 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 and withdrew ; but the next day he was there again. On this 
 occasion, Mr. Bloundel pointed him out to Leonard Holt, and 
 asked him if he had seen him before. The youth's back being 
 towards them, the apprentice unhesitatingly answered in the 
 negative, but as the subject of investigation turned the next 
 moment, and looked up, revealing features of feminine delicacy 
 and beauty, set off by long flowing jet-black ringlets, Leonard 
 started, and coloured. 
 
 " I was mistaken," he said, " I have seen him before." 
 
 "Is he one of the Earl of Rochester's pages?" asked Mr. 
 Bloundel. 
 
 " No," replied Leonard, " and you need not be uneasy about 
 him. I am sure he intends no harm." 
 
 Thus satisfied, the grocer thought no more about the matter. 
 He then arranged with Leonard that he should visit the window 
 at certain hours on alternate nights with himself, and appointed 
 the following night as that on which the apprentice's duties should 
 commence. 
 
 On the same night, however, an alarming incident occurred, 
 which kept the grocer and his apprentice for a long time on the 
 watch. The family had just retired to rest when the report of 
 fire-arms were heard close to the street door, and Mr. Bloundel, 
 hastily calling up Leonard, they repaired to the room overlooking 
 the street, and found that a desperate struggle was going on below 
 The moon being overclouded, and the lantern extinguished, it was 
 too dark to discern the figures of the combatants, and in a few 
 seconds all became silent, except the groans of a wounded man. 
 Mr. Bloundel then called out to know what was the matter, and 
 ascertained from the sufferer, who proved to be his own watchman, 
 that the adjoining house, being infected, had been shut up by the 
 authorities ; and its owner, unable to bear the restraint, had burst 
 open the door, shot the watchman stationed at it, and firing 
 another pistol at the poor wretch who was making the statement, 
 because he endeavoured to oppose his flight, had subsequently 
 attacked him with his sword. It was a great grief to Mr. Bloundel 
 not to be able to aid the unfortunate watchman, and he had almost 
 determined to hazard a descent by the pulley, when a musical 
 voice was heard below, and the grocer soon understood that the 
 youth, about whom his curiosity had been excited, was raising the 
 sufferer, and endeavouring to stanch his wounds. Finding this 
 impossible, however, at Mr. Bloundel's request, he went in search 
 of assistance, and presently afterwards returned with a posse of 
 men, bearing halberts and lanterns, who carried off the wounded 
 man, and afterwards started in pursuit of the murderer. 
 
 Mr. Bloundel then entered into conversation with the youth, 
 who informed him that his name was Flitcroft, — that he was with- 
 out a home, all his relations having died of the plague, — and that 
 he was anxious to serve as a watchman in place of the poor 
 
HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 169 
 
 wretch who had just been removed. Leonard remonstrated 
 against this arrangement, but Mr. Bloundel was so much pleased 
 with Flitcroft's conduct that he would listen to no objection. 
 Accordingly, provisions were lowered down in the basket to the 
 poor youth, and he stationed himself in the hutch. Nothing 
 material occurred during the day. Flitcroft resigned his post to 
 Dallison, but returned in the evening. 
 
 At midnight, Leonard took his turn to watch. It was a bright 
 moonlight night, but though he occasionally looked out into the 
 street, and perceived Flitcroft below, he gave no intimation of his 
 presence. All at once, however, he was alarmed by a loud cry, 
 and opening the shutter, perceived the youth struggling with 
 two persons, whom he recognised as Sir Paul Parravicin and 
 Pillichody. 
 
 He shouted to them to release their captive, but they laughed 
 at his vociferations, and in spite of his resistance dragged the 
 youth away. Maddened at the sight, Leonard lowered the rope 
 as quickly as he could with the intention of descending by it. At 
 this moment, Flitcroft turned an agonized look behind him, and 
 perceiving what had been done, broke suddenly from his captors, 
 and before he could be prevented, sprang into the basket, and 
 laid hold of the rope. Leonard, who had seen the movement, and 
 divined its object, drew up the pulley with the quickness of 
 thought ; and so expeditiously was the whole accomplished, that 
 ere the knight and his companion reached the spot, Flitcroft was 
 above their heads, and the next moment was pulled through the 
 window, and in safety by the side of Leonard. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 
 
 Nizza Macascree, for it is useless to affect further mystery, as 
 soon as she could find utterance, murmured her thanks to the 
 apprentice, whose satisfaction at her deliverance was greatly 
 diminished by his fears lest his master should disapprove of what 
 he had done. Seeing his uneasiness, and guessing the cause, 
 Nizza hastened to relieve it. 
 
 "I reproach myself bitterly for having placed you in this 
 situation," she said ; " but I could not help it, and will free } 7 ou 
 from my presence the moment I can do so with safety. When I 
 bade you farewell, I meant it to be for ever, and persuaded my- 
 . self I could adhere to my resolution. But I was deceived. You 
 would pity me, were I to tell you the anguish I endured. I 
 could not accompany my poor father in his rambles ; and if I 
 went forth at all, my steps involuntarily led me to Wood-street 
 
170 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 At last, I resolved to disguise myself, and borrowed this suit 
 from a Jew clothesman, who has a stall in Saint Paul's. Thus 
 equipped, I paced backwards and forwards before the house, in 
 the hope of obtaining a glimpse of you, and fortune has favoured 
 me more than I expected, though it has led to this unhappy 
 result. Heaven only knows what will become of me I" she added, 
 bursting into tears. " Oh ! that the pestilence would select me 
 as one of its victims. But, like your own sex, it shuns all those 
 ■who court it." 
 
 " I can neither advise you," replied Leonard, in sombre tone, 
 " nor help you. Ah !" he exclaimed, as the sounds of violent 
 blows were heard against the door below, — " your persecutors 
 are trying to break into the house." 
 
 Rushing to the window, and gazing downwards, he perceived 
 Sir Paul Parravicin and Pillichody battering against the shop 
 door, and endeavouring to burst it open. It was, however, so 
 stoutly barricaded, that it resisted all their efforts. 
 
 " What is to be done ?" cried Leonard. " The noise will 
 certainly alarm my master, and you will be discovered." 
 
 " Heed me not," rejoined Nizza, distractedly, "you shall not 
 run any risk on my account. Let me down the pulley. Deliver 
 me to them. Anything is better than that you should suffer by 
 my indiscretion." 
 
 " No, no," replied Leonard ; " Mr. Bloundel shall know all. 
 His love for his own daughter will make him feel for you. But 
 come what will, I will not abandon } 7 ou." 
 
 As he spoke, a timid knock was heard at the door, and a 
 voice without exclaimed, in accents of the utmost trepidation, 
 "Are you there, Leonard? — Robbers are breaking into the 
 house. We shall all be murdered." 
 
 " Come in, Blaize," returned Leonard, opening the door and 
 admitting the porter — "you may be of some assistance to 
 me." 
 
 "In what way?" demanded Blaize. — "Ah! who's this?" he 
 added, perceiving Nizza — " what is this page doing here ?" 
 
 " Do not concern yourself about him, but attend to me," 
 replied Leonard. " I am about to drive away those persons from 
 the door. You must lower me down in the basket attached to 
 the pulley." 
 
 " And will you dare to engage them ?" asked Blaize, peeping 
 out at the shutter. " They are armed. As I live, one is Major 
 Pillichody, the rascal who dared to make love to Patience. I 
 have half a mind to go down with you, and give him a sound 
 drubbing." 
 
 " You shall not encounter this danger for me," interposed 
 Nizza, endeavouring to stay Leonard, who, having thrust a sword 
 into his girdle, was about to pass through the window. 
 
 * Do not hinder me," replied the apprentice, breaking from 
 
HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 171 
 
 her. " Take hold of the rope, Blaize, and mind it does not run 
 down too quickly." 
 
 With this, he got into the basket, and as the porter carefully 
 obeyed his instructions, he reached the ground in safety. On 
 seeing him, Pillichody bolted across the street, and flourishing 
 his sword, and uttering tremendous imprecations, held himself 
 in readiness to beat an immediate retreat. Not so Parravicin. 
 Instantly assailing the apprentice, he slightly wounded him in 
 the arm. Seeing how matters stood, and that victory was pretty 
 certain to declare itself for his patron; Pillichody returned, and, 
 attacking the apprentice, by their combined efforts, he was 
 speedily disarmed. Pillichody would have passed his sword 
 through his body, but the knight stayed his hand. 
 
 " The fool has placed himself in our power," he said ; " and 
 he shall pay for his temerity, nevertheless, I will spare his life 
 provided he assist us to get into the house, or will deliver up 
 Nizza Macascrec. 
 
 " I will do neither." replied Leonard fiercely. 
 
 Parravicin raised his sword, and was about to strike, when, at 
 the moment, the 1 basket was again quickly lowered to the ground. 
 It bore Nizza Macaseree, who, rushing between them, arrested 
 the stroke. 
 
 " Oh ! why have you done this?" cried Leonard, in a tone of 
 reproach. 
 
 "I will tell you why," rejoined Parravicin, triumphantly; 
 *' because she saw you were unable to defend her, and, like a 
 true woman, surrendered herself to the victor. Take care of 
 him, Pillichody, while I secure the girl. Spit him, if he attempts 
 to stir." 
 
 And twining his arms round Nizza, notwithstanding her 
 shrieks and resistance, he bore her away. Infuriated by the 
 sight, Leonard Holt threw himself upon Pillichody, and a despe- 
 rate struggle took place between them, which terminated this 
 time successfully for the apprentice. Wresting his long rapier 
 from the bully, Leonard rushed after Parravicin, and reached the 
 end of Wood-street, just in time to see him spring into a coach, 
 and drive off with his prize. Speeding after them along Blow- 
 bladder-street, and Middle-row, as Newgate-street was then 
 termed, the apprentice shouted to the coachman to stop, but no 
 attention being paid to his vociferations, and finding pursuit 
 unavailing, he came to a halt. He then more slowly retraced 
 his steps, and on arriving at the grocer's residence, found the 
 basket drawn up. Almost afraid to call out, he at length mus 
 tered courage enough to shout to Blaize to lower it, and was 
 answered by Mr. Bloundel, who, putting his head through the 
 window, demanded in a stern tone why he had left the house ? 
 
 Leonard briefly explained. 
 
 " I deeply regret your imprudence," replied his master ; u be- 
 
172 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 cause I can now no more admit you. It is my fixed determi- 
 nation, as you well know, not to suffer any member of my family 
 who may quit my house, to enter it again." 
 
 "I shall not attempt to remonstrate with you, sir," replied 
 Leonard. " All I pray of you is to allow me to occupy this 
 hutch, and to act as your porter." 
 
 " Willingly," rejoined Mr. Bloundel ; " and as you have had 
 the plague, you will run no risk of infection. You shall know 
 all that passes within doors, and I only lament that you should 
 have banished yourself from the asylum which I hoped to afford 
 you." 
 
 After some further conversation between them, a bundle was 
 lowered by the grocer, containing a change of clothes and a 
 couple of blankets. On receiving these, Leonard retired to the 
 hutch, and tying a handkerchief round his wounded arm, wrapped 
 himself in a nightrail, and stretching himself on the ground, in 
 spite of his anxiety, soon sank asleep. He awoke about four 
 o'clock in the morning, with a painful consciousness of what had 
 taken place during the night. It was just beginning to grow 
 light, and he walked across the street to gaze at the house from 
 which he was exiled. Its melancholy, uninhabited look did not 
 serve to cheer him. It seemed totally altered since he knew it 
 first. The sign, which then invited the passers-by to enter the 
 shop and deal with its honest owner, now appeared no longer 
 significant, unless — and it will be remembered it was the Noah's 
 Ark — it could be supposed to have reference to those shut up 
 within. The apprentice looked at the habitation with misgiving, 
 and, instead of regarding it as a sanctuary from the pestilence, 
 could not help picturing it as a living tomb. The last con- 
 versation he had had with Amabel also arose forcibly to his 
 recollection, and the little likelihood there appeared of seeing 
 her again gave him acute agony. Oppressed by this painful 
 idea, and unable to exclude from his thoughts the unhappy 
 situation of Nizza Macascree, he bent his steps, scarcely knowing 
 whither he was going, towards Saint Paul's. 
 
 Having passed so much of his time of late in the cathedral, 
 Leonard began to regard it as a sort of home, and it now appeared 
 like a place of refuge to him. Proceeding to the great western 
 entrance, he seated himself on one of the large blocks of stone 
 left there by the masons occupied in repairing the exterior of 
 the fane. His eye rested upon the mighty edifice before him, 
 and the clear sparkling light revealed numberless points of archi- 
 tectural grandeur and beauty which he had never before noticed. 
 The enormous buttresses and lofty pinnacles of the central tower 
 were tinged with the beams of the rising sun, and glowed as if 
 built of porphyry. While gazing at the summit of this tower, 
 and calling to mind the magnificent view 7 he had recently wit- 
 nessed from it at the same hour, if a wish could have transported 
 
HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IX THE STREETS. 173 
 
 him thither at that moment, he would have enjoyed it again. 
 But as this could not be, he tried to summon before his mental 
 vision the whole glorious prospect, — the broad and shining river, 
 with its moving or motionless craft, — the gardens, the noble 
 mansions, the warehouses, and mighty wharves on its banks, — - 
 London Bridge, with its enormous pile of habitations, — the old 
 and picturesque city, with its innumerable towers and spires and 
 girdle of grey walls, — the green fields and winding lanes leading 
 to the lovely hills around it : — all these objects arose obedient to 
 his fancy, and came arrayed in colouring as fresh as that wherein 
 they had before appeared to him. While thus occupied, his 
 gaze remained riveted on the summit of the central tower, and 
 he fancied he perceived some one leaning over the balustrade, 
 but as little beyond the upper part of the figure could be dis- 
 cerned, and as it appeared perfectly motionless, he could not be 
 quite sure that his eyes did not deceive him. Having gazed at 
 the object for some minutes, during which it maintained the 
 same attitude, he continued his survey of the pile, and became 
 so excited by the sublime emotions inspired by the contemplation, 
 as to be insensible to aught else. 
 
 After a while, he arose, and was about to proceed towards 
 the portico, when chancing to look at the top of the tower, he 
 remarked that the figure had disappeared, and while wondering 
 who it could be, he perceived a person emerge from one of the 
 tall windows in the lower part of the tower. It was Solomon 
 Eagle, and he no longer wondered at what he had seen. The 
 enthusiast was without his brasier, but carried a long stout staff. 
 He ran along the pointed roof of the nave with inconceivable 
 swiftness, till reaching the vast stone cross, upwards of twelve 
 feet in height, ornamenting the western extremity, he climbed 
 its base, and clasping the transverse bar of the sacred symbol of 
 his faith with his left arm, extended his staff with his right, and 
 described a circle, as if pointing out the walls of the city. He 
 then raised his staff towards Heaven to invoke its vengeance, 
 and anon pointed it menacingly downwards. After this, he 
 broke into loud denunciations ; but though the apprentice could 
 not hear the words, he gathered their purport from his gestures. 
 
 By this time, a few masons had assembled, and, producing 
 their implements, commenced working at the blocks of stone. 
 Glancing at the enthusiast, one of them observed with a smile 
 to his companion, "There is Solomon Eagle pronouncing his 
 morning curse upon the city. I wonder whether the judgments 
 he utters against it will come to pass." 
 
 "Assuredly, Phil. Gatford," replied the other mason, gravely; 
 " and I look upon all the work we are now doing as labour thrown 
 away. Was he not right about the plague ? Did he not foretel 
 the devouring scourge by which we are visited ? And he will 
 be right also about the fire. Since he has doomed it, this cathe- 
 
i74 old saint paul's. 
 
 dral will be consumed by flames, and one stone will not be left 
 standing on another." 
 
 " It is strange, Ned Turgis," observed Gatford, " that, though 
 Solomon Eagle may always be seen at daybreak at the top of the 
 tower, or on the roof of the cathedral — sometimes at one point, 
 and sometimes at another — no one can tell where he hides him- 
 self at other times. He no longer roams the streets at night, but 
 you may remember when the officers of justice were in search of 
 him, to give evidence against Mother Malmayns and Chowles, 
 he was not to be found." 
 
 "I remember it," replied Turgis; "but I have no doubt he 
 was hidden in some out-of-the-way corner of the cathedral — 
 perhaps among the immense wooden beams of the clerestory." 
 
 " Or in some of the secret passages or cells contrived in the 
 thickness of the walls," rejoined the first speaker. — " I say, Ned 
 Turgis, if the plague increases, as there is every likelihood it 
 will, Solomon Eagle will be the only preacher left in Saint 
 Paul's. Neither deans, prebends, minor-canons, nor vicars will 
 attend. As it is, they have almost abandoned it," 
 
 " Shame on them !" exclaimed Leonard Holt, who, being 
 much interested in the conversation of the masons, had silently 
 approached them. " At this season, more than ever, they are 
 bound to attend to their duty." 
 
 " Why, so I think," rejoined Gatford ; " but I suppose they 
 consider self-preservation their first duty. They aver that all 
 assemblages, whether called together for religious purposes or 
 not, are dangerous, and likely to extend the pestilence." 
 
 " And yet crowds are permitted to assemble for purposes of 
 amusement, if not for worship, in those holy walls," returned 
 Leonard. 
 
 "Not so," replied Gatford. "Very few persons now come 
 there, and none for amusement. Paul's-walk is completely 
 deserted. The shops and stalls have been removed, and the 
 pillars to which they were attached are restored to their former 
 appearance." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," rejoined Leonard. "I would far 
 rather the sacred edifice were altogether abandoned than be 
 what it has been of late, — a den of thieves." 
 
 " It was a stable and a magazine of arms in the time of the 
 Commonwealth," remarked Gatford. 
 
 " And if Solomon Eagle's foreboding come to pass, it will be 
 a heap of ruins in our own time," rejoined Turgis. " But I see 
 the prophet of ill has quitted his post, and retired to his hiding- 
 place." 
 
 Looking up as this was said, Leonard saw that the enthusiast 
 had disappeared. At this moment the great door of the cathedral 
 was thrown open, and, quitting the masons, he ascended the 
 broad steps under the portico, and entered the fane, where he 
 

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HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 175 
 
 found that the information he had received was correct, and that 
 the stalls and other disfigurements to the pillars had been removed. 
 After pacing the solitary aisles for some time, he made inquiries 
 from the verger concerning Solomon Eagle. 
 
 "I know nothing about him," replied the man, reluctantly. 
 "I believe he always appears at daybreak on some part of the 
 roof, but I am as ignorant as yourself where he hides himself. 
 The door of the winding staircase leading to the central tower is 
 open. You can ascend it, and search for him, if you think 
 proper." 
 
 Acting upon the suggestion, Leonard mounted to the belfry, 
 and from thence to the summit of the tower. Having indulged 
 himself with a brief survey of the glorious view around, he 
 descended, and glanced into every cell and chamber as he 
 passed, in the hopes of meeting with the enthusiast, but he was 
 disappointed. At length, as he got about half way down, he 
 felt his arm forcibly grasped, and instantly conjecturing who it 
 was, offered no resistance. Without uttering a word, the person 
 who had seized him, dragged him up a few steps, pushed aside 
 a secret door, which closed behind them with a hollow clangour, 
 and leading him along a dark narrow passage, opened another 
 door, and they emerged upon the roof. He then found that his 
 suspicion was correct, and that his mysterious guide was no 
 other than Solomon Engle. 
 
 " I am glad to find you have recovered from the pestilence," 
 said the enthusiast, regarding him with a friendly glance, — "it 
 proves you are favoured by Heaven. I saw you in the open 
 space before the cathedral this morning, and instantly recognised 
 you. I was in the belfry when you descended, but you did not 
 perceive me, and I wished to be certain you were alone before I 
 discovered myself." 
 
 " You have ceased to roam the streets at night, and rouse the 
 slumbering citizens to repentance ?" asked Leonard. 
 
 " For the present, I have," returned Solomon Eagle. " But I 
 shall appear again when I am required. But you shall now learn 
 why I have brought you hither. Look along those streets," he 
 added, pointing to the thoroughfares opening in different direc- 
 tions. " What see you ?" 
 
 " I see men piling heaps of wood and coals at certain distances, 
 as if they were preparing bonfires," replied Leonard. " And yet 
 it cannot be. This is no season for rejoicing." 
 
 " It has been supposed that the lighting of many thousand fires 
 at once will purify the air," replied Solomon Eagle, " and there- 
 fore the Lord Mayor has given orders that heaps of fuel shall be 
 placed before every house in every street in the city, and that all 
 these heaps shall be kindled at a certain hour. But it will be of 
 no avail. The weather is now fine and settled, and the sky 
 cloudless. But the offended Deity will cause the heaviest rain 
 
176 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 to descend, and extinguish their fires. No ; the way to avert the 
 pestilence is not by fire, but by prayer and penitence, by 
 humiliation and fasting. Let this sinful people put on sack- 
 cloth and ashes. Let them beseech God, by constant prayer, to 
 forgive them, and they may prevail, but not otherwise." 
 
 " And when are these fires to be lighted ?" asked the 
 apprentice. 
 
 " To-night, at midnight," replied Solomon Eagle 
 
 He then took Leonard by the hand, and led him back the 
 same way he had brought him. On reaching the spiral stair- 
 case, he said, " If you desire to behold a sight such as a man has 
 seldom witnessed, ascend to the summit of this tower an hour 
 after midnight, when all these fires are lighted. A small door 
 on the left of the northern entrance shall be left open. It will 
 conduct you to the back of the choir, and you must then find 
 your way hither as well as you can." 
 
 Murmuring his thanks, Leonard hurried down the spiral stair- 
 case, and quitting the cathedral, proceeded in the direction of 
 Wood-street. Preparations were everywhere making for carrying 
 the Lord Mayor's orders into effect ; and such was the beneficial 
 result anticipated, that a general liveliness prevailed. On reach- 
 ing his master's residence, he found him at the shutter, curious 
 to know what was going forward; and having informed him, the 
 grocer immediately threw him down money to procure wood and 
 coal. 
 
 " I have but little faith in the experiment," he said, " but the 
 Lord Mayor's injunctions must be obeyed." 
 
 With the help of Dallison, who had now arrived, Leonard 
 Holt soon procured a large heap of fuel, and placed it in the 
 middle of the street. The day was passed in executing other 
 commissions for the grocer, and he took his meals in the hutch 
 with the porter. Time appeared to pass with unusual slowness, 
 and not he alone, but anxious thousands, awaited the signal to 
 kindle their fires. The night was profoundly dark and sultry, 
 and Leonard could not help thinking that the enthusiast's pre- 
 diction would be verified, and that rain would fall. But these 
 gloomy anticipations vanished as the hour of midnight was tolled 
 forth by the neighbouring clocks of Saint Michael's and Saint 
 Alban's. Scarcely had the strokes died away, when Leonard 
 seized a light and set fire to the pile. Ten thousand other piles 
 were kindled at the same moment, and in an instant the pitchy 
 darkness was converted into light as bright as that of noonday. 
 
 Anxious to behold this prodigious illumination at its best, 
 Leonard Holt committed the replenishing of the pile and the 
 custody of the house to Dallison, and hastened to Saint Paul's. 
 A great fire was burning at each angle of the cathedral, but 
 without pausing to notice the effect of the flames upon the walls 
 of the building, he passed through the door to which he had 
 
. 
 
 -^oLonum (fifaoLe ftrummcrng the Oiti). 
 
HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 177 
 
 been directed, and hastening to the spiral staircase beyond the 
 choir, ascended it with swift steps. He did not pause till he 
 reached the summit of the tower, and there, indeed, a wondrous 
 spectacle awaited him. The whole city seemed on fire, and 
 girded with a flaming belt — for piles were lighted at certain dis- 
 tances along the whole line of walls. The groups of dark figures 
 collected round the fires added to their picturesque effect ; and 
 the course of every street could be traced by the reflection of the 
 flames on the walls and gables of the houses. London Bridge 
 was discernible from the fires burning upon it — and even upon 
 the river brasiers were lighted on all the larger craft, which cast 
 a ruddy glow upon the stream. 
 
 After gazing at this extraordinary sight for some time, Leonard 
 began to descend. As yet he had seen nothing of Solomon 
 Eagle, and searching for him in vain in the belfry, he quitted the 
 cathedral. From a knot of persons gathered round one of the 
 fires he learnt that the enthusiast was addressing the crowd at 
 the west side of the building, and proceeding thither he per- 
 ceived him standing on the edge of the balustrade of the south- 
 western tower, surmounting the little church of Saint Gregory. 
 His brasier was placed on one of the buttresses, and threw its 
 light on the mighty central tower of the fabric, and on a large 
 clock-face immediately beneath. Solomon Eagle was evidently 
 denouncing the city, but his words were lost in the distance. As 
 he proceeded, a loud clap of thunder pealed overhead. 
 
 " It comes — it comes 1" cried the enthusiast, in a voice that 
 could be distinctly heard in the death-like stillness that followed 
 the thunder. " The wrath of Heaven is at hand." 
 
 As he spoke, a bright flash cut the air, and a bolt struck down 
 one of the pinnacles of the great tower. Flash after flash 
 followed in quick succession, and the enthusiast, who seemed 
 wrapped in flame, extended his arms towards heaven, as if 
 beseeching a further display of its vengeance. Suddenly the 
 lightning ceased to flash and the thunder to roll. A few heavy 
 drops of rain fell. These were succeeded by a deluging shower 
 of such violence, that in less than a quarter of an hour every 
 fire within the city was extinguished, and all was darkness and 
 despair. 
 
 The deepest gloom and despondency prevailed that night 
 throughout London. The sudden storm was regarded as a 
 manifestation of the displeasure of Heaven, and as an intimation 
 that the arrows of its wrath were not to be turned aside by any 
 human efforts. So impressed were all with this feeling, that 
 when, in less than half an hour, the rain entirely ceased, the 
 clouds cleared off, and the stars again poured down their lustre, 
 no one attempted to re-light the quenched embers, fearing to 
 provoke the Divine vengeance. Nor was a monitor wanting to 
 enforce the awful lesson. Solomon Eagle, with his brasier on his 
 
 N 
 
178 OLD SAINT PAUl/a 
 
 head, ran through the streets, calling on the inhabitants to take 
 to heart what had happened, to repent, and prepare for their 
 doom. 
 
 " The Lord will not spare you," he cried, as he stationed him- 
 self in the open space before Saint Stephen's, Walbrook. " He 
 will visit your sins upon you. Pray, therefore, that ye may not 
 be destroyed, both body and soul. Little time is allowed you for 
 repentance. Many that hear me shall not live till to-morrow : 
 few* shall survive the year !" 
 
 " Thou, thyself, shalt not survive the night, false prophet, 5 * 
 cried a voice from a neighbouring w'indow. And immediately 
 afterwards the barrel of a gun was thrust forth and a shot fired 
 at the enthusiast. But though Solomon Eagle never altered his 
 position, he was wholly uninjured — the ball striking a bystander, 
 who fell to the ground mortally wounded. 
 
 " You have shot your own son, Mr. Westwood," cried one of 
 the spectators, rushing up to the fallen man. " Who will hence- 
 forth doubt that Solomon Eagle is under the care of a special 
 providence ?" 
 
 " Not I," replied another spectator. " I shall never disregard 
 his words in future." 
 
 Setting down his brasier, the enthusiast bent over the dead 
 man — for dead he was — and noted the placid smile upon his 
 features. By this time the unfortunate father had joined the 
 group, and, on seeing the body of his son, wrung his hands in a 
 pitiable manner, and gave utterance to the wildest expression of 
 despair. No one attempted to seize him, till at length Solomon 
 Eagle, rising from his kneeling posture, laid his hand upon his 
 arm, and regarding him sternly, said, " What wrong have I done 
 you, that you should seek to slay me ?" 
 
 " What wrong ?" rejoined Westwood — " such wrong as can 
 never be repaired. Your fearful prophecies and denunciations 
 so terrified my daughter, that she died distracted. My broken- 
 hearted wife was not long in following her; and now you have 
 made me the murderer of my son. Complete the tragedy, and 
 take my life." 
 
 s ' I have no desire to do so," replied Solomon Eagle, in a tone 
 of commiseration. " My wish is to save your soul, and the souls 
 of all who listen to me. I wonder not that your anger was at 
 first stirred against me; but if your heart had been properly 
 directed, indignation w*ould have soon given way to better 
 feelings. My mission is not to terrify, but to warn. Why will 
 ye thus continue impenitent when ye are spoken to, not by my 
 voice alone, but by a thousand others ? — by the thunder — by the 
 rain — by the pestilence ! — and ye shall be spoken to, if ye con- 
 tinue senseless, by fire and by famine. Look at these quenched 
 embers — at these flooded streets — they are types of your vain 
 struggle with a superior power. Now, mark me what you must 
 
HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 179 
 
 do to free the city from contagion. You must utterly and for 
 ever abandon your evil courses. You must pray incessantly for 
 remission of your sins. You must resign yourselves without 
 repining to such chastisement as you have provoked, and must 
 put your whole trust and confidence in God. Do this, and do 
 it heartily ; it is possible that His wrath may be averted." 
 
 "I feel the force of your words," faltered Westwood — "would 
 I had felt it sooner!" 
 
 " Repentance never comes too late," rejoined the enthusiast. 
 " Let this be an example to you all." 
 
 And snatching up his brasicr, he continued his course at the 
 same lightning speed as before. The unfortunate father was 
 taken into his own dwelling, whither likewise the body of his 
 son was conveyed. A strict watch was kept over him during the 
 night, and in the morning he was removed to Newgate, where 
 he perished, in less than a week, of the distemper. 
 
 The aspect of the streets on the following day was deplorable 
 enough. Not that the weather was unfavourable. On the con- 
 trary, it was bright and sunny, while the heated atmosphere, 
 cooled by the showers, felt no longer oppressive. But the sight 
 of the half-burnt fires struck a chill into every bosom, and it was 
 not until the heaps were removed that the more timorous ven- 
 tured forth at all. The result, too, of the experiment was 
 singularly unfortunate. Whether it was from the extraordinary 
 heat occasioned by the lighting of so many fires, or that the 
 smoke did not ascend, and so kept down the pestilential effluvia, 
 or that the number of persons who met together spread the con- 
 tagion, certain it was that the pestilence was more widely extended 
 than before, and the mortality fearfully increased. 
 
 On the commencement of the storm, Leonard Holt hurried 
 back to Wood-street, and reached his master's dwelling just as 
 the rain began to descend in torrents. Mr. Bloundel was at the 
 window, and a few w r ords only passed between him and the 
 apprentice when the latter was compelled to take refuge in the 
 hutch. Here he found Dallison the watchman, and they listened 
 in awe-struck silence to the heavy showers, and to the hissing of 
 the blazing embers in their stru<™;le against the hostile element. 
 By and by the latter sound ceased. Not a light could be seen 
 throughout the whole length of the street, nor was there any red 
 reflection of the innumerable fires as heretofore in the sky. It 
 was evident all were extinguished ; and the pitiless pelting of the 
 rain, the roar of the water-spouts, and the rush of the over-filled 
 kennels, now converted into rivulets, could alone be heard. 
 After awhile the storm cleared off, and Leonard and his com- 
 panion issued from their retreat, and gazed in silence at the 
 drenched heap before them. While thus occupied, the window 
 above them opened, and the grocer appeared at it. 
 
 " This is, indeed, a sad and striking lesson," he said, " and I 
 
 N2 
 
180 old saint paul's. 
 
 hope will not be lost upon those who have witnessed it. It shows 
 the utter impotency of a struggle against the Divine will, and that 
 tfhen man relies upon himself for preservation, he depends upon a 
 broken reed. If I did not place myself under Heaven's protection, 
 I should be sure that all my own precautions were unavailing. I 
 am now about to call up my family to prayer. You can join us 
 in our supplications, and I trust they will not be unheard." 
 
 Closing the window, the grocer retired, and Leonard returned 
 to the hutch, where he fell upon his knees, and as soon as l.e 
 supposed the family were gathered together, commenced his own- 
 prayers. He pictured the whole group assembled — the fervour 
 of the grocer excited to an unwonted pitch by what had just 
 occurred — the earnest countenances of his wife and the younger 
 children — and the exalted looks of Amabel. He could not see 
 her — neither could he hear her voice — but he fancied how she 
 looked, and in what terms she prayed — and it was no slight satis- 
 faction to him to think that his own voice ascended to Heaven 
 coupled with hers. 
 
 On quitting the hutch, he found Dallison conversing with 
 Doctor Hodges. The physician expressed great surprise at see- 
 ing him, and inquired how he came to have left his master's 
 house. Leonard related all that had happened, and besought his 
 assistance in Nizza's behalf. 
 
 " I will do all I can for her," replied Hodges, " for I feel greatly 
 interested about her. But who is this Sir Paul Parravicin ? I 
 never heard of him." 
 
 " I know nothing more of him than what I have told you, sir,'* 
 replied Leonard. " He is a friend of the Earl of Rochester." 
 
 " It must be a feigned name," rejoined Hodges ; " but I will 
 speedily find him out. " You must lodge at my house to-night. It 
 will be better for you than sleeping in that damp shed. But first, 
 I must have a word or two with your master. I have been abroad 
 all night, and came hither to ascertain what he thought of this 
 plan of the fires, and what he had done. How do you give the 
 signal to him. 
 
 " There is a cord within the hutch by which you can sound a 
 bell within his chamber," returned Leonard ; " I will ring it." 
 
 Accordingly, he did so, and the summons was almost instantly 
 answered by the grocer. A kindly greeting passed between the 
 latter and Hodges, who inquired whether all was going on 
 satisfactorily within, and whether anything could be done for the 
 family. 
 
 " I would not have disturbed you at this unseasonable hour," 
 he said, " but chancing to be in your neighbourhood, and thinking 
 : t likely you would be on the watch, I called to have a word with 
 you. Though I could not foresee what would happen, I entirely 
 disapproved of these fires as likely to increase rather than check 
 the pestilence." 
 
HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 181 
 
 " The hand of Heaven has extinguished them, because they 
 were lighted in opposition to its decrees," replied Bloundel; 
 " but you have asked me whether all is going on well within. 
 I should answer readily in the affirmative, but that my wife 
 expresses much anxiety respecting Amabel. We have no longer 
 any apprehension of misconduct. She is all we could desire — > 
 serious and devout. But we have fears for her health. The 
 confinement may be too much for her. What would you 
 recommend ?" 
 
 " I must see her to be able to speak confidently," replied 
 Hodges. 
 
 " I know not how that can be accomplished, unless you 
 choose to ascend by a basket attached to the pulley," replied the 
 grocer, with some hesitation, " and it is against my plan to admit 
 you." 
 
 " But your daughter's life, my good friend," rejoined Hodges; 
 " think of that. If I choose to risk life and limb to visit her, 
 you may surely risk the chance of contagion to admit me. But 
 you need have no fear. Sprinkle your room with spirits of 
 sulphur, and place a phial of vinegar so that I can use it on my 
 first entrance into the house, and I will answer for the safety of 
 your family." 
 
 These preparations made, Mr. Bloundel lowered the basket, into 
 which Hodges got, and grasping the rope, not without some mis- 
 giving on his part, he was drawn up. Leonard witnessed his 
 ascent with a beating heart, and could scarcely repress a feeling 
 of envy when he saw him pass through the window, and knew 
 that he would soon be in the presence of Amabel. But this 
 feeling quickly changed into one of deep anxiety concerning 
 her. Her father's account of her had increased the uneasiness 
 he previously felt, and he was as anxious to know the doctor's 
 opinion of her, as if his own fate had depended upon it. He was 
 kept in this painful state of suspense for nearly an hour, when 
 voices were heard at the window, and presently afterwards Hodges 
 was carefully let down. Bidding the grocer farewell, he desired 
 Leonard to follow him, and led the way towards Cheapside. 
 The) 7 proceeded a short distance in silence, when the latter 
 ventured to remark, "You say nothing about Amabel, sir? I 
 fear you found her seriously indisposed." 
 
 " Do not question me about her just now," rejoined the 
 doctor, in a subdued emotion. " I would rather not discuss the 
 subject." 
 
 Nothing more was said, for though the apprentice would 
 willingly have continued the conversation, his companion's 
 evident disinclination to pursue it compelled him to desist. In 
 this way, they reached the doctor's residence, where Leonard was 
 immediately showm to a comfortable bed. 
 
 It was late when he awoke noxt day, and as the doctor wai 
 
182 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 gone forth, he partook of a plentiful breakfast which was placed 
 before him, and repaired to Wood-street, but his master having 
 no commissions for him to execute, he went back again. By this 
 time, Doctor Hodges had returned, and calling him into his 
 library, told him he wished to speak with him. 
 
 "\ou were right last night," he said, "in construing my 
 silence into alarm for Amabel. In truth, I fear she is rapidlj 
 sinking into a decline, and nothing will arrest the progress of the 
 insidious disease but instant removal to the country. To this she 
 will not consent, neither do I know how it could be accomplished. 
 It is pitiable to see so lovely a creature dying, as I fear she is, of 
 a broken heart." 
 
 Leonard covered his face with his hands, and wept aloud. 
 
 " We have not yet spoken of Nizza Macascree," said Hodges, 
 after a pause, tapping him kindly on the shoulder. " I think I 
 have discovered a trace of her." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Leonard, rousing himself. 
 " She is another victim of these profligates. But I will be 
 revenged upon them all." 
 
 " I have before enjoined you to restrain your indignation, just 
 though it be," returned Hodges. " I have not yet found out 
 whither she has been taken. But I have a clue which, unless I 
 am mistaken, will lead me to it. But I must now dismiss you. 
 I have other affairs to attend to, and must give a dangerous and 
 difficult case on which I have been consulted, undisturbed con- 
 sideration. Make my house your' home as long as you think 
 proper." 
 
 Warmly thanking the doctor, Leonard then withdrew. Shortly 
 after this, he walked forth, and ascertaining that he was not 
 required by his master, determined to satisfy himself by actual 
 observation of the extent of the ravages of the plague. 
 
 With this view he shaped his course along Lad-lane, and 
 traversing Cateaton-street, entered Lothbury. The number of 
 houses which he here found closed, with red crosses on the doors, 
 and the fatal inscription above them, convinced him that the 
 deplorable accounts he had heard were not exaggerated. In 
 passing some of these habitations, he saw such ghastly faces at 
 the windows, and heard such lamentable cries, that he was glad 
 to hurry on and get out of sight and hearing. In Throgmorton- 
 street, nearly opposite Draper's-hall, a poor wretch suddenly 
 opened a casement, and before his attendants could force him 
 back, threw himself from a great height to the ground, and broke 
 his neck. Another incident, of an equally distressing nature, 
 occurred. A young and richly-dressed young man issued from 
 a tavern in Broad-street, and with a wild and inflamed counte- 
 nance staggered along. He addressed some insulting language to 
 Leonard, but the latter, who desired no quarrel, disregarded his 
 remarks and let him pass. The next person encountered by the 
 
HOW FJRFS WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 183 
 
 drunken man was a young female. Suddenly catching her in 
 his arms, he imprinted a kiss upon her lips, and then, with a 
 frightful laugh, shouted, "I have given you the plague ! Look 
 here !" and tearing aside the collar of his shirt, he exhibited a 
 large tumour. The young woman uttered a shriek of terror and 
 fainted, while her ruthless assailant took to his heels, and running 
 as long as his strength lasted, fell down, and was taken to the 
 pest-house, where he was joined that same night by his victim. 
 And this was by no means an uncommon occurrence. The dis- 
 temper acted differently on different temperaments. Some it 
 inflamed to an ungovernable pitch of madness — others it reduced 
 to the depths of despair — while in many cases it brought out and 
 aggravated the worst parts of the character. Wives conveyed the 
 infection intentionally to their husbands — husbands to their wives 
 — parents to their children — lovers to the objects of their affec- 
 tion — while, as in the case above-mentioned, many persons ran 
 about like rabid hounds, striving to communicate it to all they 
 met. Grcatty shocked at what had occurred, and yet not alto~ 
 gether surprised at it, for his mind had become familiarized with 
 horrors, Leonard struck down Finch-lane, and proceeded towards 
 Cornhill. On the way, he noticed two dead bodies lying at the 
 mouth of a small alley, and hastening past was stopped at the 
 entrance to Cornhill by a butcher's apprentice, who was wheeling 
 away the body of an old man, who had just died while purchasing 
 meat at a stall at Stock's Market. Filled with unutterable loath- 
 ing at this miserable spectacle, Leonard was fain to procure a 
 glass of canary to recruit his spirits. 
 
 Accordingly he proceeded to the Globe tavern at the corner 
 of Birehin-lane. As he entered the house, a lively strain or. 
 music caught his ear, and glancing in the direction of the sound, 
 he found it proceeded from the blind piper, Mike Macascree, who 
 was playing to some half-dozen roystering youths. Bell lay at 
 her master's feet, and as Leonard approached the party, she 
 pricked up her ears, and being called by name, instantly sprang 
 towards him, and manifested the strongest delight. The piper 
 stopped playing to listen to what was going forward, but the young 
 men urged him to proceed, and again filled his glass. 
 
 " Don't drink any more, Mike," said Leonard, " but step aside 
 with me. I've something to say to you — something about your 
 daughter." 
 
 " My daughter !" exclaimed the piper, in a half-angry, half- 
 sorrowful voice, while a slight moisture forced itself through his 
 orbless lids — " I don't want to hear anything about her, except that 
 she is dead. She has deserted me, and disgraced herself." 
 
 " You are mistaken," rejoined Leonard ; " and if you will come 
 with me, I will explain the truth to you." 
 
 " I will listen to no explanation," rejoined the piper, furiously— 
 " she has given me pain enough already. I'm engaged with this 
 
184 old saint paul's. 
 
 jovial company. Fill my glass, my masters — there, fill it again," 
 lie added, draining it eagerly, and with the evident wish to drown 
 all thought. " There, now you shall have such a tune* as was 
 never listened to by mortal ears." 
 
 A loud laugh from the young men followed this proposition, 
 and the piper played away so furiously that it added to their 
 merriment. Touched with compassion, Leonard walked aside, 
 hoping, when the party broke up, to be able to have a word with 
 the poor man. But the piper's excitement increased. He played 
 faster and drank harder, until it was evident he was no longer in 
 a condition to speak rationally. Leonard, therefore, addressed 
 himself to the drawer, and desired him to look after the piper, 
 engaging to return before midnight to see how he went on. The 
 drawer promising compliance, Leonard departed ; and not feeling 
 disposed to continue his walk, returned to Wood-street. 
 
 Nothing particular occurred during the evening. Leonard did 
 not see Doctor Hodges, who was engaged in his professional 
 duties ; and after keeping watch before the grocer's till nearly 
 midnight, he again retraced his steps to the Globe. The drawer 
 was at the door, and about to close the house. 
 
 " You will be sorry to learn the fate of the poor piper," he 
 said. 
 
 " Why, what has happened to him ?" cried Leonard. 
 
 " He is dead of the plague," was the reply. 
 
 " What, so suddenly !" exclaimed the apprentice. " You are 
 jesting with me." 
 
 " Alas ! it is no jest," rejoined the drawer, in a tone that con- 
 vinced the apprentice of his sincerity. " His entertainers quitted 
 him about two hours ago, and in spite of my efforts to detain 
 him, he left the house, and sat down on those steps. Concluding 
 he would fall asleep, I did not disturb him, and his dog kept care- 
 ful watch over him. I forgot all about him till a short time ago, 
 when hearing the pest-cart pass, I went forth, and learnt that the 
 drivers having found him dead, as they supposed, of the pesti- 
 lence, had placed their forks under his belt and thrown him upon 
 the other dead bodies." 
 
 " And where is the dog ?" cried Leonard. 
 
 " She would not quit her master," replied the drawer, " so the 
 men threw her into the cart with him, saying, they would bury 
 her in the plague-pit, as all dogs were ordered to be destroyed." 
 
 " This must be prevented," cried Leonard. " Which way did 
 the dead -cart go?" 
 
 " Towards Moorgate," replied the drawer. 
 
 Leonard heard no more, but dashing through a narrow passage 
 opposite the Conduit, passed Bartholomew-lane, and traversing 
 Lothbury, soon reached Coleman-street and the old city gate, to 
 which he had been directed. Here he learnt that the dead-cart had 
 passed through it about five minutes before, and he hurried on 
 
THE DANCE OF DEATH. 185 
 
 towards Finsbury-fields. He had not proceeded far when he 
 heard a sound as of a pipe at a distance, furiously played, and 
 accompanied by the barking of a dog. These sounds were fol- 
 lowed by cries of alarm, and he presently perceived two persons 
 running towards him, with a swiftness which could only be occa- 
 sioned by terror. One of them carried a lantern, and grasping 
 his arm, the apprentice detained him. 
 
 " What is the matter?" he asked. 
 
 " The devil's the matter," replied the man — " the piper's ghost 
 has appeared in that cart, and is playing his old tunes again." 
 
 " Ay, it's either his spirit, or he is come to life again," observed 
 the other man, stopping likewise. " I tossed him into the cart 
 myself, and will swear he was dead enough then." 
 
 "You have committed a dreadful mistake," cried Leonard. 
 " You have tossed a living man into the cart instead of a dead 
 one. Do you not hear those sounds ?" And as he spoke, the 
 notes of the pipe swelled to a louder strain than ever. 
 
 " I tell you it is the devil — or a ghost," replied the driver; — " I 
 will stay here no longer." 
 
 " Lend me your lantern, and I will go to the cart," rejoined 
 Leonard. 
 
 " Take it," replied the man ; "but I caution you to stay where 
 you are. You ma} T receive a shock you will never survive." 
 
 Paying no attention to what was said, Leonard ran towards the 
 cart, and found the piper seated upon a pile of dead bodies, most 
 of them stripped of their covering, with Bell bj' his side, and 
 playing away at a prodigious rate. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 The condition of the prisons at this season was really frightful. 
 In Newgate, in particular, where the distemper broke out at the 
 beginning of June, it raged with such violence that in less than a 
 week more than half the prisoners were swept off, and it appeared 
 probable, that, unless its fury abated, not a soul would be left alive 
 within it. At all times, this crowded and ill-kept prison was 
 infested by the gaol-fever and other pestilential disorders, but 
 these were mild in comparison with the present terrible visitation. 
 The atmosphere was noisome and malignant ; the wards were 
 never cleansed ; and many poor wretches who died in their cells, 
 were left there till the attendants on the dead-cart chose to drag 
 them forth. No restraint being placed upon the sick, and the rules 
 of the prison allowing them the free use of any strong liquoiy 
 they could purchase, the scenes that occurred were too dreadful 
 
18*5 old saint paul's. 
 
 and revolting for description, and could only be paralleled by the 
 orgies of a pandemonium. Many reckless beings, conscious that 
 they were attacked by a fatal disorder, drank as long as they could 
 raise the cup to their lips, and after committing the wildest and 
 most shocking extravagances, died in a state of frenzy. 
 
 Newgate became thus, as it were, the very focus of infection, 
 where the plague assumed its worst aspect, and where its victims 
 perished far more expeditiously than elsewhere. Two of the 
 turnkeys had already died of the distemper, and such was the 
 alarm entertained, that no persons could be found to supply their 
 places. To penetrate the recesses of the prison, was almost to 
 ensure destruction, and none but the attendants of the dead-cart 
 and the nurses attempted it. Among the latter was Judith. 
 Employed as a nurse on the first outbreak of the plague, she will- 
 ingly and fearlessly undertook the office. The worse the disease 
 became, the better pleased she appeared ; and she was so utterly 
 without apprehension, that when no one would approach the cell 
 where some wretched sufferer lay expiring, she unhesitatingly 
 entered it. But it was not to render aid, but to plunder, that she 
 thus exercised her functions. She administered no medicine, 
 dressed no tumours, and did not contribute in the slightest degree 
 to the comfort of the miserable wretches committed to her charge. 
 All she desired was to obtain whatever valuables they possessed, 
 or to wring from them any secret that might afterwards be turned 
 to account. Foreseeing that Newgate must ere long be depopu- 
 lated, and having no fears for herself, she knew that she must 
 then be liberated, and be able once more to renew her mischievous 
 practices upon mankind. Her marvellous preservation through- 
 out all the dangers to which she was exposed, seemed almost to 
 warrant the supposition that she had entered into a compact with 
 the pestilence, to extend its ravages by every means in her power, 
 on the condition of being spared herself. 
 
 Soon after the outbreak of the plague in Newgate, all the 
 debtors were liberated, and if the keepers had had their own way, 
 the common felons would have been likewise released. But this 
 could not be, and they were kept to perish as before described. 
 Matters, however, grew so serious, that it became a question 
 whether the few miserable wretches left alive ought to be longer 
 detained, and at last the turnkeys refusing to act any longer, and 
 delivering their keys to the governor, the whole of the prisoners 
 were set free. 
 
 On the night of their liberation, Chowles and Judith proceeded 
 to the vaults of Saint Faith's, to deposit within them the plunder 
 they had obtained in the prison. They found them entirely 
 deserted. Neither verger, sexton, nor any other person, was to 
 be seen, and they took up their quarters in the crypt. Having 
 brought a basket of provisions and a few bottles of wine with 
 them, they determined to pass the nigh' in revelry; and, accord- 
 
THE DANCE OF DEATH. 187 
 
 ingly, having lighted a fire with the fragments of old coffins 
 brought from the charnel, they sat down to their meal. Having 
 done full justice to it, and disposed of the first flask, they 
 were about to abandon themselves to unrestrained enjoyment, 
 when their glee was all at once interrupted by a strange and 
 unaccountable noise in the adjoining church. Chowles, who had 
 just commenced chanting one of his wild melodies, suddenly 
 stopped, and Judith set down the glass she had raised to her 
 lips untasted. What could it mean ? Neither of them could 
 tell. It seemed like strains of unearthly music, mixed with shrieks 
 and groans as of tortured spirits, accompanied by peals of such 
 laughter as might be supposed to proceed from demons. 
 
 " The dead are burst forth from their tombs," cried Chowles, 
 in a quavering voice, "and are attended by a legion of evil 
 spirits." 
 
 " It would seem so," replied Judith, rising. " I should like 
 to behold the sight. Come with inc." 
 
 " Not for the world !" rejoined Chowles, shuddering, "and I 
 would recommend you to stay where you are. You may behold 
 your dead husband among them." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" rejoined Judith, halting. 
 "I am sure of it," cried Chowles, eagerly. " Stay where you 
 are — stay where you are." 
 
 As he spoke, there was another peal of infernal laughter, and 
 the strains of music grew louder each moment. 
 
 " Come what may, I will see what it is," said Judith, emptying 
 her glass, as if seeking courage from the draught. " Surely," 
 she added, in a taunting tone, " you will come with me." 
 
 *'I am afraid of nothing earthly," rejoined Chowles — "but I 
 do not like to face beings of another world." 
 " Then I will go alone," rejoined Judith. 
 " Nay, that shall never be," replied Chowles, tottering after 
 her. 
 
 As they opened the door and crossed the charnel, such an 
 extraordinary combination of sounds burst upon their ears that 
 they again paused, and looked anxiously at each other. Chowles 
 laid his hand on his companion's arm, and strove to detain her, 
 but she would not be stayed, and he was forced to proceed. 
 Setting down the lamp on the stone floor, Judith passed into the 
 subterranean church, where she beheld a sight that almost petri- 
 fied her. In the midst of the nave, which was illumined by a 
 blue glimmering light, whence proceeding it was impossible to 
 determine, stood a number of grotesque figures, apparelled in 
 fantastic garbs, and each attended by a skeleton. Some of the 
 latter grisly shapes were playing on tambours, others on psalteries, 
 others on rebecs — every instrument producing the strangest sound 
 imaginable. Viewed through the massive pillars, beneath that 
 dark and ponderous roof, and by the mystic light before described 
 
188 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 this strange company had a supernatural appearance, and neither 
 Chowles nor Judith doubted for a moment that they beheld 
 before them a congregation of phantoms. An irresistible feeling 
 of curiosity prompted them to advance. On drawing nearer, 
 they found the assemblage comprehended all ranks of society. 
 There was a pope in his tiara and pontifical dress ; a cardinal in 
 his cap and robes; a monarch with a sceptre in his hand, and 
 arrayed in the habiliments of royalty; a crowned queen ; a bishop 
 wearing his mitre, and carrying his crosier; an abbot likewise in 
 his mitre, and bearing a crosier ; a duke in his robes of state ; a 
 grave canon of the church ; a knight sheathed in armour; a judge, 
 an advocate, and a magistrate, all in their robes; a mendicant 
 friar and a nun ; and the list was completed by a physician, an 
 astrologer, a miser, a merchant, a duchess, a pedler, a soldier, a 
 gamester, an idiot, a robber, a blind man, and a beggar, — each 
 distinguishable by his apparel. 
 
 By and by, with a wild and gibbering laugh that chilled thk 
 beholders' blood, one of the tallest and grisliest of the skeletons 
 sprang forward, and beating his drum, the whole ghostly com- 
 pany formed, two and two, into a line — a skeleton placing itself 
 on the right of every mortal. In this order, the fantastic pro- 
 cession marched between the pillars, the unearthly music playing 
 all the while, and disappeared at the further extremity of the 
 church. With the last of the group, the mysterious light van- 
 ished, and Chowles and his companion were left in profound 
 darkness. 
 
 "What can it mean?" cried Judith, as soon as she recovered 
 her speech. " Are they human, or spirits ?" 
 
 " Human beings don't generally amuse themselves in this way,* 
 returned Chowles. " But hark ! — I still hear the music. — They 
 are above — in Saint Paul's." 
 
 " Then I will join them," said Judith. "I am resolved to see 
 the end of it." 
 
 " Don't leave me behind," returned Chowles, following her. 
 "I would rather keep company with Beelzebub and all his imps 
 than be alone." 
 
 Both were too well acquainted with the way to need any light. 
 Ascending the broad stone steps, they presently emerged into 
 the cathedral, which they found illumined by the same glim- 
 mering light as the lower church, and they perceived the ghostly 
 assemblage gathered into an immense ring, and dancing round 
 the tall skeleton, who continued beating his drum, and uttering 
 a strange gibbering sound, which was echoed by the others. 
 Each moment the dancers increased the swiftness of their pace, 
 until at last it grew to a giddy whirl, and then, all at once, with 
 a shriek of laughter, the whole company fell to the ground. 
 
 Chowles and Judith, then, for the first time, understood, from 
 the confusion that ensued, and the exclamations uttered, that 
 

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THE DANCE OF DEATH. 189 
 
 they were no spirits they had to deal with, but heings of the 
 same mould as themselves. Accordingly, they approached the 
 party of masquers, for such they proved, and found on inquiry 
 that they were a party of young gallants, who, headed by the 
 Earl of Rochester — the representative of the tall skeleton — had 
 determined to realize the Dance of Death, as once depicted on 
 the walls of an ancient cloister at the north of the cathedral, 
 called Pardon-churchyard, on the walls of which, says Stowe, 
 were " artificially and richly painted the Dance of Macabre, or 
 Dance of Death, commonly called the Dance of Paul's, the like 
 whereof was painted about Saint Innocent's, at Paris. The 
 metres, or poesy of this dance," proceeds the same authority, 
 "w r ere translated out of French into English by John Lydgate, 
 monk of Bury; and with the picture of Death leading all estates, 
 painted about the cloister, at the special request and expense of 
 Jenkin Carpenter, in the reign of Henry the Sixth." Pardon- 
 churchyard was pulled down by the Protector Somerset, in the 
 reign of Edward the Sixth, and the materials employed in the 
 erection of his own palace in the Strand. It was the discussion 
 of these singular paintings, and of the designs on the same 
 subject ascribed to Holbein, that led the Earl of Rochester and 
 his companions to propose the fantastic spectacle above described. 
 With the disposition which this reckless nobleman possessed to 
 turn the most solemn and appalling subjects to jest, he thought 
 no season so fitting for such an entertainment as the present — 
 just as in our own time the lively Parisians made the cholera, 
 while raging in their city, the subject of a carnival pastime. 
 The exhibition witnessed by Chowles and Judith was a rehearsal 
 of the masque intended to be represented in the cathedral on 
 the following night. 
 
 Again marshalling his band, the Earl of Rochester beat his 
 drum, and skipping before them, led the way towards the south 
 door of the cathedral, which was thrown open by an unseen 
 hand, and the procession glided through it like a troop of 
 spectres. Chowles, whose appearance was not unlike that of an 
 animated skeleton, was seized with a strange desire to join in 
 what was going forward, and taking off his doublet, and baring 
 his bony arms and legs, he followed the others, dancing round 
 Judith in the same manner that the other skeletons danced 
 round their partners. 
 
 On reaching the Convocation House, a door was opened, and 
 the procession entered the cloisters ; and here Chowles, dragging 
 Judith into the area between him and the beautiful structure 
 they surrounded, began a dance of so extraordinary a character 
 that the whole troop collected round to witness it. Rochester 
 beat his drum, and the other representatives of mortality who 
 were provided with musical instruments struck up a wild kind 
 of accompaniment, to which Chowles executed the most gro- 
 
190 OLD SAIKT PAUL'S 
 
 tesque flourishes. So wildly excited did he become, and such 
 extravagances did he commit, that even Judith stared aghast at 
 him, and began to think his wits were fled. Now he whirled 
 round her — now sprang high into the air — now twined his lean 
 arms round her waist — now peeped over one shoulder, now over 
 the other — and at last griped her neck so forcibly, that he might 
 perhaps have strangled her, if she had not broken from him, and 
 dealt him a severe blow'that brought him senseless to the ground. 
 On recovering, he found himself in the arched entrance of a large 
 octagonal chamber, lighted at each side by a lofty pointed window 
 filled with stained glass. Round this chamber ran a wide stone 
 bench, with a richly-carved back of the same material, on which 
 the masquers were seated, and opposite the entrance was a raised 
 seat, ordinarily allotted to the dean, but now occupied by the 
 Earl of Rochester. A circular oak table stood in the midst of 
 the chamber, covered with magnificent silver dishes heaped with 
 the choicest viands, which were handed to the guests by the earl's 
 servants, all of whom represented skeletons, and it had a strange 
 effect, to behold these ghastly objects filling the cups of the 
 revellers, bending obsequiously before some blooming dame, or 
 crowding round their spectral-looking lord. 
 
 At first, Chowles was so confused, that he thought he must 
 have awakened in another world, but by degrees he called to 
 mind what had occurred, and ascertained from Judith that he 
 was in the Convocation House. Getting up, he joined the train 
 of grisly attendants, and acquitted himself so well that the earl 
 engaged him as performer in the masque. He was furthermore 
 informed that, in all probability, the king himself, with many of 
 his favourite nobles, and the chief court beauties, would be 
 present to witness the spectacle. 
 
 The banquet over, word was brought that chairs and coaches 
 were without, and the company departed, leaving behind only a 
 few attendants, who remained to put matters in order. 
 
 While they were thus occupied, Judith, who had fixed her 
 greedy eyes upon the plate, observed, in an under tone, to 
 Chowles, " There will be fine plunder for us. We must manage 
 to carry off all that plate while they are engaged in the masque." 
 
 " You must do it yourself, then," returned Chowles, in the 
 same tone — " for I shall have to play a principal part in the 
 entertainment, and as the king himself will be present, I cannot 
 give up such an opportunity of distinguishing myself." 
 
 " You can have no share in the prize, if you lend no assist- 
 ance," replied Judith, with a dissatisfied look. 
 
 " Of course not," rejoined Chowles ; " on this occasion it is 
 all yours. The Dance of Death is too much to my taste to be 
 given up." 
 
 Perceiving they were noticed, Chowles and Judith then left 
 the Convocation House, and returned to the vault in Saint 
 
THE DANCE OF DEATH. 191 
 
 Faith's, nor did they emerge from it until late on tie following 
 day. 
 
 Some rumour of the masque having gone abroad, towards 
 evening a crowd, chiefly composed of the most worthless order 
 of society, collected under the portico at the western entrance, 
 and the great doors being opened by Chowles, they entered the 
 cathedral. Thus was this sacred building once more invaded — 
 once again a scene of noise, riot, and confusion — its vaulted 
 roofs, instead of echoing the voice of prayer, or the choral hymn, 
 resounded with loud laughter, imprecations, and licentious dis- 
 course. This disorder, however, was kept in some bounds by a 
 Btrong body of the royal guard, who soon afterwards arrived, and 
 stationing themselves in parties of three or four at each of the 
 massive columns flanking the aisles, maintained some show of 
 decorum. Besides these, there were others of the royal attendants 
 bearing torches who walked from place to place, and compelled 
 all loiterers in dark corners to proceed to the nave. 
 
 A little before midnight, the great doors were again thrown 
 open, and a large troop of richly-attired personages, all wearing 
 masks, were admitted. For a short time they paced to and fro 
 between its shafted pillars gazing at the spectators grouped 
 around, and evidently from their jests and laughter not a little 
 entertained by the scene. As the clock struck twelve, however, 
 all sounds were hushed, and the courtly party stationed them- 
 selves on the steps leading to the choir. At the same moment, 
 also, the torches were extinguished, and the whole of the building 
 buried in profound darkness. Presently after, a sound was heard 
 of footsteps approaching the nave, but nothing could be discerned. 
 Expectation was kept on the rack for some minutes, during which 
 many a stifled cry was heard from those whose courage failed 
 them at this trying juncture. All at once, a blue light illumined 
 the nave, and partially revealed the lofty pillars by which it was 
 surrounded. By this light the whole of the ghostly company 
 could be seen drawn up near the western door. They were 
 arranged two and two, a skeleton standing as before on the right 
 of each character. The procession next marched slowly and 
 silently towards the choir, and drew up at the foot of the steps, 
 to give the royal party an opportunity of examining them. 
 After pausing there lor a few minutes, Rochester, in the dress of 
 the larger skeleton, started off, and, beating his drum, was 
 followed by the pope and his attendant skeleton. This couple 
 having danced together for some minutes, to the infinite diversion 
 of the spectators, disappeared behind a pillar, and were suc- 
 ceeded by the monarch and a second skeleton. These, in their 
 turn, gave way to the cardinal and his companion, and so on till 
 the whole of the masquers had exhibited themselves, when at a 
 signal from the earl the party re-appeared, and formed a ring 
 round him. The dance was executed with great spirit, anci 
 
192 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 elicited tumultuous applause from all the beholders. The earl 
 now retired, and Chowles took his place. He was clothed in an 
 elastic dress painted of a leaden and cadaverous colour, which 
 fitted closely to his fleshless figure, and defined all his angularities. 
 He carried an hour-glass in one hand, and a dart in the other, 
 and in the course of the dance kept continually pointing the latter 
 at those who moved around him. His feats of the previous 
 evening were nothing to his present achievements. His joints 
 creaked, and his eyes flamed like burning coals. As he con- 
 tinued, his excitement increased. He bounded higher, and his 
 countenance assumed so hideous an expression, that those near 
 him recoiled in terror, crying, " Death himself had broke loose 
 among them." The consternation soon became general. The 
 masquers fled in dismay, and scampered along the aisles scarcely 
 knowing whither they were going. Delighted with the alarm he 
 occasioned, Chowles chased a large party along the northern 
 aisle, and was pursuing them across the transept upon which it 
 opened, when he was arrested in his turn by another equally 
 formidable figure, who suddenly placed himself in his path. 
 
 " Hold !" exclaimed Solomon Eagle — for it was the enthusiast 
 — in a voice of thunder, " it is time this scandalous exhibition 
 should cease. Know all ye who make a mockery of death that 
 his power will be speedily and fearfully approved upon you. 
 Think not to escape the vengeance of the Great Being whose 
 temple you have profaned. And you, O king ! who have 
 sanctioned these evil doings by your presence, and who by your 
 own dissolute life set a pernicious example to all your subjects, 
 know that your city shall be utterly laid waste, first by plague 
 and then by fire. Tremble ! my warning is as terrible and true 
 as the handwriting on the wall." 
 
 " Who art thou who holdest this language towards me ? n 
 demanded Charles. 
 
 " I am called Solomon Eagle," replied the enthusiast, " and 
 am charged with a mission from on high to warn your doomed 
 people of their fate. Be warned yourself, sire. Your end will 
 be sudden. You will be snatched away in the midst of your 
 guilty pleasure, and with little time for repentance. Be warned, 
 I say again." 
 
 With this he turned to depart. 
 
 " Secure the knave," cried Charles, angrily. " He shall be 
 60undly scourged for his insolence." 
 
 But bursting through the guard, Solomon Eagle ran swiftly up 
 the choir and disappeared, nor could his pursuers discover any 
 traces of him. 
 
 " Strange !" exclaimed the king, when he was told of the 
 enthusiast's escape. " Let us go to supper. This masque has 
 given me the vapours." 
 
 " Pray Heaven it have not given us the plague," observed the 
 {air Stewart, who stood beside him, taking his arm. 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 193 
 
 " It is to be hoped not," rejoined Charles ; " but, odds fish ! it 
 is a most dismal affair." 
 
 " It is so, in more ways than one," replied Rochester, " for I 
 have just learnt that all my best plate has been carried off from 
 the Convocation House. I shall only be able to offer your 
 Majesty and your fair partner a sorry supper." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PLAGUE-PIT 
 
 On being made acquainted by Leonard, who helped him out of 
 the pest-cart, with the danger he had run, the piper uttered a 
 cry of terror, and swooned away. The buriers seeing how matters 
 stood, and that their superstitious fears were altogether ground- 
 less, now returned, and one of them producing a phial of vinegar, 
 sprinkled the fainting man with it, and speedily brought him to 
 himself. But though so far recovered, his terror had by no means 
 abated, and he declared his firm conviction that he was infected 
 by the pestilence. 
 
 " I have been carried towards the plague-pit by mistake," he 
 said. " I shall soon be conveyed thither in right earnest, and 
 not have the power of frightening away my conductors on the 
 road." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh !" cried one of the buriers, jestingly. " I hope 
 you will often ride with us, and play us many a merry tune as 
 you go. You shall always be welcome to a seat in the cart." 
 
 " Be of good cheer," added Leonard, " and all will be well. 
 Come with me to an apothecary's shop, and I will procure a 
 cordial for you, which shall speedily dispel your qualms." 
 
 The piper shook his head, and replied, with a deep groan, that 
 he was certain all was over with him. 
 
 " However, I will not reject your kindness," he added, " though 
 I feel I am past the help of medicine." 
 
 With this, he whistled to Bell, who was skipping about Leonard, 
 having recognised him on his first approach, and they proceeded 
 towards the second postern in London-wall, between Moorgate 
 and Cripplegate; while the buriers, laughing heartily at the 
 adventure, took their way towards the plague-pit, and discharged 
 their dreadful load within it. Arrived in Basinghall- street, and 
 looking round, Leonard soon discovered by the links at the door, 
 as well as by the crowd collected before it, — for day and night 
 the apothecaries' dwellings were besieged by the sick, — the shop 
 of which he was in search. It was long before they could obtain 
 admittance, and during this time the piper said he felt himself 
 getting rapidly worse ; but, imagining he was merely labouring 
 
 o 
 
194 OLD SAINT PAUl/s. 
 
 Tinder the effect of fright, Leonard paid little attention to his 
 Complaints. The apothecary, however, no sooner set eyes upon 
 iiim than he pronounced him infected, and, on examination, it 
 proved that the fatal tokens had already appeared. 
 
 " I knew it was so," cried the piper. " Take me to the pest- 
 house — take me to the pest-house !" 
 
 " His desire had better be complied with," observed the 
 apothecary. " He is able to walk thither now, but I will not 
 answer for his being able to do so two hours hence. It is a bad 
 case," he added in an under-tone to Leonard. 
 
 Feeing the apothecary, Leonard set out with the piper, and 
 passing through Cripplegate, they entered the open fields. Here 
 they paused for a moment, and the little dog ran round and 
 round them, barking gleefully. 
 
 " Poor Bell !" cried the piper ; " what will become of thee 
 when I am gone ?" 
 
 " If you will intrust her to me, I will take care of her," replied 
 Leonard. 
 
 " She is yours," rejoined the piper, in a voice hoarse with 
 emotion. " Be kind to her for my sake, and for the sake of her 
 unfortunate mistress." 
 
 " Since you have alluded to your daughter," returned Leonard ; 
 " I must tell you what has become of her. I have not hitherto 
 mentioned the subject, fearing it might distress you." 
 
 " Have no further consideration, but speak out," rejoined the 
 piper. "Be it what it may, I will bear it like a man." 
 
 Leonard then briefly recounted all that had occurred, describ- 
 ing Nizza's disguise as a page, and her forcible abduction by 
 Parravicin. He was frequently interrupted by the groans of his 
 hearer, who at last gave vent to his rage and anguish in words. 
 
 " Heaven's direst curse upon her ravisher J" he cried. " May 
 he endure worse misery than I now endure ! She is lost for ever." 
 
 " She may yet be preserved," rejoined Leonard. " Doctor 
 Hodges thinks he has discovered her retreat, and I will not rest 
 till 1 find her." 
 
 " No — no, 3'ou will never find her," replied the piper, bitterly j 
 "or if you do, it will be only to bewail her ruin." 
 
 His rage then gave way to such an access of grief, that, letting 
 his head fall on Leonard's shoulder, he wept aloud. 
 
 " There is a secret connected with that poor girl," he said, at 
 length, controlling his emotion by a powerful effort, " which 
 must now go to the grave with me. The knowledge of it would 
 only add to her distress." 
 
 "You view the matter too unfavourably," replied Leonard; 
 " and if the secret is of any moment, I entreat you to confide it 
 to me. If your worst apprehensions should prove well founded, 
 I promise you it shall never be revealed to her." 
 
 " On that condition only, I will confide it to you," replied the 
 
-HE PLAGUE-PIT. 195 
 
 piper; "but not now — not now — to-morrow morning, if I am 
 alive." 
 
 " It may be out of your power then," returned Leonard. 
 " For your daughter's sake, I urge you not to delay." 
 
 "It is for her sake I am silent," rejoined the piper. " Come 
 along — come along !" he added, hurrying forward. " Are we far 
 from the pest-house ? My strength is failing me." 
 
 On arriving at their destination, they were readily admitted 
 to the asylum, but a slight difficulty arose, which, however, was 
 speedily obviated. All the couches were filled, but on examining 
 them it was found that one of the sick persons had just been 
 released from his sufferings, and the body being removed, the 
 piper was allowed to take its place. Leonard remained by him 
 for a short time, but, overpowered by the pestilential effluvia, and 
 the sight of so many miserable objects, he was compelled to seek 
 the open air. Returning, however, shortly afterwards, he found 
 the piper in a very perturbed state. On hearing Leonard's voice 
 he appeared greatly relieved, and, taking his gown from beneath 
 his pillow, gave it to him, and desired him to unrip a part of the 
 garment, in which it was evident something was sewn. The 
 apprentice complied, and a small packet dropped forth. 
 
 " Take it," said the piper ; # " and if I die, — and Nizza should 
 happily be preserved from her ravisher, give it her. But not other- 
 wise, — not otherwise. Implore her to forgive me — to pity me." 
 
 " Forgive you — her father ?" cried Leonard, in astonishment. 
 
 " That packet will explain all," replied the piper in a troubled 
 tone. " You promised to take charge of poor Bell," he added, 
 drawing forth the little animal, who had crept to the foot of the 
 bed, " here she is. Farewell ! my faithful friend," he added, 
 pressing his rough lips to her forehead, while she whined 
 piteously, as if beseeching him to allow her to remain ; " farewell 
 for ever." 
 
 " Not for ever, I trust," replied Leonard, taking her gently 
 from him. 
 
 f " And now you had better go," said the piper. " Return if 
 you can to-morrow." 
 
 " I will, — I will," replied Leonard. And he hurried out of the 
 room. 
 
 He was followed to the door by the young chirurgeon — the 
 same who had accompanied Mr. Bloundel during his inspection 
 of the pest-house, — and he inquired of him if he thought the 
 piper's case utterly hopeless. 
 
 " Not utterly so," replied the young man. " I shall be able to 
 speak more positively in a few hours. At present, I think, with 
 care and attention, there is a chance of his recovery." 
 
 Much comforted by this assurance, Leonard departed, and 
 afraid to put Bell to the ground lest she should run back to hef 
 master, he continued to carry her, and endeavoured to attach hef 
 
 02 
 
196 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 to him by caresses and endearments. The little animal showed 
 her sense of his kindness by licking his hands, but she still 
 remained inconsolable, and ever and anon struggled to get free. 
 Making the best of his way to Wood-street, he entered the hutch, 
 and placing a little straw in one corner for Bell, threw himself on 
 a bench and dropped asleep. At six o'clock he was awakened by 
 the barking of the dog, and opening the door beheld Dallison. 
 The grocer was at the window above, and about to let down a 
 basket of provisions to them. To Leonard's eager inquiries after 
 Amabel, Mr. Bloundel replied by a melancholy shake of the head, 
 and soon afterwards withdrew. With a sad heart, the apprentice 
 then broke his fast, — not forgetting at the same time the wants of 
 his little companion, — and finding he was not required by his 
 master, he proceeded to Doctor Hodges' residence. He was for- 
 tunate enough to find the friendly physician at home ; and, after 
 relating to him what had occurred, committed the packet to his 
 custod}\ 
 
 ** It will be safer in your keeping than mine," he said ; " and 
 if anything should happen to me, you will, I am sure, observe the 
 wishes of the poor piper." 
 
 " Rely upon it, I will," replied Hodges. " I am sorry to tell 
 you I have been misled as to the clue I fancied I had obtained to 
 Nizza's retreat. We are as far from the mark as ever." 
 
 "Might not the real name of the villain who has assumed the 
 name of Sir Paul Parravicin be ascertained from the Earl of 
 Rochester ?" rejoined Leonard. 
 
 " So I thought," replied Hodges ; " and I made the attempt 
 yesterday, but it failed. I was at Whitehall, and finding the 
 earl in the king's presence, suddenly asked him where I could 
 find his friend Sir Paul Parravicin. He looked surprised at the 
 question, glanced significantly at the monarch, and then care- 
 lessly answered that he knew no such person." 
 
 " A strange idea crosses me," cried Leonard. " Can it be the 
 king who has assumed this disguise ?" 
 
 " At one time I suspected as much," rejoined Hodges ; " but 
 setting aside your description of the person, which does not tally 
 with that of Charles, I am satisfied from other circumstances it is 
 not so. After, all I should not wonder if poor Bell," smoothing 
 her long silky ears as she lay in the apprentice's arms, " should 
 help us to discover her mistress. And now," he added, '* I shall 
 go to Wood-street to inquire after Amabel, and will then accom- 
 pany you to the pest-house. From what you tell me the young 
 chirurgeon said of the piper, I do not despair of his recovery." 
 
 "Poor as his chance may appear, it is better, I fear, than 
 Amabel's," sighed the apprentice. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Hodges, in a sorrowful tone, " hers is slight 
 indeed." 
 
 And perceiving that the apprentice was greatly moved, he 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 197 
 
 waited for a moment till he had recovered himself, and then, 
 motioning him to follow him, they quitted the house together. 
 
 On reaching Mr. Bloundel's habitation, Leonard pulled the cord 
 in the hutch, and the grocer appeared at the window. 
 
 " My daughter has not left her bed this morning," he said, in 
 answer to the doctor's inquiries, " and I fear she is much worse. 
 My wife is with her. It would be a great satisfaction to me if 
 you would see her again." 
 
 After some little hesitation, Hodges assented, and was drawn 
 up as before. He returned in about half an hour, and his grave 
 countenance convinced Leonard that his worst anticipations were 
 correct. He therefore forbore to question him, and they walked 
 towards Cripplegate in silence. 
 
 On emerging into the fields, Hodges observed to his com- 
 panion, "It is strange that I who daily witness such dreadful 
 suffering should be pained by the gradual and easy decline of 
 Amabel. But so it is. Her case touches me more than the 
 worst I have seen of the plague." 
 
 " I can easily account for the feeling," groaned Leonard. 
 
 " I am happy to say I have prevailed on her, if she does not 
 improve in a short time, — and there is not the slightest chance 
 of it, — to try the effect of a removal to the country. Her father, 
 also, consents to the plan." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Leonard. " But whither will 
 she go, and who will watch over her?" 
 
 " That is not yet settled," rejoined Hodges. 
 
 " Oh ! that I might be permitted to undertake the office !" 
 cried Leonard, passionately. 
 
 " Restrain yourself," said Hodges, in a tone of slight rebuke. 
 " Fitting attendance will be found, if needed." 
 
 The conversation then dropped, and they walked briskly for- 
 ward. They were now within a short distance of the pest-house, 
 and Leonard, hearing footsteps behind him, turned and beheld a 
 closed litter, borne by two stout porters, and evidently containing 
 a plague-patient. He stepped aside to let it pass, when Bell 
 suddenly pricking her ears, uttered a singular cry, and bursting 
 from him, flew after the litter, leaping against it and barking 
 ioyfully. The porters, who were proceeding at a quick pace, 
 tried to drive her away, but without effect, and she continued 
 her cries until they reached the gates of the pest-house. In vain 
 Leonard whistled to her, and called her back. She paid no 
 attention whatever to him. 
 
 "I almost begin to fear," said Hodges, unable to repress a 
 shudder, "that the poor animal will, indeed, be the means of 
 discovering for us the object of our search." 
 
 " I understand what you mean," rejoined Leonard, " and am 
 ot the same opinion as yourself. Heaven grant we may be mis* 
 taken r 
 
198 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 And as he spoke, he ran forward, and followed by Hodges, 
 reached the pest-house just as the litter was taken into it. 
 
 "Silence that accursed dog," cried one of the porters, "and 
 bid a nurse attend us. We have a patient for the women's ward." 
 
 "Let me see her," cried Hodges. "I am a physician." 
 
 "Readily, sir," replied the porter. "It is almost over with 
 her, poor soul ! It would have saved time and trouble to take 
 her to the plague-pit at once. She cannot last many hours. 
 Curse the dog! Will it never cease howling?" 
 
 Leonard here seized Bell, fearing she might do some mischief, 
 and with a sad foreboding beheld the man draw back the curtains 
 of the litter. His fears proved well founded. There, stretched 
 upon the couch, with her dark hair unbound, and flowing in 
 wild disorder over her neck, lay Nizza Macascree. The ghastly 
 paleness of her face could not, however, entirely rob it of its 
 beauty, and her dark eyes were glazed and lustreless. At the 
 sight of her mistress, poor Bell uttered so piteous a cry, that 
 Leonard, moved by compassion, placed her on the pillow beside 
 her, and the sagacious animal did not attempt to approach nearer, 
 but merely licked her cheek. Roused by the touch, Nizza turned 
 to see what was near her, and recognising the animal, made a 
 movement to strain her to her bosom, but the pain she endured 
 was so intense that she sank back with a deep groan. 
 
 " From whom did you receive this young woman ?" demanded 
 Hodges, of one of the porters. 
 
 " She was brought to us by two richly-attired lacqueys," 
 replied the man, "in this very litter. They paid us to carry 
 her here without loss of time." 
 
 " You have an idea whose servants they were ?" pursued 
 Hodges. 
 
 "Not the least," replied the fellow; "but I should judge, from 
 the richness of their dress, that they belonged to some noble- 
 man." 
 
 " Did they belong to the royal household ?" inquired Leonard. 
 
 " No, no," rejoined the man. " I am certain as to that." 
 
 " The poor girl shall not remain here," observed Hodges, to 
 the apprentice. " You must convey her to my residence in 
 Great Knightrider-street," he added, to the porters. 
 
 " We will convey her wherever you please," replied the men, 
 w if we are paid for our trouble." 
 
 And they were about to close the curtains, when Nizza, 
 having caught sight of the apprentice, slightly raised herself, and 
 cried, in a voice of the utmost anxiety, "Is that you, Leonard?" 
 
 " It is," he replied, approaching her. 
 
 " Then I shall die happy, since I have seen you once more," 
 she said. " Oh, do not stay near me. Y ou may catch the 
 infection." 
 
 " Nizza," said Leonard, disregarding the caution, and breathing 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 199 
 
 the words in her ear ; " allay my fears by a word. You have not 
 fallen a victim to the villain who carried you away?" 
 
 " I have not, Leonard," she replied, solemnly. " I resisted 
 his importunities, his threats, his violence, and would have slain 
 myself rather than have yielded to him. The plague, at length, 
 came to my rescue, and I have reason to be grateful to it ; for it 
 has not only delivered me from him, but has brought me to you." 
 
 " I must now impose silence upon you," interposed Hodges, 
 Laying his finger on his lips; "further conversation will be hurtful." 
 
 " One question more and I have done," replied Nizza. " How 
 came Bell with you — and where is my father? Nothing has 
 happened to him?" she continued, observing Leonard's coun- 
 tenance change. " Speak ! do not keep me in suspense. Your 
 silence fills me with apprehension. Speak, I implore you. He 
 is dead ?" 
 
 " No," replied Leonard, " he is not dead — but he is an inmate 
 of this place." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Nizza, falling back senseless upon the pillow. 
 
 And in this state she was conveyed with the greatest expe- 
 dition to the doctor's residence. 
 
 Leonard only tarried to visit the piper, whom he found slightly 
 delirious, and unable to hold any conversation with him, and 
 
 Sromising to return in the evening, he set out after the litter. 
 Hzza was placed in the best apartment of the doctor's house, 
 and attended by an experienced and trustworthy nurse. But 
 Hodges positively refused to let Leonard see her again, affirming 
 that the excitement was too much for her, and might militate 
 against the chance of her recovery. 
 
 " I am not without hopes of bringing her through," he said, 
 ** and though it will be a severe struggle, yet as she has youth 
 and a good constitution on her side, I do not despair. If she 
 herself would second me, I should be yet more confident." 
 
 " How mean you ?" inquired Leonard. 
 
 " I think if she thought life worth a struggle — if, in short, she 
 believed you would return her attachment, she would rally," 
 answered Hodges. 
 
 " I cannot consent to deceive her thus," rejoined Leonard, 
 sadly. " My heart is fixed elsewhere." 
 
 " Your heart is fixed upon one who will soon be in her grave," 
 replied the doctor. 
 
 - ; And with her my affections will be buried," rejoined Leonard, 
 turning away to hide his tears. 
 
 So well was the doctor's solicitude rewarded, that three days 
 after Nizza had come under his care, he pronounced her out of 
 danger. But the violence of the attack left her so weak and 
 exhausted, that he still would not allow an interview to take 
 place between her and Leonard. During all this time, Bell 
 never left her side, and her presence was an inexpressible com- 
 
200 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 fort to her. The piper, too, was slowly recovering, and Leonard, 
 who daily visited him, was glad to learn from the young chirur- 
 geon that he would be able to leave the pest-house shortly. 
 Having ascertained from Leonard that his daughter was under 
 the care of Doctor Hodges, and likely to do well, the piper 
 begged so earnestly that the packet might not be delivered to 
 her, that after some consultation with Hodges, Leonard restored 
 it to him. He was delighted to get it back, felt it carefully over 
 to ascertain that the seals were unbroken, and satisfied that all 
 was safe, had it again sewn up in his gown, which he placed 
 under his pillow. 
 
 " I would rather disclose the secret to her by word of mouth 
 than in any other way," he said. 
 
 Leonard felt doubtful whether the secret would now be dis- 
 closed at all, but he made no remark. 
 
 Night was drawing on as he quitted the pest-house, and he 
 determined to take this opportunity of visiting the great plague- 
 pit, which lay about a quarter of a mile distant, in a line with 
 the church of All-hallows-in-the-wall, and he accordingly pro- 
 ceeded in that direction. The pit which he was about to visit 
 was about forty feet long, twenty wide, and the like number 
 deep. Into this tremendous chasm, the dead were promiscuously 
 thrown, without regard to sex or condition, generally stripped of 
 their clothing, and covered with a slight layer of earth and quick 
 lime. 
 
 The sun was setting as Leonard walked towards this dismal 
 place, and he thought he had never witnessed so magnificent a 
 sight. Indeed, it was remarked that at this fatal season the sun- 
 sets were unusually splendid. The glorious orb sank slowly 
 behind Saint Paul's, which formed a prominent object in the 
 view from the fields, and threw out its central tower, its massive 
 roof, and the two lesser towers flanking the portico, into strong 
 relief. Leonard gazed at the mighty fabric, which seemed 
 dilated to twice its size by this light, and wondered whether 
 it was possible that it could ever be destroyed, as predicted by 
 Solomon Eagle. 
 
 Long after the sun had set, the sky was stained with crimson, 
 and the grey walls of the city were tinged with rosy radiance. 
 The heat was intense, and Leonard, to cool himself, sat down in 
 the thick grass — for though the crops were ready for the scythe, 
 no mowers could be found, — and gazing upwards strove to mount 
 in spirit from the tainted earth towards Heaven. After awhile, 
 he arose, and proceeded towards the plague-pit. The grass was 
 trampled down near it, and there were marks of frequent cart- 
 wheels upon the sod. Great heaps of soil, thrown out of the 
 excavation, lay on either side. Holding a handkerchief steeped 
 in vinegar to his face, Leonard ventured to the brink of the pit. 
 But even this precaution could not counteract the horrible effluvia 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 201 
 
 arising from it. It was more than half-filled with dead bodies, 
 and through the putrid and heaving mass man}' disjointed limbs 
 and ghastly faces could be discerned, the long hair of women, 
 and the tiny arms of children, appearing on the surface. It was 
 a horrible sight — so horrible, that it possessed a fascination pecu- 
 liar to itself, and, in spite of his loathing, Leonard lingered to 
 gaze at it. Strange and fantastic thoughts possessed him. He 
 fancied that the legs and arms moved, — that the eyes of some of 
 the corpses opened and glared at him — and that the whole rotting 
 mass was endowed with animation, So appalled was he by this 
 idea that he turned away, and at that moment beheld a vehicle 
 approaching. It was the dead-cart, charged with a heavy load 
 to increase the already redundant heap. 
 
 The same inexplicable and irresistible feeling of curiosity that 
 induced Leonard to continue gazing upon the loathly objects in 
 the pit, now prompted him to stay and sec what would ensue. 
 Two persons were with the cart, and one of them, to Leonard's 
 infinite surprise and disgust, proved to be Chowles. He had no 
 time, however, for the expression of any sentiment, for the cart 
 halted at a little distance from him, when its conductors, turning 
 it round, backed it towards the edge of the pit. The horse was 
 then taken out, and Chowles calling to Leonard, the latter 
 involuntarily knelt down to guide its descent, while the other 
 assistant, who had proceeded to the further side of the chasm, 
 threw the light of a lantern full upon the grisly load, which was 
 thus shot into the gulf below. 
 
 Shovelling a sufficient quantity of earth and lime into the pit 
 to cover the bodies, Chowles and his companion departed, leaving 
 Leonard alone. He continued there a few moments longer, and 
 was about to follow them, when a prolonged and piercing cry 
 smote his ear, and looking in the direction of the sound, he per- 
 ceived a figure running with great swiftness towards the pit. As 
 no pursuers appeared, Leonard could scarcely doubt that this 
 was one of the distracted persons he had heard of, who, in the 
 frenzy produced by the intolerable anguish of their sores, would 
 often rush to the plague-pit and bury themselves, and he therefore 
 resolved, if possible, to prevent the fatal attempt. Accordingly, 
 he placed himself in the way of the runner, and endeavoured 
 with outstretched arms to stop him. But the latter dashed him 
 aside with great violence, and hurrying to the brink of the pit, 
 uttered a fearful cry, and exclaiming, " She is here I she is here I 
 — I shall find her amongst them 1" flung himself into the 
 abyss. 
 
 As soon as he could shake off the horror inspired by this 
 dreadful action, Leonard ran to the pit, and gazing into it, 
 beheld him by the imperfect light struggling in the horrible 
 mass in which he was partially immersed. The frenzied man 
 had now, however, begun to repent his rashness, and cried out 
 
202 OLD SAINT PAUl/S. 
 
 for aid. But this, Leonard found it impossible to afford him; 
 and, seeing he must speedily perish if left to himself, he ran 
 after the dead-cart, and overtaking it just as it reached Moor- 
 gate, informed Chowles what had happened, and begged him to 
 return. 
 
 " There will be no use in helping him out," rejoined Chowles, 
 in a tone of indifference. " We shall have to take him back in 
 a couple of hours. No, no ; let him remain where he is. There 
 is scarcely a night that some crazy being does not destroy himself 
 in the same way. We never concern ourselves about such persons, 
 except to strip them of their apparel." 
 
 " Unfeeling wretch 1" cried Leonard, unable to restrain his 
 indignation. " Give me your fork, and I will pull him out 
 myself." 
 
 Instead of surrendering the implement, Chowles flourished it 
 over his head with the intention of striking the apprentice, but 
 the latter nimbly avoided the blow, and snatching it from his 
 grasp, ran back to the plague-pit. He was followed by Chowles 
 and the burier, who threatened him with loud oaths. Regardless 
 of their menaces, Leonard fixed the hook in the dress of the 
 struggling man, and exerting all his strength, drew him out of 
 the abyss. He had just lodged him in safety on the brink when 
 Chowles and his companion came up. 
 
 "Keep off!" cried Leonard, brandishing the fork as he spoke, 
 "you shall neither commit robbery nor murder here. If you 
 will assist this unfortunate gentleman, I have no doubt you will 
 be well rewarded. If not, get hence, or advance at your peril." 
 
 " Well," returned Chowles, who began to fancy something 
 might be made of the matter, "if you think we should be 
 rewarded, we would convey the gentleman back to his own 
 home, provided we can ascertain where it is. But I am afraid 
 he may die on the way." 
 
 " In that case you can apply to his friends," rejoined Leonard. 
 " He must not be abandoned thus." 
 
 " First, let us know who he is," returned Chowles. " Is he 
 able to speak ?" 
 
 " I know not," answered Leonard. " Bring the lantern this 
 way, and let us examine his countenance." 
 
 Chowles complied, and held the light over the unfortunate 
 person. His attire was rich, but in great disorder, and sullied 
 by the loathsome mass in which he had been plunged. He was 
 in the flower of youth, and his features must have been remark- 
 able for their grace and beauty, but they were now of a livid hue, 
 and swollen and distorted by pain. Still, Leonard recognised 
 them. 
 
 " Gracious Heaven !" he exclaimed. " It is Sir Paul Parra- 
 vicin." 
 
 " Sir Paul Parravicin 1" echoed Chowles. " By all that's won- 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 203 
 
 derful, so it is ! Here is a lucky chance ! Bring the dead-cart 
 hither, Jonas, quick — quick ! I shall put him under the care of 
 Judith Malmayns." 
 
 And the burier hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him. 
 
 " Had I known who it was," exclaimed Leonard, gazing with 
 abhorrence at the miserable object before him, " I would have 
 left him to die the death he so richly merits 1"' 
 
 A deep groan broke from the sufferer. 
 
 "Have no fear, Sir Paul," said Chowles. "You are in good 
 hands. Every care shall be taken of you, and you shall be cured 
 by Judith Malmayns." 
 
 " She shall not come near me," rejoined Parravicin, faintly. 
 " You will take care of me ?" he added, in an imploring tone, to 
 Leonard. 
 
 " You appeal in vain to me," rejoined the apprentice, sternly. 
 "You are justly punished for your treatment of Nizza Macascree." 
 
 " I am — I am," groaned Parravicin, " but she will be speedily 
 avenged. I shall soon join her in that pit." 
 
 "She is not there, " replied Leonard, bitterly. "She is fast 
 recovering from the plague." 
 
 "Is she not dead?" demanded Parravicin, with frightful eager- 
 ness. "I was told she was thrown into that horrible chasm." 
 
 " You were deceived," replied Leonard. "She was taken to 
 the pest-house by your orders, and would have perished if she 
 had not found a friend to aid her. She is now out of danger." 
 
 " Then I no longer desire to die," cried Parravicin, desperately. 
 " I will live— live." 
 
 "Do not delude yourself," replied Leonard, coldly, "you have 
 little chance of recovery, and should employ the short time left 
 you in praying to Heaven for forgiveness of your sins." 
 
 " Tush !" exclaimed Parravicin, fiercely, " I shall not weary 
 Heaven with ineffectual supplications. I well know I am past all 
 forgiveness. No," he added, with a fearful imprecation, " since 
 Nizza is alive, I will not die." 
 
 " Right, Sir Paul, right," rejoined Chowles, " put a bold face 
 on it, and I will answer for it you will get over the attack. Have 
 no fear of Judith Malmayns," he added, in a significant tone. 
 " However she may treat others, she will cure you." 
 
 "I will make it worth her while to do so," rejoined Parravicin. 
 
 " Here is the cart," cried Chowles, seeing the vehicle approach. 
 «' I will take you in the first place to Saint" Paul's. Judith must 
 see you as soon as possible." 
 
 " Take me where you please," rejoined Parravicin, faintly, "and 
 remember what I have said. If I die, the nurse will get nothing: 
 — if I am cured, she shall be proportionately rewarded." 
 
 " I will not forget it," replied Chowles. And with the help of 
 Jonas he placed the knight carefully in the cart. " You need not 
 trouble yourself further about him," he added to Leonard 
 
204 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 •* Before he quits this place I must know who he is," rejoined 
 the latter, placing himself at the horse's head. 
 
 " You know his name as well as I do," replied Chowles. 
 
 " Parravicin is not his real name," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Chowles, " this is news to me. But 
 no matter who he is, he is rich enough to pay well. So stand 
 aside, and let us go. We have no time to waste in further par- 
 leying." 
 
 " I will not move till my question is answered," replied Leonard. 
 
 " We will see that," said Jonas, approaching him behind, and 
 dealing him so severe a blow on the head that he stretched him 
 senseless on the ground. " Shall we throw him into the pit ?" he 
 added to Chowles. 
 
 The latter hesitated for a moment, and then said, " No, no, it 
 is not worth while. It may bring us into trouble. We have no 
 time to lose." And they then put the cart in motion, and took 
 the way to Saint Paul's. 
 
 On coming to himself, Leonard had some difficulty in recalling 
 what had happened ; and when the whole train of circumstances 
 rushed upon his mind, he congratulated himself that he had 
 escaped further injury. " When I think of the hands I have been 
 placed in," he murmured, " I cannot but be grateful that they did 
 not throw me into the pit, where no discovery could have been 
 made as to how I came to an end. But I will not rest till I have 
 ascertained the name and rank of Nizza's persecutor. I have no 
 doubt they have taken him to Saint Paul's, and will proceed 
 thither at once." 
 
 With this view, he hastened towards the nearest city gate, and 
 passing through it, shaped his course towards the cathedral. It 
 was a fine starlight night, and though there was no moon, the 
 myriad lustres glowing in the deep and cloudless vault, rendered 
 every object plainly distinguishable. At this hour, little restraint 
 was placed upon the sick, and they wandered about the streets 
 uttering dismal cries. Some would fling themselves upon bulks or 
 steps where they were not unfrequently found the next morning 
 bereft of life. Most of those not attacked by the distemper kept 
 close house ; but there were some few reckless beings who passed 
 the night in the wildest revelry, braving the fate awaiting them. 
 As Leonard passed Saint Michael's church, in Basinghall-street, 
 he perceived, to his great surprise, that it was lighted up, and at 
 first supposed some service was going on within it, but on approach- 
 ing he heard strains of lively and most irreverent music issuing 
 from within. Pushing open the door, he entered the sacred edifice, 
 and found it occupied by a party of twenty young men, accom- 
 panied by a like number of females, some of whom were playing 
 at dice and cards, some drinking, others singing Bacchanalian 
 melodies, others dancing along the aisles to the notes of a theorbo 
 and spinet. Leonard was so inexpressibly shocked by what he 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 205 
 
 beheld that, unable to contain himself, he mounted the steps of 
 the pulpit, and called to them in a loud voice to desist from their 
 scandalous conduct, and no longer profane the house of God. 
 But they treated his remonstrances with laughter and derision, 
 and some of the party forming themselves into a group round the 
 pulpit, entreated him to preach to them. 
 
 " We want a little variety," said one of the group, a good-look- 
 ing young man, upon whom the wine had evidently made some 
 impression, — " we are tired of drinking and play, and may as 
 well listen to a sermon, especially an original one. Hold forth 
 to us, I say." 
 
 " I would hold forth till daybreak, if I thought it would pro- 
 duce any impression," returned Leonard. " But I perceive you 
 are too hardened to be aroused to repentance." 
 
 " Repentance !" cried another of the assemblage. " Do you 
 know whom you address? These gentlemen are the Brother- 
 hood of Saint Michael, and I am the principal. We are deter- 
 mined to enjoy the few da} T s or hours we may have left — that is 
 all. We are not afraid of the future, and are resolved to make 
 the most of the present." 
 
 u Ay, ay," cried the others, with a great shout of laughter, 
 which, however, was interrupted by a cry of anguish from one of 
 the party. 
 
 " There is another person seized," said the principal ; " take 
 him away, brothers. This is owing to listening to a sermon 
 Let us return to our wine." 
 
 " Will you not accept this awful warning ?" cried Leonard. 
 " You will all share your companion's fate." 
 
 "We anticipate nothing else," returned the principal: "and 
 are therefore resolved to banish reflection. A week ago, the 
 Brotherhood of Saint Michael consisted of forty persons. We 
 are already diminished to half the number, but are not the less 
 merry on that account. On the contrary, we are more jovial 
 than ever. We have agreed that whoever shall be seized with 
 the distemper, shall be instantly conveyed to the pest-house, so 
 that the hilarity of the others shall not be interrupted. The 
 poor fellow who has just been attacked has left behind him 
 a beautiful mistress. She is yours, if you choose to join us." 
 
 " Ay, stop with us," cried a young and very pretty woman, 
 taking his hand, and drawing him towards the company who 
 were dancing beneath the aisles. 
 
 But Leonard disengaged himself, and hurried away amid the 
 laughter and hootings of the assemblage. The streets, despite 
 their desolate appearance, were preferable to the spot he had 
 iust quitted, and he seemed to breathe more freely when he got 
 to a little distance from the polluted fane. He had now entered 
 Wood-street, but all was as still as death, and he paused to gaze 
 up at his master's window, but there was no one at it. Many a 
 
206 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 lover, unable to behold the object of his affections, has in some 
 measure satisfied the yearning of his heart by gazing at her 
 dwelling, and feeling he was near her. Many a sad heart has 
 been cheered by beholding a light at a window, or a shadow on 
 its closed curtains, and such would have been Leonard's feelings 
 if he had not been depressed by the thought of Amabel's preca- 
 rious state of health. 
 
 While thus wrapt in mournful thought, he observed three 
 figures slowly approaching from the further end of the street, 
 and he instinctively withdrew into a doorway. He had reason 
 to congratulate himself upon the precaution, as, when the party 
 drew nearer, he recognised with a pang that shot to his heart 
 the voice of Rochester. A moment's observation from his place of 
 concealment showed him that the earl was accompanied by Sir 
 George Etherege and Pillichody. They paused within a short 
 distance of him, and he could distinctly hear their conversation. 
 
 "You have not yet told us why you brought us here, my lord," 
 said Etherege to Rochester, after the latter had gazed for a few 
 moments in silence at the house. " Are you resolved to make 
 another attempt to carry off the girl — and failing in it, to give 
 her up for ever ?" 
 
 " You have guessed my purpose precisely," returned Rochester. 
 " Doctor Hodges has informed a friend of mine that the pretty 
 Amabel has fallen into a decline. The poor soul is, doubtless, 
 pining for me, and it would be the height of inhumanity to let 
 her perish." 
 
 Leonard ground his teeth with suppressed rage. 
 
 " Then you mean to make her Countess of Rochester after 
 all," laughed Etherege. "I thought you had determined to 
 carry off Mistress Mallett." 
 
 " Old Rowley declares he will send me to the Tower if I do," 
 replied Rochester, " and though his threats would scarcely deter 
 me from acting as I think proper, I have no inclination for mar- 
 riage at present. What a pity, Etherege, that one cannot in these 
 affairs have the money one's self, and give the wife to one's friend." 
 
 * That is easily accomplished," replied Etherege, laughingly ; 
 " especially where you have a friend so devoted as myself. But 
 do you mean to carry off Amabel to-night ?" 
 
 "Ay, now we come to business," interposed Pillichody. 
 " Bolts and barricadoes ! your lordship has only to say the word, 
 and I will break into the house, and bear her off for you." 
 
 " Your former conduct is a good guarantee for your present 
 success, truly," returned Rochester, with a sneer. " No, no ; I 
 shall postpone my design for the present. I have ascertained 
 from the source whence I obtained information of Amabel's 
 illness, that she is to be removed into the county. This will 
 exactly suit my purpose, and put her completely in my power " 
 
 "Then nothing is to be done to-night?" said Pillichody, 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 207 
 
 fecretly congratulating himself on his escape. " By my sword! 
 I feel equal to the most desperate attempt." 
 
 " Your courage and dexterity must be reserved for some more 
 favourable occasion," replied Rochester. 
 
 " If not to cany off the girl, I must again inquire why your 
 lordship has come hither ?" demanded Etherege. 
 
 " To be frank with you, my sole motive was to gaze at the 
 house that contains her," replied Rochester, in a voice that 
 bespoke his sincerity. " I have before told you, that she has a 
 strong hold upon my heart. I have not seen her for some weeks, 
 and during that time have endeavoured to obliterate her image 
 by making love to a dozen others. But it will not do. She 
 still continues absolute mistress of my affections. I sometimes 
 think, if I can obtain her in no other wav, I shall be rash enough 
 to marry her. ' 
 
 " Pshaw ! this must never be," said Etherege. 
 
 "Were I to lose her altogether, I should be inconsolable," 
 cried Rochester. 
 
 " As inconsolable as I am for the rich widow of Watlinsr-street, 
 who died a fortnight ago of the plague, and left her wealth to her 
 footman," replied Pillichody, drawing forth his handkerchief, 
 and applying it to his eyes, — " oh I oh !" 
 
 " Silence, fool !" cried Rochester ; " I am in no mood for buf- 
 foonery. If you shed tears for any one, it should be for your 
 master." 
 
 "Truly, I am grieved for him," replied Pillichody; "but I 
 object to the term ' master.' Sir Paul Parravicin, as he chooses 
 to be called, is my patron, not my master. He permits me a 
 very close familiarity, not to say friendship." 
 
 " Well, then, your patron," rejoined Rochester, scornfully. 
 " How is he going on to-night ?" 
 
 " I feared to tell your lordship," replied Pillichody, u lest it 
 should spoil your mirth, but he broke out of his chamber a few 
 hours ago, and has not been discovered since. Most likely, he 
 will be found in the plague-pit or the Thames in the morning, 
 for he was in such an infuriated state, that it is the opinion of his 
 attendants he would certainly destro} 7 himself. You know he was 
 attacked two days after Nizza Macascree was seized by the pesti- 
 lence, and his brain has been running upon the poor girl ever 
 since." 
 
 " Alas !" exclaimed Rochester, " it is a sad end. I am wearied 
 of this infected city, and shall be heartily glad to quit it. A few 
 months in the country with Amabel will be enchanting." 
 
 "Apropos of melancholy subjects," said Etherege, "your 
 masque of the Dance of Death has caused great consternation at 
 court. Mistress Stewart declares she cannot get that strange 
 fellow who performed such fantastic tricks in the skeleton-dance 
 out of her head." 
 
208 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " You mean Chowles," replied the earl. " He is a singular 
 being, certainly — once a coffin-maker, and now, I believe, a 
 burier of the dead. He takes up his abode in a crypt in Saint 
 Faith's, and leads an incomprehensible life. As we return, we 
 shall pass the cathedral, and can see whether he is astir." 
 
 " Readily," replied Etherege. " Do you desire to tarry herr 
 longer, or shall we proceed before you, while you indulge your 
 tender meditations undisturbed ?" 
 
 " Leave me," replied Rochester, "I shall be glad to be alone 
 for a few moments." 
 
 Etherege and Pillichody then proceeded slowly towards Cheap- 
 side, while the earl remained with his arms folded upon his 
 breast, and his gaze fixed upon the house. Leonard watched 
 him with intense curiosity, and had great difficulty in controlling 
 himself. Though the earl was armed, while he had only on 
 his staff, he could have easily mastered him by assailing him 
 unawares. But Leonard's generous nature revolted at the un- 
 worthy suggestion, and he resolved, if he attacked him at all, to 
 give him time to stand upon his guard. A moment's reflection, 
 however, satisfied him that his wisest course would be to remain 
 concealed. He was now in possession of the earl's plan, and 
 with the help of Doctor Hodges could easily defeat it ; whereas 
 if he appeared, it would be evident that he had overheard what 
 had passed, and some other scheme, to which he could not be 
 privy, would be necessarily adopted. Influenced by this con- 
 sideration, he suffered the earl to depart unmolested, and when 
 he had got to some distance followed him, Rochester's com- 
 panions were waiting for him in Cheapside, and joining them, 
 they all three proceeded towards the cathedral. They entered 
 the great northern door, and Leonard, who was now well ac- 
 quainted with all the approaches, passed through the door at the 
 north side of the choir, to which he had been directed on a 
 former occasion by Solomon Eagle. He found the party guided 
 by the old verger — the only one of its former keepers who still 
 lingered about the place, — and preparing to descend to Saint 
 Faith's. Leonard followed as near as he could without exposing 
 himself, and on gaining the subterranean church, easily contrived 
 to screen himself behind the ponderous ranks of pillars. 
 
 By this time, they had reached the door of the charnel. It 
 was closed, but Rochester knocked against it, and Chowles pre- 
 sently appeared. He seemed greatly surprised at seeing the 
 earl, nor was the latter less astonished when he learnt that Par 
 ravicin was within the vault. He desired to be shown to his 
 friend, and Chowles ushered him into the crypt. Leonard 
 would have followed them, but as Etherege and the others 
 declined entering the charnel, and remained at the door, he 
 could not do so. 
 
 Shortly after this, the sick man was brought out, stretched 
 
saint paul's a pest-house. 209 
 
 upon a pallet, borne by Chowles and Judith, and the part} 7 pro- 
 ceeded slowly, and occasionally relieving each other, to the great 
 western entrance, where a coach being procured by Pillichody, 
 Parravicin was placed within it with Judith and Chowles, and 
 orders being given in an under-tone to the driver, he departed. 
 The others then proceeded towards Ludgate, while Leonard, 
 again disappointed, retraced his steps to Wood-street. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 how saint paul's was used as a pest-house. 
 
 The distemper had by this time increased to such a frightful 
 extent, that the pest-houses being found wholly inadequate to 
 contain the number of sick persons sent to them, it was resolved 
 by the civic authorities, who had obtained the sanction of the 
 Dean and Chapter of Saint Paul's for that purpose, to convert 
 the cathedral into a receptacle for the infected. Accordingly, 
 a meeting was held in the Convocation House to make final 
 arrangements. It was attended by Sir John Lawrence, the 
 Lord Mayor ; by Sir George Waterman, and Sir Charles Doe, 
 sheriffs ; by Doctor Sheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury ; by the 
 Duke of Albemarle, the Earl of Craven, and a few other zealous 
 and humane persons. Several members of the College of Phy- 
 sicians were likewise present, and, amongst others, Doctor Hodges; 
 and the expediency of the measure being fully agreed upon, it 
 was determined to carry it into immediate execution. 
 
 The cloisters surrounding the Convocation House were crowded 
 with sick persons, drawn thither by the rumour of what was 
 going forward ; and when the meeting adjourned to the cathe- 
 dral, these unfortunate beings followed them, and were with some 
 difficulty kept aloof from the uninfected by the attendants. A 
 very earnest and touching address was next pronounced by the 
 archbishop. Calling upon his hearers to look upon themselves 
 as already dead to the world, — to regard the present visitation 
 as a just punishment of their sins, and to rejoice that their suf- 
 ferings would be so soon terminated, when, if they sincerely and 
 heartily repented, they would at once be transported from the 
 depths of wretchedness and misery to regions of unfading bliss ; 
 he concluded by stating that he, and all those around him, were 
 prepared to devote themselves, without regard to their own 
 safety, to the preservation of their fellow-citizens, and that they 
 would leave nothing undone to stop the ravages of the devouring 
 scourge. 
 
 It chanced that Leonard Holt was present on this occasion, 
 and as he listened to the eloquent discourse of the archbishop, 
 
 P 
 
210 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 and gazed at the group around him, all equally zealous in the 
 good cause, and equally regardless of themselves, he could not 
 but indulge a hope that their exertions might be crowned with 
 success. It was indeed a touching sight to see the melancholy 
 congregation to whom his address was delivered — many, nay, 
 most of whom were on the verge of dissolution ; — and Leonard 
 Holt was so moved by the almost apostolic fervour of the pre- 
 late, that, but for the thought of Amabel, he might have followed 
 the example of several of the auditors, and devoted himself 
 altogether to the service of the sick. 
 
 His discourse concluded, the archbishop and most of his com- 
 panions quitted the cathedral. Hodges, however, and three of 
 the physicians, remained behind to superintend the necessary 
 preparations. Shortly after, a large number of pallets were 
 brought in, and ranged along the nave and aisles at short dis- 
 tances from each other; and before night the interior of the 
 structure presented the complete appearance of an hospital. 
 Acting under the directions of Doctor Hodges, Leonard Holt 
 lent his assistance in arranging the pallets, in covering them with 
 bedding and blankets, and in executing any other service re- 
 quired of him. A sufficient number of chirurgeons and nurses 
 were then sent for, and such was the expedition used, that on 
 that veiy night most of the pallets were occupied. Thus the 
 cathedral underwent another afflicting change. A blight had 
 come over it, mildewing its holy walls, and tainting and pol- 
 luting its altars. Its aisles, once trodden by grave and reverend 
 ecclesiastics, and subsequently haunted by rufflers, bullies, and 
 other worthless characters, were now filled withmiserable wretches, 
 stricken with a loathsome and fatal distemper. Its chapels and 
 shrines, formerly adorned with rich sculptures and costly orna- 
 ments, but stripped of them at times when they were looked 
 upon as idolatrous and profane, were now occupied by nurses, 
 chirurgeons, and their attendants; while every niche and corner 
 was filled with surgical implements, phials, drugs, poultices, foul 
 rags, and linen. 
 
 In less than a week after it had been converted into a pest- 
 house, the cathedral was crowded to overflowing. Upwards of 
 three hundred pallets were set up in the nave, in the aisles, in 
 the transepts, and in the choir, and even in the chapels. But 
 these proving insufficient, many poor wretches who were brought 
 thither were placed on the cold flags, and protected only by a 
 single blanket. At night, the scene was really terrific. The 
 imperfect light borne by the attendants fell on the couches, and 
 revealed the livid countenances of their occupants, while the 
 vaulted roof rang with shrieks and groans so horrible and heart- 
 piercing as to be scarcely endured, except by those whose nerves 
 were firmly strung, or had not become blunted by their constant 
 recurrence. At such times, too, some unhappy creature, frenzied 
 
SAINT PAUL'S A PEST-HOUSE. 211 
 
 by agony, would burst from his couch, and rend the air with his 
 cries, until overtaken and overpowered by his attendants. On 
 one occasion, it happened that a poor wretch, who had been 
 thus caught, broke loose a second time, and darting through a 
 door leading to the stone staircase in the northern transept, 
 gained the ambulatory, and being closely followed, to escape his 
 pursuers, sprang through one of the arched openings, and falling 
 from a height of near sixty feet, was dashed in pieces on the 
 flagged floor beneath. 
 
 A walk through this might) 7 lazar-house would have furnished 
 a wholesome lesson to the most reckless observer. It seemed 
 to contain all the sick of the city. And yet it was not so. 
 Hundreds were expiring in their own dwellings, and the other 
 pest-houses continued crowded as before. Still, as a far greater 
 number of the infected were here congregated, and could be seen 
 at one view, the picture was incomparably more impressive. 
 Every part of the cathedral was occupied. Those who could not 
 find room inside it crouched beneath the columns of the portico 
 on rugs or blankets, and implored the chirurgeons as they passed 
 to attend them. Want of room also drove others into Saint 
 Faith's, and here the scene was, if possible, more hideous. In 
 this dismal region it was found impossible to obtain a free cir- 
 culation of air, and consequently the pestilential effluvia, unable 
 to escape, acquired such malignancy, that it was almost certain 
 destruction to inhale it. After a time, few of the nurses and 
 attendants would venture thither; and to take a patient to Saint 
 Faith's was considered tantamount to consigning him to the grave. 
 
 Whether Judith Malmayns had succeeded or not in curing Sir 
 Paul Parravicin, it is not our present purpose to relate. Soon 
 after the cathedral was converted into a lazar-house she returned 
 thither, and, in spite of the opposition of Doctor Hodges, was 
 appointed one of the nurses. It must not be supposed that her 
 appointment was the result of any ill design. Such was the 
 difficulty of obtaining attendance, that little choice was left, and 
 the nurses being all of questionable character, it was supposed 
 she was only a shade worse than her fellows, while she was 
 known to be active and courageous. And this was speedily 
 proved ; for when Saint Faith's was deserted by the others, she 
 remained at her post, and quitted it neither night nor day. A 
 large pit was digged in the open space at the north-east corner 
 of the cathedral, and to this great numbers of bodies were nightly 
 conveyed by Chowles and Jonas. But it was soon filled, and 
 they were compelled to resort, as before, to Finsbury-fields, and 
 to another vast pit near Aldgate. When not engaged in this 
 revolting employment, Chowles took up his quarters in the 
 crypt, where, in spite of his propinquity to the sick, he indulged 
 himself in his customary revelry. He and Judith had amassed, 
 in one way or other, a vast quantity of spoil, and frequently 
 
 P2 
 
212 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 planned how they would spend it when the pestilence ceased. 
 Their treasure was carefully concealed in a cell in one of the 
 secret passages with which they were acquainted, leading from 
 Saint Faith's to the upper structure. 
 
 One night, on his return from Finsbury-fields, as Ohowles was 
 Beated in the crypt, with a pipe in his mouth, and a half-finished 
 flask of wine before him, he was startled by the sudden entrance 
 of Judith, who, rushing up to him, seized him by the throat, and 
 almost choked him before he could extricate himself. 
 
 " What is the matter ? — would you strangle me, you mur- 
 derous harridan ?" he cried. 
 
 " Ay, that I would," replied Judith, preparing to renew the 
 attack. 
 
 " Stand off !" rejoined Chowles, springing back, and snatching 
 up a spade, " or I will dash out your brains. Are you mad ?" he 
 continued, gazing fearfully at her. 
 
 " I am angry enough to make me so," she replied, shaking her 
 clenched fists at him. — " But I will be revenged — revenged, I 
 tell you." 
 
 " Revenged !" cried Chowles, in astonishment — " for what ! 
 What have I done ?" 
 
 " You do well to affect ignorance," rejoined Judith, f ' but you 
 cannot deceive me. No one but you can have done it." 
 
 " Done what !" exclaimed Chowles, in increased astonish- 
 ment. " Has our hoard been discovered?" 
 
 " Ay, and been carried off — by you — you !" screamed Judith, 
 with a look worthy of a fury. 
 
 " By my soul, you are wrong," cried Chowles. " I have never 
 touched it, — never even approached the hiding-place, except in 
 your presence." 
 
 " Liar !" returned Judith, " the whole hoard is gone ; — the 
 plunder I obtained in Newgate, — -the Earl of Rochester's plate, 
 ■ — all the rings, trinkets, and rich apparel I have picked up 
 since, — everything is gone; — and who but you can be the 
 robber ?" 
 
 " It is difficult to say," rejoined Chowles. " But I swear to 
 you, you suspect me wrongfully." 
 
 " Restore it," replied Judith, " or tell me where it is hidden. 
 If not, I will be the death of you !" 
 
 " Let us go to the hiding-place," replied Chowles, whose 
 uneasiness was not diminished by the menace. " You may be 
 mistaken, and I hope you are." 
 
 Though he uttered the latter part of his speech with seeming 
 confidence, his heart misgave him. To conceal his trepidation, 
 he snatched up a lamp, and passing through the secret door, 
 hurried along the narrow stone passage. He was about to open 
 the cell, when he perceived near it the tall figure of the enthusiast 
 
 " There is the robber! " he cried to Judith. " I have found 
 
saint Paul's a pest-house. 213 
 
 him. It is Solomon Eag'.e. Villain 1 you have purloined our 
 hoard !" 
 
 " I have done so," replied Solomon Eagle, ** and I will carry 
 off all other spoil you may obtain. Think not to hide it from 
 me. I can watch you when you see me not, and track you when 
 you suppose me afar off." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Chowles, trembling. " I begin to think 
 he is possessed of supernatural power," he added, in an under 
 tone to Judith. 
 
 " Go on," pursued Solomon Eagle, " continue to plunder and 
 destroy. Pursue your guilty career, and see what reward you 
 will reap." 
 
 " Restore what you have robbed us of," cried Judith, in a 
 menacing tone, " or dread the consequences." 
 
 " Woman, you threaten idly," returned Solomon Eagle. 
 *' Your ill-gotten treasure is gone — whither you will never know. 
 Get hence I" he added, in a terrible tone, u or I will rid the 
 earth of j r ou both." 
 
 So awed were they by his voice and gestures, that they slunk 
 away with a discomfited air, and returned to the crypt 
 
 " If we are always to be robbed in this manner," observed 
 Chowles, " we had better shift our quarters, and practise else- 
 where." 
 
 " lie shall not repeat the offence with impunity," returned 
 Judith. " I will speedily get rid of him." 
 
 " Beware !" cried a voice, which they recognised as that of 
 Solomon Eagle, though whence proceeding they could not pre- 
 cisely determine. The pair looked at each other uneasily, but 
 neither spoke a word. 
 
 Meanwhile, Leonard Holt did not omit to pay a daily visit to 
 the cathedral. It was a painful contemplation, and yet not with- 
 out deep interest, to behold the constant succession of patients, 
 most of whom were swept away by the scourge in the course of 
 a couple of days, or even in a shorter period. Out of every 
 hundred persons attacked, five did not recover ; and whether the 
 virulence of the distemper increased, or the summer heats 
 rendered its victims more easily assailable, certain it is they were 
 carried off far more expeditiously than before. Doctor Hodges 
 was unremitting in his attentions, but his zeal and anxiety 
 availed nothing. He had to contend with a disease over which 
 medicine exercised little control. 
 
 One morning, as he was about to enter the cathedral, he met 
 Leonard beneath the portico, and as soon as the latter caught 
 sight of him, he hurried towards him. 
 
 " I have been in search of you," he said, " and was about to 
 proceed to your residence. Mr. Bloundel wishes to see you 
 immediately. Amabel is w T orse." 
 
 " I will go with you at once," replie;! the doctor. 
 
214- OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 And they took the way to Wood-street. 
 
 ** From a few words let fall by my master, I imagine he intends 
 sending Amabel into the country to-morrow," said Leonard, as 
 they proceeded. 
 
 " I hope so," replied Hodges. " He has already delayed it 
 too long. You will be glad to hear that Nizza Macascree is 
 quite recovered. To-morrow, or the next day, she will be able 
 to see you with safety." 
 
 " Heaven knows where I may be to-morrow," rejoined 
 Leonard. " Wherever Amabel goes, I shall not be far off." 
 
 " Faithful to the last !" exclaimed Hodges. " Well, I shall not 
 oppose you. We must take care the Earl of Rochester does not 
 get a hint of our proceeding. At this time, a chance meeting 
 (were it nothing more) might prove fatal to the object of our 
 solicitude." 
 
 Leonard said nothing, but the colour fled his cheek, and his 
 lip slightly quivered. In a few seconds more, they reached the 
 grocer's house. 
 
 They found him at the window anxiously expecting them ; 
 and Doctor Hodges being drawn up in the same way as before, 
 was conducted to Amabel's chamber. She was reclining in an 
 easy chair, with the Bible on her knee ; and though she was 
 much wasted away, she looked more lovely than ever. A slight 
 hectic flush increased the brilliancy of her eyes, which had now 
 acquired that ominous lustre peculiar to persons in a decline. 
 There were other distressing symptoms in her appearance which 
 the skilful physician well knew how to interpret. To an inex- 
 perienced eye, however, she would have appeared charming. 
 Nothing could exceed the delicacy of her complexion, or the 
 lovely mould of her features, which, though they had lost much 
 of their fulness and roundness, had gained in expression ; while 
 the pencilled brows clearly traced upon her snowy forehead, the 
 long dark eyelashes shading her cheek, and the rich satin tresses 
 drooping over her shoulders, completed her attractions. Her 
 mother stood by her side, and not far from her sat little Chris- 
 tiana, amusing herself with some childish toy, and ever and anon 
 stealing an anxious glance at her sister. Taking Amabel's arm, 
 and sighing to himself to think how thin it was, the doctor placed 
 his finger upon her pulse. Whatever might be his secret opinion, 
 he thought fit to assume a hopeful manner, and looking smilingly 
 at her, said, " You are better than I expected, but your depar- 
 ture to the country must not be deferred." 
 
 " Since it is my father's wish that I should go," replied 
 Amabel, gently, " I am quite willing to comply. But I feel it 
 will be of no avail, and I would rather pass the rest of my life 
 here than with strangers. I cannot be happier than I am 
 now." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied Hodges; "but a few weeks spent in 
 
saint paul's a pest-hocjse. 215 
 
 some salubrious spot will remove all apprehensions as to your 
 health. You will find your strength return, and with it the 
 desire of life." 
 
 " My life is in the hands of my Maker," replied Amabel, " and 
 I am ready to resign it whenever it shall be required of me. At 
 the same time, however anxious I may be to quit a world which 
 appears a blank to me, I would make every effort for the sake of 
 those whose happiness is dearer to me than my own, to purchase 
 a complete restoration to health. If my father desires me to try 
 removal to the conntry, and you think it will have a beneficial 
 effect, I am ready to go. But do not urge it, unless you think 
 there is a chance of my recovery." 
 
 " I will tell you frankly," replied the doctor, " if you remain 
 here, you have not many weeks to live." 
 
 " But if I go, will you promise me health ?" rejoined Amabel. 
 " Do not deceive me. Is there a hope ?" 
 
 "Unquestionably," replied the doctor. " Change of air will 
 work wonders." 
 
 " I beseech you not to hesitate — for my sake do not, dearest 
 daughter," said Mrs. Bloundel, with difficulty repressing tears. 
 
 "And for mine," added her father, more firmly, yet with deep 
 emotion. 
 
 " I have already expressed my readiness to accede to your 
 wishes," replied Amabel. " Whenever you have made arrange- 
 ments for me, I will set out." 
 
 " And now comes the question — where is she to go ?" remarked 
 Hodges. 
 
 "I have a sister who lives as housekeeper at Lord Craven's 
 seat, Ashdown Park," replied Mr. Bloundel. " She shall go 
 thither, and her aunt will take every care of her. The mansion 
 is situated amid the Berkshire hills, and the air is the purest and 
 best in England." 
 
 "Nothing can be better," replied Hodges; "but who is to 
 escort her thither?" 
 
 "Leonard Holt," replied Mr. Bloundel. "lie will gladly 
 undertake the office." 
 
 "No doubt," rejoined Hodges; "but cannot you go yourself?' 
 
 " Impossible!" returned the grocer, a shade passing over his 
 countenance. 
 
 " Neither do I wish it," observed Amabel. " I am content to 
 be under the safeguard of Leonard." 
 
 " Amabel," said her father, "you know not what I shall endure 
 in thus parting with you. I would give all I possess to be able 
 to accompany you, but a sense of duty restrains me. I have 
 taken the resolution to remain here with my family during the 
 continuance of the pestilence, and I must abide by it. I little 
 thought how severely my constancy would be tried. But hard 
 though it be, I must submit. I shall commit you, therefore, to 
 
216 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 the care of an all-merciful Providence, who will not fail to watch 
 over and protect you." 
 
 "Have no fear for me, father," replied Amabel; "and do not 
 weep, dear mother," she added to Mrs. Bloundel, who, unable 
 to restrain her grief, was now drowned in tears ; " I shall be well 
 cared for. If we meet no more in this world, our re-union is 
 certain in that to come. I have given you much pain and 
 uneasiness, but it will be an additional grief to me if I think you 
 feel further anxiety on my account." 
 
 "We do not, my dear child," replied Mr. Bloundel. "I am 
 well assured all is for the best, and if it pleases Heaven to spare 
 you, I shall rejoice bej'ond measure in your return. If not, I 
 shall feel a firm reliance that you will continue in the same 
 happy frame, as at present, to the last, and that we shall meet 
 above, where there will be no further separation." 
 
 " I cannot bear to part with her," cried Mrs. Bloundel, clasping 
 her arms round her daughter — " I cannot — I cannot !" 
 
 " Restrain yourself, Honora," said her husband ; " you will do 
 her an injury." 
 
 " She must not be over-excited," interposed Hodges, in a low 
 tone, and gently drawing the afflicted mother away. "The 
 sooner," he added to Mr. Bloundel, " she now sets out the better." 
 
 " I feel it," replied the grocer. " She shall start to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " I will undertake to procure horses," replied Hodges, " and 
 Leonard will be ready at any moment." 
 
 With this, he took his leave, and descending by the pulley, 
 communicated to Leonard what had occurred. 
 
 In spite of his fears on her account, the prospect of again 
 beholding Amabel so transported the apprentice that he could 
 scarcely attend to what was said respecting her. When he grew 
 calmer, it was arranged that all should be in readiness at an early 
 hour on the following morning ; that a couple of horses should 
 be provided; and that Amabel should be let down fully equipped 
 for the journey. This settled, Leonard, at the doctor's request, 
 accompanied him to his residence. 
 
 They were scarcely out of sight, when a man, who had been 
 concealed behind the hutch, in such a position that not a word 
 that had passed escaped him, issued from his hiding-place, and 
 darting down the first alley on the right, made the best of his 
 way to Whitehall. 
 
 Up to this time, Doctor Hodges had not judged it prudent to 
 allow a meeting between Leonard and Nizza Macascree, but 
 now, from reasons of his own, he resolved no longer to delay it. 
 Accordingly, on reaching his dwelling, he took the apprentice 
 to her chamber. She was standing in a pensive attitude, near a 
 window which looked towards the river, and as she turned on 
 his entrance, Leonard perceived that her eyes were filled with 
 
m 
 
SAINT PAUL'S A PEST-HOUSE. 217 
 
 tears. Blushing deeplj', she advanced towards him, and greeted 
 him with all the warmth of her affectionate nature. She had 
 quite recovered her good looks, and Leonard could not but 
 admit that, had he seen her before his heart was plighted to 
 another, it must have been given to her. Comparisons are 
 ungracious, and tastes differ more perhaps as to beauty than on 
 any other point; but if Amabel and the piper's daughter had 
 been placed together, it would not have been difficult to deter- 
 mine to which of the two the palm of superior loveliness should 
 be assigned. There was a witchery in the magnificent black 
 eyes of the latter — in her exquisitely-formed mouth and pearly 
 teeth — in her clear nut-brown complexion — in her dusky and 
 luxuriant tresses, and in her light elastic figure, with which 
 more perfect but less piquant charms could not compete. Such 
 seemed to be the opinion of Doctor Hodges, for as he gazed at 
 her with unaffected admiration, he exclaimed, as if to himself — 
 "I'failh, if I had to choose between the two, I know which it 
 would be." 
 
 This exclamation somewhat disconcerted the parties to whom 
 it referred, and the doctor did not relieve their embarrassment 
 by adding, " Well, I perceive I am in the way. You must have 
 much to say to each other that can in nowise interest me. Excuse 
 me a moment, while I see that the horses are ordered." 
 
 So saying, and disregarding Leonard's expostulating looks, he 
 hurried out of the room, and shut the door after him. 
 
 Hitherto, the conversation had been unrestrained and agree- 
 able on both sides, but now they were left alone together, neither 
 appeared able to utter a word. Nizza cast her eyes timidly on 
 the ground, while Leonard caressed little Bell, who had been 
 vainly endeavouring by her gamesome tricks to win his attention 
 
 "Doctor Hodges spoke of ordering horses," said Nizza, at 
 length, breaking silence. " Are you going on a journey?" 
 
 "I am about to take Amabel to Ashdown Park, in Berkshire, 
 to-morrow morning," replied Leonard. " She is dangerously ill." 
 
 " Of the plague ?" asked Nizza, anxiously. 
 
 " Of a yet worse disorder," replied Leonard, heaving a deep 
 sigh — "of a broken heart." 
 
 " Alas! I pity her from my soul!" replied Nizza, in a tone of 
 the deepest commiseration. "Does her mother go with her?" 
 
 " No," replied Leonard, " I alone shall attend her. She will 
 be placed under the care of a near female relative at Ashdown." 
 
 " Would it not be better, — would it not be safer, if she is in 
 the precarious state }'ou describe, that some one of her own sex 
 should accompany her ?" said Nizza. 
 
 "I should greatly prefer it," rejoined Leonard, "and so I am 
 sure would Amabel. But where is such a person to be found?" 
 
 "I will go with you, if you desire it," replied Nizza, "and will 
 watch over her, and tend her as a sister." 
 
218 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 "Are you equal to the journey?" inquired Leonard, somewhat 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Fully," replied Nizza. " I am entirely recovered, and able 
 to undergo far more fatigues than an invalid like Amabel." 
 
 "It will relieve me from a world of anxiety if this can be 
 accomplished," rejoined Leonard. " I will consult Doctor Hodges 
 on the subject on his return." 
 
 "What do you desire to consult me about?" cried the phy- 
 sician, who had entered the room unobserved at this juncture. 
 
 The apprentice stated Nizza's proposal to him. 
 
 " I entirely approve of the plan," observed the doctor ; " it will 
 obviate many difficulties. I have just received a message from 
 Mr. Bloundel by Dallison the porter, to say he intends sending 
 Blaize with you. I will therefore provide pillions for the horses, 
 so that the whole party can be accommodated." 
 
 He then sat down and wrote out minute instructions for 
 Amabel's treatment, and delivering the paper to Leonard, desired 
 him to give it to the housekeeper at Ashdown Park. 
 
 " Heaven only knows what the result of all this may be 1" he 
 exclaimed. " But nothing must be neglected." 
 
 Leonard promised that his advice should be scrupulously at- 
 tended to; and the discourse then turning to Nizza's father, she 
 expressed the utmost anxiety to see him before she set out. 
 
 Hodges readily assented. " Your father has been discharged 
 as cured from the pest-house," he said, " and is lodged at a cot- 
 tage, kept by my old nurse, Dame Lucas, just without the walls, 
 near Moorgate. I will send for him." 
 
 " On no account," replied Nizza. " I will go to him myself." 
 
 " As you please," returned Hodges. " Leonard shall accom- 
 pany you. You will easily find the cottage. It is about two 
 hundred yards beyond the gate, on the right, near the old dog- 
 houses." 
 
 " I know the spot perfectly," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 "I would recommend you to put on a mask," observed the 
 doctor to Nizza ; it may protect you from molestation. I will 
 find you one below." 
 
 Leading the way to a lower room, he opened a drawer, and 
 producing a small loo mask, gave it her. The youthful pair 
 then quitted the house, Nizza taking Bell under her arm, as she 
 intended leaving her with her father. The necessity of the 
 doctor's caution was speedily manifested, for as they crossed 
 Saint Paul's churchyard they encountered Pillichody, who, glanc- 
 ing inquisitively at Nizza, seemed disposed to push his inquiries 
 further by attempting to take off her mask ; but the fierce look 
 of the apprentice, who grasped his staff in a menacing manner, 
 induced him to abandon his purpose. He, however, followed 
 them along Cheapside, and would have continued the pursuit 
 along the Old Jewrv, if Leonard had not come to a halt, and 
 
SAINT PAUL'S A rEST-HOUSE. 219 
 
 awaited his approach. He then took to his heels, and did not 
 again make his appearance. 
 
 As they reached the open fields and slackened their pace, 
 Leonard deemed it prudent to prepare his companion for her 
 interview with her father hy mentioning the circumstance of the 
 packet, and the important secret which he had stated he had to 
 disclose to her. 
 
 " I cannot tell what the secret can relate to, unless it is to my 
 mother," rejoined Nizza. " She died, I believe, when I was an 
 infant. At all events, I never remember seeing her, and I have 
 remarked that my father is averse to talking about her. But I 
 will now question him. I have reason to think this piece of 
 gold, and she produced the amulet, "is in some way or other 
 connected with the mystery." 
 
 And she then explained to Leonard all that had occurred in 
 the vault when the coin had been shown to Judith Malmayns, 
 describing the nurse's singular look, and her father's subsequent 
 anger. 
 
 By this time, they had entered a narrow footpath IcRding 
 across the fields in the direction of a little nest of cottages, and 
 pursuing it, they came to a garden gate. Opening it, they 
 beheld the piper seated beneath a little porch covered with 
 eglantine and roses. He was playing a few notes on his pipe, 
 but stopped on hearing their approach. Bell, who had been put 
 to the ground by Nizza, ran barking gleefully towards him. 
 Uttering a joyful exclamation, the piper stretched out his arms, 
 and the next moment enfolded his daughter in a strict embrace. 
 Leonard remained at the gate till the first transports of their 
 meeting were over, and then advanced slowly towards them. 
 
 " Whose footsteps are those ?" inquired the piper. 
 
 Nizza explained. 
 
 "Ah, is it Leonard Holt?" exclaimed the piper, extending his 
 hand to the apprentice. " You are heartily welcome," he added; 
 " and I am glad to find you with Nizza. It is no secret to me 
 that she likes you. She has been an excellent daughter, and 
 will make an excellent wife. He who weds her will obtain a 
 greater treasure than he expects." 
 
 " Not than he expects," said Leonard. 
 
 " Ay, than he expects," reiterated the piper. " You will one 
 day find out that I speak the truth." 
 
 Leonard looked at Nizza, who was blushing deeply at her 
 father's remark. She understood him. 
 
 " Father," she said, " I understand you have a secret of im- 
 portance to disclose to me. I am about to make a long journey 
 to-morrow, and may not return for some time. At this uncer- 
 tain season, when those who part know not that they shall meet 
 again, nothing of this sort ought to be withheld." 
 
 " You cannot know it while I live," replied the piper, " but I 
 
220 OLD SAIXT PAUL'S. 
 
 will take such precautions that, if anything happens to me, it 
 shall be certainly revealed to you." 
 
 " I am satisfied," she rejoined, " and will only ask you one 
 further question, and I beseech you to answer it. Does this 
 amulet refer to the secret ?" 
 
 "It does," replied her father, sullenly; " and now let the sub- 
 ject be dropped." 
 
 He then led the way into the cottage. The good old dame 
 who kept it, on learning who they were, and that they were sent 
 by Doctor Hodges, gave them a hearty welcome, and placed re- 
 freshments before them. Leonard commented upon the extreme 
 neatness of the abode and its healthful situation, and expressed a 
 hope that it might not be visited by the plague. 
 
 " I trust it will not," rejoined the old woman, shaking her 
 head ; " but when I hear the doleful bell at night — when I catch 
 a glimpse of the fatal cart, — or look towards yon dreadful 
 place," and she pointed in the direction of the plague-pit, which 
 lay only a few hundred yards to the west of her habitation, — " I 
 am reminded that the scourge is not far off, and that it must 
 needs reach me ere long." 
 
 " Have no fear, Dame Lucas," said the piper ; " you see it has 
 pleased a merciful Providence to spare the lives of myself, my 
 child, and this young man, and if you should be attacked, the 
 same beneficent beint>; may preserve you in like manner." 
 
 " The Lord's will be done !" rejoined Dame Lucas. " I know 
 I shall be well attented to by Doctor Hodges. I nursed him 
 when he was an infant, and he has been like a son to me. Bless 
 his kind heart !" she exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears of 
 gratitude, " there his not his like in London." 
 
 " Always excepting my master," observed Leonard, with a 
 smile at her enthusiasm. 
 
 " I except no one," rejoined Dame Lucas. " A worthier man 
 never lived than Doctor Hodges. If I die of the plague," she 
 continued, " he has promised not to let me be thrown into that 
 horrible pit, — ough ! — but to bury me in my garden, beneath the 
 old apple-tree." 
 
 " And he will keep his word, dame, I am sure," replied Leo- 
 nard. "I would recommend you, however, as the best antitode 
 against the plague, to keep yourself constantly employed, and to 
 indulge as few gloomy notions as possible." 
 
 "I am seldom melancholy, and still more seldom idle," re- 
 plied the good dame. " But despondency will steal on me 
 sometimes, especially when the dead-cart passes and I think what 
 it contains." 
 
 While the conversation was going forward, Nizza and the 
 piper withdrew into an inner room, where they remained closeted 
 together for some time. On their re-appearance, Nizza said she 
 was ready to depart, and taking an affectionate farewell of her 
 
saint Paul's a pest-house. 221 
 
 father, and committing: Bell to his charge, she quitted the cot- 
 tage with the apprentice. 
 
 Evening was now advancing, and the sun was setting with the 
 gorgeousness already described as peculiar to this fatal period. 
 Filled with the pleasing melancholy inspired by the hour, they 
 walked on in silence. They had not proceeded far, when they 
 observed a man crossing the field with a bundle in his arms. 
 Suddenly, he staggered and fell. Seeing he did not stir, and 
 guessing what was the matter, Leonard ran towards him to offer 
 him assistance. He found him lying in the grass with his left 
 hand fixed against his heart. He groaned heavily, and his fea- 
 tures were convulsed with pain. Near him lay the body of a 
 beautiful little girl, with long fair hair, and finely-formed fea- 
 tures, though now disfigured by purple blotches, proclaiming the 
 disorder of which she had perished. She was apparently about 
 ten years old, and was partially covered by a linen cloth. The 
 man, whose features bore a marked resemblance to those of the 
 child, was evidently from his attire above the middle rank. His 
 frame was athletic, and as he was scarcely past the prime of life, 
 the irresistible power of the disease, which could in one instant 
 prostrate strength like his, was terribly attested. 
 
 " Alas !" he cried, addressing the apprentice, " I was about to 
 convey the remains of my poor child to the plague-pit. But I 
 have been unable to accomplish my purpose. I hoped she would 
 have escaped the polluting touch of those loathly attendants on 
 the dead-cart." 
 
 " She shall escape it," replied Leonard ; " if you wish it, I will 
 carry her to the pit myself." 
 
 " The blessing of a dying man rest on your head," cried the 
 sufferer ; " your charitable action will not pass unrequited." 
 
 With this, despite the agony he endured, he dragged himself 
 to his child, kissed her cold lips, smoothed her fair tresses, and 
 covered the body carefully with the cloth. He then delivered it 
 to Leonard, who received it tenderly, and calling to Nizza 
 Macascree, who had witnessed the scene at a little distance, and 
 was deeply affected by it, to await his return, ran towards the 
 plague-pit. Arrived there, he placed his little burden at the 
 brink of the excavation, and kneeling beside it, uttered a short 
 prayer inspired by the occasion. He then tore his handkerchief 
 into strips, and tying them together, lowered the body gently 
 down. Throwing a little earth over it, he hastened to the sick 
 man, and told him what he had done. A smile of satisfaction 
 illumined the sufferer's countenance, and holding out his hand, 
 on which a valuable ring glistened, he said, " Take it — it is but 
 a poor reward for the service you have rendered me ; — nay, take 
 it," he added, seeing that the apprentice hesitated, " others will 
 not be so scrupulous." 
 
 Unable to gainsay the remark, Leonard took the ring from his 
 
222 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 finger, and placed it on his own. At this moment, the sick 
 man's gaze fell upon Nizza, who stood at a little distance from 
 him. He started, and made an effort to clear his vision. 
 
 " Do my eyes deceive me ?" he cried ; " or is a female stand- 
 ing there ?" 
 
 " You are not deceived," replied Leonard. 
 
 " Let her come near me, in Heaven's name !" cried the sick 
 man, staring at her as if his eyes would start from their sockets. 
 " Who are you ?" he continued, as Nizza approached. 
 
 " I am called Nizza Macascree, and am the daughter of a poor 
 piper," she replied. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed the sick man, with a look of deep disap- 
 pointment. " The resemblance is wonderful ! And yet it can- 
 not be. My brain is bewildered." 
 
 " Whom does she resemble ?" asked Leonard, eagerly. 
 
 " One very dear to me," replied the sick man, with an expres- 
 sion of remorse and anguish, " one I would not think of now." 
 And he buried his face in the grass. 
 
 " Is there aught more I can do for you ?" inquired Leonard, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " No," replied the sick man ; " I have done with the world. 
 With that child, the last tie that bound me to it was snapped. I 
 now only wish to die." 
 
 " Do not give way thus," replied Leonard ; " a short time 
 ago my condition was as apparently hopeless as your own, and 
 you see I am now perfectly recovered." 
 
 " You had something to live for — something to love," groaned 
 the sick man. " All I lived for, all I loved, are gone." 
 
 " Be comforted, sir," said Nizza, in a commiserating tone. 
 " Much happiness may yet be in store for you." 
 
 " That voice !" exclaimed the sick man, with a look denoting 
 the approach of delirium. " It must be my Isabella. Oh ! for 
 give me ! sweet injured saint, forgive me !" 
 
 "Your presence evidently distresses him," said Leonard 
 " Let us hasten for assistance. Your name, sir?" he added, to 
 the sick man. 
 
 " Why should you seek to know it ?" replied the other. " No 
 tombstone will be placed over the plague pit." 
 
 " Not a moment must be lost if you would save him," cried 
 Nizza. 
 
 " You are right 3 " replied Leonard. " Let us fly to the nearest 
 apothecary's." 
 
 Accordingly, they set off at a quick pace towards Moorgate. 
 Just as they reached it, they heard the bell ring, and saw the 
 dead-cart approaching. Shrinking back while it passed, they 
 ran on till they came to an apothecary's shop, where Leonard, 
 describing the state of the sick man, by his entreaties induced 
 the master of the establishment and one of his assistants to 
 
SAINT PAUL'S A PEST-HOUSE. 223 
 
 accompany him. Leaving Nizza in the shop, he then retraced 
 his steps with his companions. The sick man was lying where 
 he had left him, but perfectly insensible. On searching his 
 pockets, a purse of money was found, but neither letter nor 
 tablet to tell who he was. Leonard offered the purse to the 
 apothecary, but the latter declined it, and desired his assistant, 
 who had brought a barrow with him, to place the sick man 
 within it, and convey him to the pest-house. 
 
 " He will be better cared for there than if I were to take 
 charge of him," he observed. " As to the money, 3^011 can 
 return it if he recovers. If not, it of right belongs to you." 
 
 Seeing that remonstrance would be useless, Leonard did not 
 attempt it, and while the assistant wheeled awa} r the sick man, 
 he returned with the apothecary to his dwelling. Thanking 
 him for his kindness, he then hastened with Nizza Macascree to 
 Great Knightrider-street. He related to the doctor all that had 
 occurred, and showed him the ring. Hodges listened to the 
 recital with great attention, and at its close said, " This is a very 
 singular affair, and excites my curiosity greatly. I will go to the 
 pest-house and see the sick man to-morrow. And now we will 
 proceed to supper; and then you had better retire to rest, for 
 you will have to be astir before daybreak. All is in readiness 
 for the journey." 
 
 The last night (for such she considered it) spent by Amabel 
 in her father's dwelling, was passed in the kindliest interchanges 
 of affection. Mr. Bloundel had much ado to maintain his firm- 
 ness, and ever anon, in spite of his efforts, his labouring bosom 
 and faltering tones proclaimed the struggle within. He sat 
 beside his daughter, with her thin fingers clasped in his, and 
 spoke to her on every consolatory topic that suggested itself. 
 Their discourse, however, insensibly took a serious turn, and the 
 grocer became fully convinced that his daughter was not merely 
 reconciled to the early death that to all appearance awaited her, 
 but wishful for it. He found, too, to his inexpressible grief, that 
 the sense of the Earl of Rochester's treachery, combined with 
 her own indiscretion, and the consequences that might have 
 attended it, had sunk deep in her heart, and produced the pre- 
 sent sad result. 
 
 Mrs. Bloundel, it will scarcely be supposed, could support 
 herself so well as her husband, but when any paroxysm of grief 
 approached, she rushed out of the room, and gave vent to her 
 affliction alone. All the rest of the family were present, and 
 were equally distressed. But what most strongly affected 
 Amabel was, a simple, natural remark of little Christiana, who, 
 fixing her tearful gaze on her, entreated her " to come back 
 toon." 
 
 Weak as she was, Amabel took the child upon her knee, and 
 6aid to her, " I am going a long journey, Christiana, and, per- 
 
224 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 haps, may never come back. But if you attend to what your 
 father says to you, if you never omit, morning and evening, to 
 implore the blessing of Heaven, we shall meet again." 
 
 " I understand what you mean, sister," said Christiana. " The 
 place you are going to is the grave." 
 
 "You have guessed rightly, Christiana,' rejoined Amabel, 
 solemnly. " Do not forget my last words to you, and when you 
 are grown into a woman, think upon the poor sister who loved 
 you tenderly." 
 
 "I shall always think of you," said Christiana, clasping her 
 arms round her sister's neck. " Oh ! I wish I could go to the 
 grave instead of you 1" 
 
 Amabel pressed her to her bosom, and in a broken voice mur- 
 mured a blessing over her. 
 
 Mr. Bloundel here thought it necessary to interfere, and 
 taking the weeping child in his arms, carried her into the adjoin- 
 ing apartment. 
 
 Soon after this, the household were summoned to prayers, and 
 as the grocer poured forth an address to heaven for the preserva- 
 tion of his daughter, all earnestly joined in the supplication. 
 Their devotions ended, Amabel took leave of her brothers, and 
 the parting might have been painfully prolonged, but for the 
 interposition of her father. The last and severest trial was a* 
 hand. She had now to part from her mother — from whom, 
 except on the occasion of her flight with the Earl of Rochester 
 — she had never yet been separated. She had now to part with 
 her, in all probability, for ever. It was a heart-breaking reflec- 
 tion to both. Knowing it would only renew their affliction, and 
 perhaps unfit Amabel for the journey, Mr. Bloundel had pre- 
 vailed upon his wife not to see her in the morning. The 
 moment had, therefore, arrived when they were to bid each 
 other farewell. The anguish displayed in his wife's countenance 
 was too much for the grocer, and he covered his face with his 
 hands. He heard her approach Amabel — he listened to their 
 mutual sobs — to their last embrace. It was succeeded by a 
 stifled cry, and uncovering his face at the sound, he sprang to 
 his feet just in time to receive his swooning wife in his arms. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE DEPAETUKE. 
 
 It struck four by Saint Paul's as Doctor Hodges, accompanied 
 by Leonard and Nizza Macascree, issued from his dwelling, and 
 proceeded towards Wood-street. The party was followed by a 
 man leading a couple of horses, equipped with pillions, and fur- 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 225 
 
 cished with saddle-bags, partly filled with the scanty luggage 
 which the apprentice and the piper's daughter took with them. 
 A slight haze, indicative of the intense heat about to follow, 
 hung round the lower part of the cathedral, but its topmost 
 pinnacles glittered in the beams of the newly-risen sun. As 
 Leonard gazed at the central tower, he descried Solomon Eagle 
 on its summit, and pointed him out to Hodges. Motioning the 
 apprentice, in a manner that could not be misunderstood, to halt, 
 the enthusiast vanished, and in another moment appeared upon 
 the roof, and descended to the battlements, overlooking the spot 
 where the little party stood. This was at the north-west corner 
 of the cathedral, at a short distance from the portico. The 
 enthusiast had a small sack in his hand, and calling to Nizza 
 Macascree to take it, flung it to the ground. The ringing sound 
 which it made on its fall proved that it contained gold or silver, 
 while its size showed that the amount must be considerable. 
 Nizza looked at it in astonishment, but did not offer to touch it. 
 "Take it I" thundered Solomon Eagle; "it is your dowry." 
 And perceiving she hesitated to comply with the injunction, he 
 shouted to Leonard. " Give it her. I have no use for gold. 
 May it make } 7 ou and her happy 1" 
 
 " I know not where he can have obtained this money," ob- 
 served Hodges ; " but I am sure in no unlawful manner, and I, 
 therefore, counsel Nizza to accept the boon. It may be of the 
 greatest use to her at some future time." 
 
 His scruples being thus overcome, Leonard took the sack, and 
 placed it in one of the saddle-bags. 
 
 " You can examine it at your leisure," remarked Hodges to 
 Nizza. " We have no more time to lose." 
 
 Solomon Eagle, itif anwhile, expressed his satisfaction at the 
 apprentice's compliance by his gestures, and waving his staff 
 round his head, pointed towards the west of the city, as if 
 inquiring whether that was the route they meant to take. 
 Leonard nodded an affirmative; and the enthusiast, spreading 
 out his arms and pronouncing an audible benediction over them, 
 they resumed their course. The streets were silent and deserted, 
 except by the watchmen stationed at the infected dwellings, and 
 a few sick persons stretched on the steps of some of the better 
 habitations. In order to avoid coming in contact with these 
 miserable creatures, the party, with the exception of Doctor 
 Hodges, kept in the middle of the road. Attracted by the 
 piteous exclamations of the sufferers, Doctor Hodges, ever and 
 anon, humanely paused to speak to them ; and he promised one 
 poor woman, who was suckling an infant, to visit her on his 
 return. 
 
 "I have no hopes of saving her," he observed, to Leonard, 
 "but I may preserve her child. There is an establishment in 
 Aldgate for infants whose mothers have died of the plague, 
 
 Q 
 
226 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 where more than a hundred little creatures are suckled by she- 
 goats, and it is wonderful how well they thrive under their 
 nurses. If I can induce this poor woman to part with her child, 
 I will send it thither." 
 
 Just then, their attention was arrested by the sudden opening 
 of a casement, and a middle-aged woman, wringing her hands, 
 cried, with a look of unutterable anguish and despair, — "Pray 
 for us, good people ! pray for us !" 
 
 "We do pray for you, my poor soul I" rejoined Hodges, "as 
 well as for all who are similarly afflicted. What sick have you 
 within?" 
 
 " There were ten yesterday," replied the woman. " Two have 
 died in the night — my husband and my eldest son, — and there 
 are eight others whose recovery is hopeless. Pray for us ! As 
 you hope to be spared yourselves, pray for us !" And with a 
 lamentable cry, she closed the casement. 
 
 Familiarized as all who heard her were with spectacles of 
 horror and tales of woe, they could not listen to this sad recital, 
 nor look upon her distracted countenance, without the deepest 
 commiseration. Other sights had previously affected them, but 
 not in the same degree. Around the little conduit standing in 
 front of the Old Change, at the western extremity of Cheapside, 
 were three lazars laving their sores in the water ; while, in the 
 short space between this spot and Wood-street, Leonard counted 
 upwards of twenty doors marked with the fatal red cross, and 
 bearing upon them the sad inscription, " Lord have mercy 
 upon us!" 
 
 A few minutes' walking brought them to the grocer's habita- 
 tion, and on reaching it, they found that Blaize had already 
 descended. He was capering about the street with joy at his 
 restoration to freedom. 
 
 " Mistress Amabel will make her appearance in a few minutes," 
 he said to Leonard. — " Our master is with her, and is getting 
 all ready for her departure. I have not come unprovided with 
 medicine," he added to Doctor Hodges. "I have got a bottb 
 of plague-water in one pocket, and a phial of vinegar in the 
 other. Besides these, I have a small pot of Mayerne's electuary 
 in my bag, another of the grand antipestilential confection, and 
 a fourth of the infallible antidote which I bought of the cele- 
 brated Greek physician, Doctor Constantine Rhodocanaceis, at 
 his shop near the Three Kings Inn, in Southampton-buildings. 
 I dare say you have heard of him?" 
 
 " I have heard of the quack," replied Hodges. " His end was 
 a just retribution for the tricks he practised on his dupes. In 
 spite of his infallible antidote, he was carried off by the scourge. 
 But what else have you got?" 
 
 " Only a few trifles," replied Blaize, with a chop-fallen look 
 * ( Patience has made me a pomander- ball composed of angelica, 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 227 
 
 rue, zedoary, camphor, wax, and laudanum, which I have hung 
 round my neck with a string. Then I have got a good sized 
 box of rufuses, and have swallowed three of them preparatorv to 
 the journey." 
 
 "A proper precaution," observed Hodges, with a smile. 
 
 " This is not all," replied Blaize. " By my mother's advice, 
 I have eaten twenty leaves of rue, two roasted figs, and two 
 pickled walnuts for breakfast, washing them down with an ale 
 posset, with pimpernel seethed in it." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Hodges. "You must be in a pretty 
 condition for a journey. But how could you bear to part with 
 your mother and Patience ?" 
 
 "The parting from Patience was heart-breaking,"' replied 
 Blaize, taking out his handkerchief and applying it to his eyes. 
 " We sat up half the night together, and I felt so much overcome 
 that I began to waver in my resolution of departing. I am glad 
 I did not give way now," he added, in a more sprightly tone. 
 " Fresh air and bright sunshine are very different things from 
 the close rooms in that dark house/' 
 
 " You must not forget that you were there free from the con- 
 tagion," rejoined Hodges; "while you are here exposed to its 
 assaults." 
 
 "True," replied Blaize; "that makes a vast difference. I 
 almost wish I was back again." 
 
 " It is too late to think of returning," said Hodges. "Mount 
 your horse, and I will assist Nizza into the pillion." 
 
 By the time that Blaize, who was but an indifferent horseman, 
 had got into the saddle, and Nizza had taken her place behind 
 him, the window opened, and Mr. Bloundel appeared at it. 
 
 Amabel had only retired to rest for a few hours during the 
 night. When left to herself in her chamber, she continued to 
 pray till exhaustion compelled her to seek some repose. Arising 
 about two o'clock, she employed herself for more than an hour 
 in further devotion, and then took a last survey of every object 
 in the room. She had occupied it from her childhood, and as 
 she opened drawer after drawer, and cupboard after cupboard, 
 and examined their contents, each article recalled some circum- 
 stance connected with the past, and brought back a train of 
 long-forgotten emotions. While she was thus engaged, Patience 
 tapped at the door, and was instantly admitted. The tender- 
 hearted kitchenmaid assisted her to dress, and to put together 
 some few articles omitted to be packed by her mother. During 
 this employment, she shed abundance of tears, and Amabel's 
 efforts to console her only made matters worse. Poor Patience 
 was forced, at last, to sit down and indulge a hearty fit of crying, 
 after which, she felt considerably relieved. As soon as she was 
 sufficiently recovered to be able to speak, she observed to Amabel 
 — -" Pardon what I am about to say to vou, my dear young mis- 
 
 Q2 
 
228 old saint Paul's. 
 
 tress, but I cannot help thinking that the real seat of your disease 
 is in the heart." 
 
 A slight blush overspread Amabel's pale features, but she 
 made no answer. 
 
 " I see I am right," continued Patience, "and indeed I have 
 long suspected it. Let me entreat you therefore, dear young 
 lady, not to sacrifice yourself. Only say the word, and I will 
 find means of making your retreat known to the Earl of Ro- 
 chester. Blaize is devoted to you, and will do anything you bid 
 him. I cannot wonder you fret after so handsome — so cap- 
 tivating a man as the earl, especially when you are worried to 
 death to marry a common apprentice like Leonard Holt, who is 
 not fit to hold a candle to your noble admirer. Ah ! we women 
 can never blind ourselves to the advantages of rank and appear- 
 ance. We are too good judges for that. I hope you will soon 
 be restored to you lover, and that the happiness you will enjoy 
 will make amends for all the misery you have endured." 
 
 " Patience," said Amabel, whose cheek, as the other spoke, 
 had returned to its original paleness — " Patience," she said, 
 gravely, but kindly, " I have suffered you to proceed too far 
 without interruption, and must correct the very serious error into 
 which you have fallen. I am so far from pining for an inter- 
 view with the Earl of Rochester, that nothing in the world 
 should induce me to see him again. I have loved him deeply," 
 she continued in a tremulous tone, " nay, I will not attempt to 
 disguise that I feel strongly towards him still, while I will also 
 freely confess that his conduct towards me has so preyed upon 
 my spirits that it has impaired, perhaps destroyed my health. 
 In spite of this, I cannot sufficiently rejoice that I have escaped 
 the earl's snares, — I cannot be sufficiently thankful to the mer- 
 ciful Being, who, while he has thought fit to chastise me, has 
 preserved me from utter ruin." 
 
 " Since you are of this mind," returned Patience, in a tone of 
 incredulity, "you are more to be rejoiced with, than pitied. 
 But we are not overheard," she added, almost in a whisper, and 
 glancing towards the door. "You may entirely confide in me. 
 The time is arrived when you can escape to your lover." 
 
 " No more of this," rejoined Amabel, severely, " or I shall 
 command you to leave the room." 
 
 " This is nothing more than pique," thought Patience. " We 
 women are all hypocrites, even to ourselves. I will serve her 
 whether she will or not. She shall see the earl. — I hope there is 
 no harm in wishing you may be happy with Leonard Holt," she 
 added, aloud. " He will make you a capital husband." 
 
 " That subject is equally disagreeable — equally painful to me," 
 said Amabel. 
 
 " I had better hold my tongue altogether," rejoined Patience, 
 somewhat pertly. " Whatever I say seems to be wrong. It wont 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 229 
 
 prevent me from doing as I would be done by," she added to 
 herself. 
 
 Amabel's preparations finished, she dismissed Patience, to 
 whom she gave some few slight remembrances, and was soon 
 afterwards joined by her father. They passed half an hour 
 together, as on the former night, in serious and devout conversa- 
 tion, after which, Mr. Bloundel left her for a few minutes to let 
 down Blaize. On his return, he tenderly embraced her, and 
 led her into the passage. They had not advanced many steps, 
 when Mrs. Bloundel rushed forth to meet them. She was in 
 her night-dress, and seemed overwhelmed with affliction. 
 
 "How is this, Honora?" cried her husband, in a severe tone. 
 " You promised me you would see Amabel no more. You will 
 only distress her." 
 
 " I could not let her go thus," cried Mrs. Bloundel, " I was 
 listening at my chamber-door to hear her depart, and when I 
 caught the sound of her footsteps, I could no longer control 
 myself." So saying, she rushed to her daughter and clasped her 
 in her arms. 
 
 Affectionately returning her mother's embrace, Amabel gave 
 her hand to her father, who conducted her to the little room 
 overlooking the street. Nothing more, except a deep and pas- 
 sionate look, was exchanged between them. Both repressed 
 their emotion, and though the heart of each was bursting, neither 
 shed a tear. At that moment, and for the first time, they 
 greatly resembled each other, and this was not surprising, for 
 intense emotion, whether of grief or joy, will bring out lines in 
 the features, that lie hidden at other times. Without a word, 
 Mr. Bloundel busied himself in arranging the pulley, and calling 
 to those below, to prepare for Amabel's descent, again embraced 
 her, kissed her pale brow, and placing her carefully in the 
 basket, lowered her slowly to the ground. She was received in 
 safety by Leonard, who carried her in his arms, and placed her 
 on the pillion. The pulley was then drawn up, and her luggage 
 lowered by Mr. Bloundel, and placed in the saddle-bags by the 
 apprentice. Every one saw the necessity of terminating this 
 painful scene. A kindly farewell was taken of Hodges. Amabel 
 waved her hand to her father, when r.t this moment Patience 
 appeared at the window, and calling to Blaize, threw a little 
 package tied in a handkerchief to him. Doctor Hodges took up 
 the parcel and gave it to the porter, who, untying the hand- 
 kerchief, glanced at a note it enclosed, and striking his horse with 
 his stick, dashed off towards Cheapside. 
 
 " Pursue him," cried Amabel to Leonard, " he is flying to tb- 
 Earl of Rochester." 
 
 The intimation was sufficient for the apprentice. Urging his 
 horse into a quick pace, he came up with the fugitive just as he 
 had reached Cheapside. Blaize's mad career had been checked 
 
230 old saint Paul's. 
 
 by Nizza Macascrec, who, seizing the bridle, stopped the steed. 
 Leonard, who was armed with a heavy riding-whip, applied it 
 unsparingly to Blaize's shoulders. 
 
 " Entreat hira to hold his hand, dear, good Mistress Amabel, 
 cried the porter; (i it was for your sake alone I made this rash 
 attempt. Patience told me you were dying to see the Earl of 
 Rochester, and made me promise I would ride to Whitehall to 
 acquaint his lordship whither you were going. Here is her 
 letter which I was about to deliver." And as he spoke, he 
 handed her the note which was tied with a piece of packthread, 
 and directed in strange and almost illegible characters. 
 
 " Do not hurt him more," said Amabel ; " he was not aware 
 of the mischief he was about to commit. And learn from me, 
 Blaize, that, so far from desiring to see the Earl of Rochester, all 
 my anxiety is to avoid him." 
 
 " If I had known that," returned the porter, " I would not 
 have stirred a step. But Patience assured me the contrary." 
 
 By this time, Doctor Hodges had come up, and an explana- 
 tion ensued. It was agreed, however, that it would be better 
 not to alarm Mr. Bloundel, but to attribute the porter's sudden 
 flight to mismanagement of his steed. Accordingly, they re- 
 turned to the residence of the grocer, who was anxiously looking 
 out for them ; and after a brief delay, during which the saddle- 
 bags were again examined and secured, they departed. Mr. 
 Bloundel looked wistfully after his daughter, and she returned 
 his gaze as long as her blinding eyes would permit her. S>> 
 unwonted was the sound of horses 9 feet at this period, that many 
 a melancholy face appeared at the window to gaze at them as 
 they rode by, and Nizza Macascree shuddered as she witnessed 
 the envious glances cast after them by these poor captives. As 
 to Blaize, when they got into Cheapside, he was so terrified by 
 the dismal evidences of the pestilence that met him at every 
 turn, that he could scarcely keep his seat, and it was not until 
 he had drenched himself and his companion with vinegar, and 
 stuffed his mouth with myrrh and zedoary that he felt anything 
 like composure. 
 
 On approaching Newgate Market, they found it entirely de- 
 serted. Most of the stalls were removed, the shops closed, and 
 the window-shutters nailed up. It was never, in fact, used at all, 
 except by a few countrymen and higglers, who ventured thither 
 on certain days of the week to sell fresh eggs, butter, poultry, 
 and such commodities. The manner of sale was this. The 
 article disposed of was placed on a flag on one side of the market, 
 near which stood a pump and a trough of water. The vendor 
 then retired, while the purchaser approached, took the article, 
 •»nd put its price into the water, whence it was removed when 
 supposed to be sufficiently purified. 
 
 As the party passed Grey Friars, the tramp of their horses was 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 231 
 
 mistaken for the dead-cart, and a door was suddenly opened and 
 a corpse brought forth. Leonard would have avoided the spec- 
 tacle, had it been possible, but they were now close to Newgate, 
 where they were detained for a few minutes at the gate, while 
 their bills of health were examined and countersigned by the 
 officer stationed there. During this pause, Leonard glanced at 
 the grated windows of the prison, the debtor's sjde of which 
 fronted the street. But not a single face was to be seen. In 
 fact, as has already been stated, the prison was shut up. 
 
 The gate was now opened to them, and descending Snow-hilJ- 
 they entered a region completely devastated by the pcstilenc 
 So saddening was the sight, that Leonard involuntarily quickened 
 his horse's pace, resolved to get out of this forlorn district as 
 speedily as possible. lie was, however, stopped by an unexpected 
 and fearful impediment. When within a short distance of Hol- 
 born-bridge, he observed on the further side of it a large black 
 vehicle, and, unable to make out what it was, though a fearful 
 suspicion crossed him, slackened his pace. A nearer approach 
 showed him that it was the pest-cart, filled with its charnel load. 
 The horse was in the shafts, and was standing quite still. Rising 
 *n his stirrups to obtain a better view, Leonard perceived that 
 the driver was lying on the ground at a little distance from the 
 cart, in an attitude that proclaimed he had been suddenly seized 
 by the pestilence, and had probably just expired. 
 
 Not choosing to incur the risk of passing this contagious load, 
 Leonard retraced his course as far as Holborn-conduit, then 
 turning into Seacoal-lane, and making the best of his way to 
 Fleet-bridge, crossed it, and entered the great thoroughfare with 
 which it communicated. lie had not proceeded far when he 
 encountered a small party of the watch, to whom he showed his 
 certificate, and recounted the fate of the driver of the dead-cart. 
 At Temple Bar, he was again obliged to exhibit his passports, 
 and, while there detained, he observed three other horsemen 
 riding towards them from the further end of Fleet-street 
 
 Though much alarmed by the sight, Leonard did not com- 
 municate his apprehensions to his companions, but as soon as the 
 guard allowed him to pass, called out to Blaize to follow him, 
 and urging his horse to a quick pace, dashed up Drury-lane. A 
 few minutes' hard riding, during which nothing occurred to give 
 the apprentice further uneasiness, brought them to a road skirt- 
 ing the open fields, in which a pest-house had just been built by 
 the chivalrous nobleman, whose habitation, in Berkshire, they 
 ■were about to visit. With a courage and devotion that redound 
 more to his honour than the brilliant qualities that won him so 
 high a reputation in the court and in the field, Lord Craven 
 not merely provided the present receptacle for the sick, but 
 remained in London during the whole continuance of the dread- 
 ful visitation j " braving," says Pennant, " the fury of the pesti- 
 
232 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 lence with the same coolness that he fought the battles of his 
 beloved mistress, Elizabeth, titular Queen of Bohemia, or 
 mounted the tremendous breach of Creutznath." The spot 
 where this asylum was built, and which is the present site of 
 Golden-square, retained nearly half a century afterwards the 
 name of the Pest-house Fields. Leonard had already been 
 made acquainted by Dr. Hodges with the earl's generous devo- 
 tion to the public welfare, and warmly commenting upon it, he 
 pointed out the structure to Amabel. But the speed at which 
 she was borne along did not allow her time to bestow more than 
 a hasty glance at it. On gaining Hyde-park-corner, the appren- 
 tice cast a look backwards, and his apprehensions were revived 
 by perceiving the three horsemen again in view, and evidently 
 using their utmost exertions to come up with them. 
 
 While Leonard was hesitating whether he should make known 
 their danger to Amabel, he perceived Solomon Eagle dart from 
 behind a wall on the left of the road, and plant himself in the 
 direct course of their pursuers, and he involuntarily drew in the 
 rein to see what would ensue. In another moment, the horse- 
 men, who were advancing at full gallop, — and whom Leonard 
 now recognised as the Earl of Rochester, Pillichody, and Sir 
 Paul Parravicin, — had approached within a few yards of the 
 enthusiast, and threatened to ride over him if he did not get out 
 of the way. Seeing, however, that he did not offer to move, 
 they opened on either side of him, and were passing swiftly by, 
 when, with infinite dexterity, he caught hold of the bridle of 
 Rochester's steed, and checking him, seized the earl by the leg* 
 and threw him to the ground. 
 
 Sir Paul Parravicin pulled up as soon as he could, and drawing 
 his sword, rode back to assist his friend, and punish the aggressor, 
 but the enthusiast, nothing daunted, met him in full career, and 5 
 suddenly lifting up his arms, uttered a loud cry, which so startled 
 the knight's high-spirited horse, that it reared and flung him. 
 All this was the work of a few seconds. Pillichody had been 
 borne forward by the impetuosity of his steed to within a short 
 distance of the apprentice, and seeing the fate of his companions, 
 and not liking Leonard's menacing gestures, he clapped spurs 
 into his horse, and rode up Park-lane. 
 
 Overjoyed at his unexpected deliverance, Leonard, whose 
 attention had been completely engrossed by what was passing, 
 now ventured to look at Amabel, and became greatly alarmed 
 at her appearance. She was as pale as death, except a small 
 scarlet patch on either cheek, which contrasted powerfully with 
 the death-like hue of the rest of her countenance. Her hands 
 convulsively clasped the back of the pillion; her lips were slightly 
 Apart ; and her eyes fixed upon the prostrate form of the Earl of 
 Rochester. On finding they were pursued, and by whom, her 
 first impulse had been to fling herself from the horse, and to 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 233 
 
 geek safety by flight, but controlling herself, she awaited the 
 result with forced composure, and \\a? now sinking from the 
 exhaustion of the effort. 
 
 "Thank Heaven! we are safe," criec the apprentice; "but I 
 fear the shock has been too much for you." 
 
 " It has," gasped Amabel, falling against his shoulder. " Let 
 us fly — oh 1 let us fly." 
 
 Inexpressibly shocked and alarmed, Leonard twined his left 
 arm round her waist so as to hold her on the steed, for she was 
 utterly unable to support herself, and glancing anxiously at Nizza 
 Macascree, struck off on the right into the road skirting the Park, 
 and in the direction of Tyburn, where there was a small inn, at 
 which he hoped to procure assistance. Before reaching this 
 place, he was beyond description relieved to find that Amabel 
 had so far recovered as to be able to raise her head. 
 
 " The deadly faintness is passed," she murmured, " I shall be 
 better soon. But I fear I am too weak to pursue the journey at 
 present." 
 
 Leonard spurred on his steed, and in another instant reached 
 Tyburn, and drew up at the little inn. But no assistance could 
 be obtained there. The house was closed; there was a red cross 
 on the door; and a watchman, stationed in front of it, informed 
 him that all the family had died of the plague except the land- 
 lord, — " and he will be buried beside them in Paddington church- 
 yard before to-morrow morning," added the man; "for his nurse 
 tells me it is impossible he can survive many hours." 
 
 As he spoke, an upper window was opened, and a woman 
 thrusting forth her head, cried, "Poor Master Sandj's has just 
 breathed his last. Come in, Philip, and help me to prepare the 
 body for the dead-cart." 
 
 "I will be with you in a minute," rejoined the watchman. 
 "You may possibly procure accommodation at the Wheatsheaf 
 at Paddington," he added to Leonard ; " it is but a short distance 
 up the road." 
 
 Thanking him for the information, Leonard took the course 
 indicated. He had not proceeded far, when he was alarmed by 
 hearing a piteous cry of " Stop 1 stop !" proceeding from Blaize ; 
 and halting, found that the porter had been so greatly terrified 
 by the watchman's account of the frightful mortality in the poor 
 innkeeper's family, that he had applied to his phial of plague- 
 water, and in pulling it out had dropped his box of rufuses, and 
 the jar of antipestilential confection. He had just ascertained 
 his loss, and wished to go back, but this Nizza Macascree would 
 not permit. Enraged at the delay, Leonard peremptorily ordered 
 the porter to come on; and Blaize, casting a rueful glance at his 
 treasures, which he perceived at a little distance in the middle of 
 the road, was compelled to obey. 
 
 At Paddington, another disappointment awaited them. The 
 
234 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 Wheatsheaf was occupied by two large families, who were flying 
 from the infected city, and no accommodation could be obtained. 
 Leonard looked wistfully at Nizza Macascree, as if to ascertain 
 what to do, and she was equally perplexed ; but the difficulty 
 was relieved by Amabel herself, who said she felt much better, 
 and able to proceed a little further. " Do not return to London," 
 she continued, with great earnestness. " I would rather die on 
 the road than go home again. Some cottage will receive us. If 
 not, I can rest for a short time in the fields." 
 
 Thinking it best to comply, Leonard proceeded along the 
 Harrow-road. Soon after crossing Paddington-green, he over- 
 took a little train of fugitives driving a cart filled with children, 
 and laden with luggage. Further on, as he surveyed the beau- 
 tiful meadows, stretching out on either side of him, he perceived 
 a line of small tents, resembling a gipsy encampment, pitched at 
 a certain distance from each other, and evidently occupied by 
 families who had fled from their homes from fear of infection. 
 This gave a singular character to the prospect. But there were 
 other and far more painful sights on the road, which could not 
 fail to attract attention. For the first half mile, almost at every 
 hundred yards, might be seen some sick man, who, unable to 
 proceed further, had fallen against the hedge side, and exhibited 
 his sores to move the pity of the passers-by. But these suppli- 
 cations were wholly unheeded. Self-preservation was the first 
 object with all, and the travellers, holding handkerchiefs steeped 
 in vinegar to their faces, and averting their heads, passed by on 
 the other side of the way. 
 
 The pestilence, it may be remarked, had visited with extra- 
 ordinary rigour the whole of the higher country at the west and 
 north-west of the metropolis. The charmingly-situated, and, at 
 other seasons, healthful villages of Hampstead and Highgate, 
 suffered severely from the scourge ; and it even extended its 
 ravages as far as Harrow-on-the-Hill, which it half depopulated. 
 This will account for the circumstance of a large pest-house 
 being erected in the neighbourhood of Westbourne-green, which 
 the party now approached. Two litters were seen crossing the 
 fields in the direction of the hospital, and this circumstance 
 called Leonard's attention to it. Shudderingly averting his 
 gaze, he quickened his pace, and soon reached a small farm- 
 house on the summit of the hill rising from Kensal-green. 
 Determined to seek a temporary asylum here for Amabel, he 
 opened a gate, and riding into the yard, fortunately met with 
 the owner of the house, a worthy farmer, named Wingfield, to 
 whom he explained her situation. The man at first hesitated, 
 but, on receiving Leonard's solemn assurance that she was free 
 from the plague, consented to receive the whole party. 
 
 Assisting Amabel to dismount, Wingfield conveyed her inhis 
 arms into the house, and delivered her to his wife, bidding her 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 535 
 
 take care of her. The injunction was scarcely needed. The 
 good dame, who was a middle-aged woman, with pleasing tea 
 tures, which lost none of their interest from being stamped with 
 profound melancholy, gazed at her for a moment fixedly, and 
 then observed, in an under tone, but with much emotion, to her 
 husband, " Ah ! Robert, how much this sweet creature resembles 
 our poor Sarah !" 
 
 "Hush! hush! dame," rejoined her husband, hastily brushing 
 away the moisture that sprang to his eyes; "take her to your 
 chamber, and see that she wants nothing. There is another 
 young woman outside, whom I will send to you." 
 
 So saying, he returned to the yard. Meantime, the others 
 had dismounted, and Wingfield, bidding Nizza Macascree go in, 
 led the way to the barn, where the horses were tied up, and 
 fodder placed before them. This done, he conducted his guests 
 to the house, and placing cold meat, bread, and a jug of ale 
 before them, desired them to fall to, — an injunction, which 
 Blaizc, notwithstanding his previous repast of roasted figs and 
 pickled walnuts, very readily complied with. While they were 
 thus employed, Dame Wingfield made her appearance. She said 
 that the poor creature (meaning Amabel) was too ill to proceed 
 on her journey that day, and begged her husband to allow her to 
 stop till the next morning, when she hoped she would be able to 
 undertake it. 
 
 " To-morrow morning, say you, dame ?" cried Wingfield ; 
 "she may stop till the day after, and the day after that, if you 
 desire it, or she wishes it. Go tell her so." 
 
 And as his wife withdrew, well pleased at having obtained her 
 request, Wingfield addressed himself to Leonard, and inquired 
 the cause of Amabel's illness; and as the apprentice saw no 
 necessity for secrecy, and felt exceedingly grateful for the kind 
 treatment he had experienced, he acquainted him with the chief 
 particulars of her history. The farmer appeared greatly moved 
 by the recital. 
 
 " She resembles my poor Sarah very strongly," he said. "My 
 daughter was hurried into an early grave by a villain, who won 
 her affections and betrayed her. She now lies in Willesden 
 Church-yard, but her seducer is one of the chief favourites of 
 our profligate monarch." 
 
 " Do you mean the Earl of Rochester ?" cried Leonard. 
 
 " No, no," replied the farmer, whose good-natured countenance 
 had assumed a stern expression. " The villain I mean is worse, 
 if possible, than the earl. He is called Sir Paul Parravicin." 
 
 "Gracious heaven!" exclaimed Leonard, in astonishment; 
 ** what a strange coincidence is this !" 
 
 And he then proceeded to relate to Wingfield the persecution 
 which Nizza Macascree had endured from the profligate knight. 
 The farmer listened to his recital with breathless interest, and 
 
236 old saint paul's. 
 
 when it -was ended, arose, and taking a hasty turn round the 
 room, halted at the table and struck it forcibly with his clenched 
 hand. 
 
 " I hope that man will never cross my path," he said, all the 
 blood mounting; to his face, and his eye kindling; with fury. 
 " As God shall judge me, I will kill him if I meet him." 
 
 " Then I hope you never will meet him," observed Leonard 
 " He has injured you enough already, without putting you out 
 of the pale of Divine mercy." 
 
 " These rascals have done us all an injury," observed Blaize. 
 "Patience has never been like herself since Major Pillichody 
 entered my master's dwelling, and made love to her. I feel 
 quite uneasy to think how the little hussy will go on during my 
 absence. She can't get out of the house, that's one comfort." 
 
 " You have mentioned another wretch, who was constantly 
 with Sir Paul," cried Wingfield. " Perdition seize them !" 
 
 " Ay, perdition seize them !" echoed Blaize, striking the table 
 in his turn — " especially Major Pillichody." 
 
 " Did you ever suspect Sir Paul to be of higher rank than he 
 pretends ?" asked Leonard. 
 
 " No," rejoined Wingfield; "what motive have you for the 
 question ? w 
 
 Leonard then told him of the inquiries instituted by Doctor 
 Hodges relative to Nizza's retreat, and how they had been 
 baffled. " It is strange," he continued, " that Nizza herself 
 never heard the real name of her persecutor, neither can she tell 
 where the house to which she was conveyed, when in a fainting 
 condition, and from which she was removed when attacked with 
 the plague, is situated." 
 
 "It is strange, indeed," observed the farmer, musingly. 
 
 Soon after this, Nizza Macascree made her appearance, and 
 informed them that Amabel had fallen into a tranquil slumber, 
 which, in all probability, would completely renovate her. 
 
 " I hope it will," said Wingfield. " But I shall not part with 
 her to-day." 
 
 He then entered into conversation with Nizza, and after a 
 little time, proposed to her and Leonard to walk across the fields 
 with him to Willesden, to visit his daughter's grave. 
 
 "My wife will take charge of Amabel," he said; "you may 
 safely trust her in her hands." 
 
 Leonard could raise no objection, except the possibility that 
 the Earl of Rochester and his companions might discover their 
 retreat, and carry off Amabel in his absence; but, after a little 
 reflection, considering this altogether unlikely, he assented, and 
 thej 7 set out. A pleasant walk across the fields brought them to 
 the pretty little village of Willesden and its old and beautiful 
 church. They proceeded to the grave of poor Sarah Wingfield, 
 which lay at the east of the church beneath one of the tall elms, 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 237 
 
 and Nizza, as she stood by the rounded sod, covering the 
 remains of the unfortunate girl, could not restrain her tears. 
 
 " This might have been my own fate,*' she said. " What an 
 escape I have had !" 
 
 " I did not bring } T ou here to read you a lesson," said Wing- 
 field, in a tone of deep emotion, " but because you, who know 
 the temptation to which the poor creature who lies there was 
 exposed, will pity her. Not alone did remorse for her conduct 
 prey upon her spirits, — not alone did she suffer from self- 
 reproach, — but the scoffs and jeers of her sex, who never forgive 
 an erring sister, broke her heart. She is now, however, beyond 
 the reach of human malice, and, I trust, at peace." 
 
 As he said this, he walked away to hide his emotion, and pre- 
 sently afterwards rejoining them, they quitted the churchyard 
 together. 
 
 As they recrossed the fields, Wingfield observed two men dig- 
 ging a hole in the ground, and guessing their object, paused for 
 a lew minutes to watch them. Having thrown out the earth to 
 the depth of a couple of feet, one of them took a long hooked 
 pole, and attaching it to the body of a victim to the pestilence, 
 who had wandered into the fields and died there, dragged it 
 towards the pit. As soon as the corpse was pushed into its 
 narrow receptacle, the clay was shovelled over it, and trodden 
 down. 
 
 " This is a sad mode of burial for a Christian," observed 
 Wingfield. "But it would not do to leave an infected body to 
 rot in the fields, and spread the contagion." 
 
 " Such a grave is better than the plague-pit," rejoined Leonard, 
 recalling the frightful scenes he had witnessed there. 
 
 On reaching Wingfield's dwelling, they found from the good 
 dame, that Amabel had awakened from her slumber greatly 
 refreshed; but she gave it as her opinion that she had better 
 remain undisturbed. Accordingly, no one went into the room 
 to her except Nizza Macascree. A substantial dinner was pro- 
 vided for his guests by the hospitable farmer; and Blaize, who 
 had been for some time confined to salt provisions at his master's 
 house, did ample justice to the fresh meat and vegetables. 
 
 The meal over, Leonard, who felt exceeding curious to learn 
 what had become of the mysterious stranger whose child he had 
 carried to the plague-pit, and who had appeared so strangely 
 interested in Nizza Macascree, determined to walk to the pest- 
 house in Finsbury-fields, and inquire after him. On communi- 
 cating his intention to his host, Wingfield would have dissuaded 
 him, but as Leonard affirmed he had no fear of infection, he 
 desisted from the attempt. Just as the apprentice was starting, 
 Blaize came up to him, and said, — " Leonard, I have a great 
 curiosity to see a pest-house, and should like to go with you, if 
 you will let me." 
 
233 old saint Paul's. 
 
 The apprentice stared at him in astonishment. 
 
 " You will never dare to enter it," he said. 
 
 " I will go wherever you go," replied the porter, with a confi« 
 dencc mainly inspired by the hospitable farmer's strong ale. 
 
 " We shall see," replied Leonard. " I shall keep you to your 
 word." 
 
 In less than an hour they reached Marylebone-fields, (now the 
 Regent's-park,) and crossing them, entered a lane, running in 
 pretty nearly the same direction as the present New-road. It 
 brought them to Clerkenwell, whence they proceeded to Fins- 
 bury-fields, and soon came in sight of the pest-house. When 
 Blaize found himself so near this dreaded asylum, all his courage 
 vanished. 
 
 " I would certainly enter the pest-house with you," he said to 
 Leonard, " but I have used up ail my vinegar, and you know I 
 lost my box of rufuses, and the pot of anti-pestilential confection 
 this morning." 
 
 " That excuse shall not serve your turn," replied Leonard. 
 " You can get plenty of vinegar and plague medicine in the pest- 
 house." 
 
 " But I have no money to pay for them," rejoined Blaize. 
 
 " I will lend you some," said Leonard, placing a few pieces in 
 his hand. " Now, come along." 
 
 Blaize would fain have run away, but afraid of incurring the 
 apprentice's anger, he walked tremblingly after him. They 
 entered the garden-gate, and soon reached the principal door, 
 which, as usual, stood open. Scarcely able to support himself, 
 the porter tottered into the large room; but as he cast his eyes 
 around, and beheld the miserable occupants of the pallets, and 
 heard their cries and groans, he was so scared that he could not 
 move another step, but stood like one transfixed with terror. 
 Paying little attention to him, Leonard walked forward, and at 
 the further extremity of the chamber found the young chirurgeon 
 whom he had formerly seen, and describing the stranger, inquired 
 where he was placed. 
 
 " The person you allude to has been removed," returned the 
 chirurgeon. " Doctor Hodges visited him this morning, and 
 had him conveyed to his own dwelling." 
 
 " Was he sensible at the time ?" asked the apprentice. 
 
 " I think not," replied the chirurgeon ; " but the doctor 
 appeared to recognise in him an old friend, though I did not 
 hear him mention his name ; and it was on that account, I con- 
 r lude, that he had him removed." 
 
 " Is he likely to recover?" asked Leonard, whose curiosity was 
 aroused by what he heard. 
 
 " That is impossible to say," replied the young man. " But 
 he cannot be in better hands than those of Doctor Hodges," 
 
 Leonard perfectly concurred with him, and after a few minutes 
 
THE JOURNEY. 239 
 
 further conversation, turned to depart. Not seeing Blaize, he 
 concluded he had gone forth, and expected to find him in the 
 garden, or, at all events, in the field adjoining. But he was 
 nowhere to be seen. While wondering what had become of 
 him, Leonard heard a loud cry, in the voice of the porter, issuing 
 from the barn, which, as has already been stated, had been con- 
 verted into a receptacle for the sick; and hurrying thither, he 
 found Blaize in the hands of two stout assistants, who had 
 stripped him of his clothes, and were tying him down to a pallet. 
 On seeing Leonard, Blaize implored him to deliver him from 
 the hands of his persecutors; and the apprentice assuring the 
 assistants that the poor fellow was perfectly free from infection, 
 they liberated him. 
 
 It appeared, on inquiry, that Blaize had fallen against one of 
 the pallets in a state almost of insensibility, and the two assist- 
 ants, chancing to pass at the time, and taking him for a plague 
 patient, had conveyed him to the barn. On reaching it," he 
 recovered, and besought them to set him free, but they paid no 
 attention to his cries, and proceeded to strip him, and bind him 
 to the bed, as before related. 
 
 Thus released, the porter lost no time in dressing himself; 
 and Leonard, to allay his terrors, had a strong dose of anti-pesti- 
 lential elixir administered to him. After which, having procured 
 him a box of rufuscs, and a phial of plague-water, Blaize shook 
 off his apprehension, and they set out at a brisk pace for Kensal- 
 green. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 Blaize was destined to experience a second fright. It has been 
 mentioned that the infected were sometimes seized with a rabid 
 desire of communicating the disorder to such as had not been 
 attacked by it ; and as the pair were making the best of their way 
 along the Harrow-road, a poor lazar who was lying against the 
 hedge side, and had vainly implored their assistance, suddenly 
 started up, and with furious cries and gestures, made towards the 
 porter. Guessing his intention, Blaize took to his heels, and 
 finding himself closely pressed, broke through the hedge on the 
 right, and speeded across the field. In spite of the alarming 
 nature of the occurrence, the apprentice could not help laughing 
 at the unwonted agility displayed by the fat little porter, who 
 ran so swiftly that it appeared probable he would distance his 
 pursuer. To prevent mischief, however, Leonard set off after 
 him, and was fist gaining upon the lazar, whose strength was 
 evidently failing, when the poor wretch uttered a loud cry, and 
 
240 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 fell to the ground. On coming up, Leonard found him lying 
 with his face in the grass, and convulsed by the agonies of death, 
 and perceiving that all was over, hurried after the porter, whom 
 he found seated on a gate, at the further end of the field, 
 solacing himself with a draught of plague-water. 
 
 " Oh, Leonard !" groaned the latter, " how little do we know 
 what is for our good 1 I was delighted to quit my master's 
 house this morning, but I now wish with all my heart I was back 
 again. I am afraid I shall die of the plague after all. Pray what 
 are the first symptoms ? n 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh I don't think about it, and you will take no 
 harm," rejoined Leonard. " Put by your phial, and let us make 
 the best of our way to Farmer Wingfield's dwelling." 
 
 Being now in sight of the farm, which, from its elevated situa- 
 tion, could be distinguished at a distance of two miles in this 
 direction, they easily shaped their course towards it across the 
 fields. When about half way up the hill, Leonard paused to 
 look behind him. The view was exquisite, and it was precisely 
 the hour (just before sunset) at which it could be seen to the 
 greatest advantage. On the right, his gaze wandered to the 
 beautiful and well-wooded heights of Richmond and Wimbledon, 
 beyond which he could trace the long line of the Surrey hills, 
 while nearer he perceived Notting-hill, now covered with habita- 
 tions, but then a verdant knoll, crowned by a few trees, but 
 without so much as a cottage upon it. On the left stood Hamp- 
 stead ; at that time a collection of pretty cottages, but wanting its 
 present chief ornament, the church. At the foot of the hill rich 
 meadows, bordered with fine hedges, interspersed with well- 
 grown timber, spread out as far as the eye could reach. Nothing 
 destroyed the rural character of the prospect ; nor was there any 
 indication of the neighbourhood of a great city, except the lofty 
 tower and massive body of Saint Paul's which appeared above 
 the tops of the intervening trees in the distance. 
 
 As on former occasions, when contemplating the surrounding 
 country from the summit of the cathedral, Leonard could not 
 help contrasting the beauty of the scene before him with the 
 horrible scourge by which it was ravaged. Never had the 
 country looked so beautiful — never, therefore, was the contrast 
 so forcible ; and it appeared to him like a lovely mask hiding the 
 hideous and ghastly features of death. Tinged by the sombre 
 hue of his thoughts, the whole scene changed its complexion. 
 The smiling landscape seemed to darken, and the cool air Oi 
 evening to become hot and noisome, as if laden with the deadly 
 exhalations of the pestilence. Nor did the workings of his 
 imagination stop here. He fancied even at this distance, — 
 nearly seven miles, — that he could discern Solomon Eagle on the 
 summit of Saint Paul's. At first, the figure looked like a small 
 black speck ; but it gradually dilated, until it became twice the 
 
THE JOURNEY. 241 
 
 size of the cathedral, upon the central tower of which its feet 
 rested, while its arms were spread abroad over the city. In its 
 right hand the gigantic figure held a blazing torch, and in the 
 left a phial, from the mouth of which a stream of dark liquid 
 descended. So vividly did this phantasm present itself to Leo- 
 nard, that, almost convinced of its reality, he placed his hands 
 before his eves for a few moments, and on withdrawing them, 
 was glad to find that the delusion was occasioned by a black cloud 
 over the cathedral, which his distempered fancy had converted 
 into the colossal figure of the enthusiast. 
 
 Biaize, who had taken the opportunity of his companion's 
 abstraction to sip a little more plague-water, now approached, 
 and told him that Wingfield was descending the hill to meet 
 them. Rousing himself, Leonard ran towards the farmer, who 
 appeared delighted to see them back again, and conducted them 
 to his dwelling. Owing to the tender and truly maternal atten- 
 tion of Dame Wingfield, Amabel was so much better that she 
 was able to join the party at supper, though she took no share in 
 the meal. Wingfield listened to the soft tones of her voice as 
 she conversed with his wife, and at last, unable to control his 
 emotion, laid down his knife and fork, and quitted the table. 
 
 " What is the matter with your husband?"' inquired Amabel, 
 of her hostess. " I hope he is not unwell." 
 
 " Oh ! no," replied the good dame ; " your voice reminds 
 him of our daughter, whose history I have related to you, — that 
 is all." 
 
 " Alas !" exclaimed Amabel, with a sympathizing look, " I will 
 be silent, if it pains him to hear me speak." 
 
 " On no account," rejoined Dame Wingfield. " The tears he 
 has shed will relieve him. He could not weep when poor Sarah 
 died, and I feared his heart would break. Talk to him as you 
 have talked to me, and you will do him a world of good." 
 
 Shorthy afterwards, the fanner returned to the table, and the 
 meal proceeded to its close without further interruption. As 
 soon as the board was cleared, Wingfield took a chair by Amabel, 
 who, in compliance, with his wife's request, spoke to him about 
 his daughter, and in terms calculated to afford him consolation. 
 Leonard was enraptured by her discourse, and put so little con- 
 straint upon his admiration, that Nizza Macascrec could not 
 repress a pang of jealousy. As to Biaize, who had eaten as 
 much as he could cram, and emptied a large jug of the farmer's 
 stout ale, he took his chair to a corner, and speedily fell asleep ; 
 his hoarse but tranquil breathing proving that the alarms he had 
 undergone during the day did not haunt his slumbers. Before 
 separating for the night, Amabel entreated that prayers might 
 be said, and her request being readily granted, she was about 
 »o retire with Nizza, when Wingfield detained them. 
 
 "I have been thinking, that I might offer you a safe asylum 
 
212 old saint Paul's. 
 
 here," he said. " If you like it, you shall remain with us till 
 your health is fully reinstated." 
 
 " I thank you most kindly for the offer," returned Amabel, 
 gratefully; "and if I do not accept it, it is neither because J 
 should not esteem myself safe here, nor because I am unwilling 
 to be indebted to your hospitality, but that I have been specially 
 advised, as my last chance of recovery, to try the air of Berkshire. 
 1 have little hope myself, but I owe it to those who love me, to 
 make the experiment." 
 
 " If such is the case," returned the farmer, " I will not attempt 
 to persuade you further. But if, at any future time, you should 
 need change of air, my house shall be entirely at your service." 
 
 Dame Wingfield warmly seconded her husband's wish, and 
 with renewed thanks, Amabel and her companion withdrew. 
 As there was not sufficient room for their accommodation within 
 ♦the house, Leonard and the porter took up their quarters in the 
 barn, and throwing themselves upon a heap of straw, slept 
 soundly till three o'clock, when they arose, and began to prepare 
 for their journey. Wingfield was likewise astir, and after as- 
 sisting them to feed and dress their horses, took them into the 
 house, where a plentiful breakfast awaited them. At the close 
 of the meal, Amabel and Nizza, who had breakfasted in their 
 own room, made their appearance. All being in readiness for 
 their departure, Dame Wingfield took leave of her guests with 
 tears in her eyes, and the honest farmer was little less affected. 
 Both gazed after them as long as they continued in sight. 
 
 Having ascertained from Wingfield the route they ought to 
 pursue, Leonard proceeded about a quarter of a mile along the 
 Harrow-road, and then turned off on the left into a common, 
 which brought them to Acton, from whence they threaded a 
 devious lane to Brentford. Here they encountered several fugi- 
 tives from the great city, and as they approached Hounslow, 
 learnt from other wayfarers that a band of highwaymen, by whom 
 the heath was infested, had become more than usually daring 
 since the outbreak of the pestilence, and claimed a heavy tax 
 from all travellers. This was bad news to Leonard, who became 
 apprehensive for the safety of the bag of gold given to Nizza by 
 the enthusiast, and he would have taken another road, if it had 
 been practicable ; but as there was no alternative except to pro- 
 ceed, he put all the money he had about him into a leathern 
 purse, trusting that the highwaymen, if they attacked them, 
 would be content with this booty. 
 
 When about half way across the vast heath, which spread 
 around them, in a wild but not unpicturesque expanse, for many 
 miles on either side, Leonard perceived a band of horsemen, 
 amounting perhaps to a dozen, galloping towards them, and not 
 doubting they were the robbers in question, communicated his 
 suspicions to his companions. Neither Amabel nor Nizza 
 
THE JOURNEY. 243 
 
 Macascrec appeared much alarmed, but Blaize was so terrified 
 that he could scarcely keep his seat, and was with difficulty 
 prevented from turning his horse's head and riding off in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 By this time the highwaymen had come up. With loud oaths, 
 two of their number held pistols to the heads of Leonard and 
 Blaize, and demanded their money. The apprentice replied bv 
 drawing forth his purse, and besought the fellow to whom he pave 
 it not to maltreat his companion. The man rejoined with a 
 savage imprecation that he " would maltreat them both if they 
 did not instantly dismount and let him search the saddle-bags ;"' 
 and he was proceeding to drag Amabel from the saddle, when 
 Leonard struck him a violent blow with his heavy riding-whip, 
 which brought him to the ground. He was up again, however, 
 in an instant, and would have fired his pistol at the apprentice, 
 if a masked individual, who was evidently, from the richness of 
 his attire, and the deference paid him by the others, the captain 
 of the band, had not interfered. 
 
 " You are rightly served, Dick Dosset," said this person, " for 
 your rudeness to a lady. I will have none of my band guilty of 
 incivility, and if this young man had not punished you, I would 
 have done so myself. Pass free, my pretty damsel," he added, 
 bowing gallantly to Amabel; "you shall not be further mo- 
 lested." 
 
 Meamvhile, Blaize exhibited the contents of his pockets to the 
 other highwayman, who, having opened the box of rufuses and 
 smelt at the phial of plague-water, returned them to him with a 
 look of disgust, and bade him follow his companions. As Leonard 
 was departing, the captain of the band rode after him, and inquired 
 whether he had heard at what hour the king meant to leave 
 Whitehall. 
 
 " The court is about to adjourn to Oxford," he added, " and 
 the king and some of his courtiers will cross the heath to-day, 
 when I purpose to levy the same tax from his majesty that I do 
 from his subjects." 
 
 Leonard replied, that he was utterly ignorant of the king's 
 movements ; and explaining whence he came, the captain left 
 him. The intelligence he had thus accidentally obtained was 
 far from satisfactory to the apprentice. For some distance, their 
 road would be the same as that about to be taken by the monarch 
 and his attendants, amongst whom it was not improbaule 
 Rochester might be numbered ; and the possibility that the Earl 
 might overtake them and discover Amabel, filled him with 
 uneasiness. Concealing his alarm, however, he urged his steed 
 io a quicker pace, and proceeded briskly on his wa} T , glad, at 
 least, that he had not lost Solomon Eagle's gift to Nizza. Ama 
 bel's weakly condition compelled them to rest at frequent inter- 
 
 B2 
 
244 old saint paul'sl 
 
 vals, and it was not until evening was drawing in that thej 
 descended the steep hill leading to the beautiful village of Henley- 
 upon-Thames, where they proposed to halt for the night. 
 
 Crossing the bridge, they found a considerable number of the 
 inhabitants assembled in the main street and in the market-place, 
 in expectation of the king's passing through the town on his way 
 to Oxford, intimation of his approach having been conveyed by 
 avant-couriers. Leonard proceeded to the principal inn, and was 
 fortunate enough to procure accommodation. Having conducted 
 Amabel and Nizza to their room, he was repairing to the stable 
 with Blaize to see after their steeds, when a loud blowing of horns 
 was heard on the bridge, succeeded by the tramp of horses, and the 
 rattling of wheels, and the next moment, four valets in splendid 
 livery rode up, followed by a magnificent coach. The snouts of 
 the assemblage proclaimed that it was the king. The cavalcade 
 stopped before the inn, from the yard of which six fine horses 
 were brought and attached to the royal carriage, in place of others 
 which were removed. Charles was laughing heartily, and desired 
 his attendants, who were neither numerous nor well-armed, to 
 take care they were not robbed again between this place and 
 Oxford ; " Though," added the monarch, " it is now of little con- 
 sequence, since we have nothing to lose." 
 
 " Is it possible your majesty can have been robbed?" asked the 
 landlord, who stood cap in hand at the door of the carriage. 
 
 " I'faith, man, it is possible," rejoined the king. " We were 
 stopped on Hounslow Heath by a band of highwaymen, who car- 
 ried off two large coffers filled with gold, and would have eased 
 us of our swords and snuff-boxes, but for the interposition of 
 their captain, who, as we live, is one of the politest men breathing, 
 — is he not, Rochester ?" 
 
 Leonard Holt, who was among the crowd of spectators, started 
 at the mention of this name, and he trembled as the earl leaned 
 forward, in answer to the king's question. The eyes of the rivals 
 met at this moment, for both were within a few yards of each 
 other, and Rochester, whose cheek was flushed with anger, soli- 
 cited the king's permission to alight, but Charles, affirming it was 
 getting late, would not permit him, and as the horses were har- 
 nessed, and the drivers mounted, he ordered them to proceed 
 without delay. 
 
 Inexpressibly relieved by his rival's departure, Leonard returned 
 to the house, and acquainted Amabel with what had occurred. 
 Quitting Henley betimes on the following morning, they arrived 
 in about three hours at Wallingford, where they halted for some 
 time, and then pursuing their journey, reached Wantage at four 
 o'clock, where they tarried for an hour. Up to this hour, Leonard 
 had doubted the possibility of reaching their destination that 
 night ; but Amabel assuring him she felt no fatigue, he deter- 
 mined to push ?n. Accordingly, having refreshed their steeds, 
 
THE JOURXEY. 245 
 
 they set forward, and s.)on began to mount the beautiful downs 
 lying on the west of this ancient town. 
 
 Crossing these heights, whence they obtained the most magni- 
 ficent and extensive views of the surrounding country, they 
 reached in about three-quarters of an hour the pretty little hamlet 
 of Kingston Lisle. Here they again paused at a small inn at 
 the foot of a lofty hill, denominated, from a curious relic kept 
 there, the Blowing Stone. This rocky fragment, which is still 
 in existence, is perforated by a number of holes, which emit, if 
 blown into, a strange bellowing sound. Unaware of this circum- 
 stance, Leonard entered the house with the others, and had just 
 seated himself, when they were astounded by a strange unearthly 
 roar. Rushing forth, Leonard found Blaize with his cheeks 
 puffed out and his mouth applied to the stone, into which ha 
 was blowing with all his force, and producing the above-men- 
 tioned extraordinary noise. 
 
 Shortly after this, the party quitted the Blowing Stone, and 
 having toiled up the steep sides of the hill, they were amply 
 repaid on reaching its summit by one of the finest views they had 
 ever beheld. In fact, the hill on which they stood commanded 
 the whole of the extensive and beautiful vale of the White Horse, 
 which was spread out before them as far as the eye could reach, 
 like a vast panorama, disclosing a thousand fields covered with 
 abundant, though as yet immature crops. It was a goodly pro- 
 spect, and seemed to promise plenty and prosperity to the country. 
 Almost beneath them stood the reverend church of Uffington 
 over-topping the ancient village clustering round it. Numerous 
 other towers and spires could be seen peeping out of groves of 
 trees, which, together with the scattered mansions and farm- 
 houses surrounded by granges and stacks of hay and beans, 
 gave interest and diversity to the prospect. The two most 
 prominent objects in the view were the wooded heights of 
 Farringdon, on the one hand, and those of Abingdon on the 
 other. 
 
 Proceeding along the old Roman road, still distinctly marked 
 out, and running along the ridge of this beautiful chain of hills, 
 they arrived at an immense Roman encampment, vulgarly called 
 Uffingham Castle, occupying the crown of a hill. A shepherd, 
 who was tending a flock of sheep which were browsing on the 
 delicious herbage to be found within the vast circular space 
 enclosed by the inner vallum of the camp, explained its purpose, 
 and they could not but regard it with interest. He informed 
 them that they were in the neighbourhood of the famous White 
 Horse, a figure cut out of the turf on the hill side by the Saxons, 
 and visible for many miles. Conducting them to a point whence 
 they could survey this curious work, their guide next directed 
 them to Ashdown Lodge, which lay, he told them, at about four 
 miles distance. They had wandered a little out of their course 
 
246 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 but he accompanied them for a mile, until they came in sight of 
 a thick grove of trees clothing a beautiful valley, above which 
 could be seen the lofty cupola of the mansion. 
 
 Cheered by the sight, and invigorated by the fresh breeze 
 blowing in this healthful region, they pressed forward, and soon 
 drew near the mansion, which they found was approached by 
 four noble avenues. They had not advanced far, when a stal- 
 wart personage, six feet two high, and proportionately stoutly 
 made, issued from the covert. He had a gun over his shoulder, 
 and was attended by a couple of fine dogs. Telling them he 
 was called John Lutcombe, and was the Earl of Craven's game- 
 keeper, he inquired their business; and on being informed of 
 it, changed his surly manner to one of great cordiality, and 
 informed them that Mrs. Buscot — such was the name of Ama- 
 bel's aunt, — was at home, and would be heartily glad to see 
 them. 
 
 " I have often heard her speak of her brother, Mr. Bloundel, w " 
 he said, "and am well aware that he is an excellent man. Poor 
 soul ! she has been very uneasy about him and his family during 
 this awful dispensation, though she had received a letter to say 
 that he was about to close his house, and hoped, under the blessing 
 of Providence, to escape the pestilence. His daughter will be 
 welcome, and she cannot come to a healthier spot than Ashdown,, 
 nor to a better nurse than Mrs. Buscot." 
 
 With this, he led the way to the court-yard, and entering the 
 dwelling, presently returned with a middle-aged woman, whom. 
 Amabel instantly knew, from the likeness to her father, must be 
 her aunt. Mrs. Buscot caught her in her arms, and almost smo- 
 thered her with kisses. As soon as the first transports of surprise 
 and joy had subsided, the good housekeeper took her niece and 
 Nizza Macascree into the house, and desired John Lutcombe to 
 attend to the others. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ASHDOWN LODGE. 
 
 Erected by Inigo Jones, and still continuing in precisely the 
 same state as at the period of this history, Ashdown Lodge is a 
 large square edifice, built in the formal French taste of the seven- 
 teenth century, with immense casements, giving it the appear- 
 ance of being all glass, a high roof lighted by dormer windows, 
 terminated at each angle by a tall and not very ornamental 
 chimney, and surmounted by a lofty and lantern-like belvidere, 
 crowned in its turn by a glass cupola. The belvidere opens 
 vpon a square gallery defended by a broad balustrade, and over- 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE 24-7 
 
 looking the umbrageous masses and lovely hills around it. The 
 house, as has been stated, is approached by four noble avenues, 
 the timber constituting which, is of course much finer now than 
 at the period under consideration, and possesses a delightful old- 
 fashioned garden, and stately terrace. The rooms are lofty but 
 small, and there is a magnificent staircase, occupying nearly half 
 the interior of the building. Among other portraits decorating 
 the walls, is one of Elizabeth Stuart, daughter of James the 
 First, and Queen of Bohemia, for whom the first Earl of Craven 
 entertained so romantic an attachment, and to whom he was 
 supposed to be privately united. Nothing can be more secluded 
 than the situation of the mansion, lying as it does in the midst 
 of a gentle valley, surrounded by a thick wood, and without 
 having a single habitation in view. Its chief interest, however, 
 must always be derived from its connexion with the memory ot 
 the chivalrous and high-souled nobleman by whom it was erected, 
 and who made it occasionally his retreat after the death of his 
 presumed royal consort, which occurred about four years previous 
 to the date of this history. 
 
 Amabel was delighted with her new abode, and she experienced 
 the kindness of a parent from her aunt, with whom, owing to 
 circumstances, she had hot hitherto been personally acquainted, 
 having only seen her when too young to retain any recollection 
 of the event. The widow of a farmer, who had resided on Lord 
 Craven's estate near Kingston Lisle, Mrs. Buscot, after her hus- 
 band's death, had been engaged as housekeeper at Ashdown 
 Lodge, and had filled the situation for many years to the entire 
 satisfaction of her employer. She was two or three years older 
 than her brother, Mr. Bloundel ; but the perfect health she 
 enjoyed, and which she attributed to the salubrious air of the 
 downs, combined with her natural cheerfulness of disposition, 
 made her look much the younger of the two. Her features, 
 besides their kindly and benevolent expression, were extremely 
 pleasing, and must, some years ago, have been beautiful. Even 
 now, what with her fresh complexion, her white teeth, and plump 
 figure, she made no slight pretensions to comeliness. She pos- 
 sessed the same good sense and integrity of character as her 
 brother, together with his strong religious feeling, but entirely 
 unaccompanied by austerity. 
 
 Having no children, she was able to bestow her entire affections, 
 l-pon Amabel, whose sad story, when she became acquainted 
 with it, painfully affected her; nor was she less concerned at 
 her precarious state of health. For the first day or two after 
 their arrival, Amabel suffered greatly from the effects of '.lie 
 journey, but after that time, she gained strength so rapidly, that 
 Mrs. Buscot, who, at first, had well nigh despaired of her reco- 
 very, began to indulge a hope. The gentle sufferer would sit 
 throughout the day with her aunt and Nizza Macascrcc in the 
 
2i8 OLD SAINT PAUL'S 
 
 gallery near the belvidere, inhaling the pure breeze blowing 
 from the surrounding hills, and stirring the tree-tops beneath 
 her. 
 
 "I never expected so much happiness," she observed, on one 
 occasion, to Mrs. Buscot, "and begin to experience the truth of 
 Doctor Hodges' assertion, that with returning health, the desire 
 of life would return. I now wish to live." 
 
 " I am heartily glad to hear you sa} r so," replied Mrs. Buscot, 
 "and hold it a certain sign of your speedy restoration to health. 
 Before you have been a month with me, I expect to bring back 
 the roses to those pale cheeks." 
 
 " You are too sanguine, I fear, dear aunt," rejoined Amabel, 
 "but the change that has taken place in my feelings, may operate 
 beneficially upon my constitution." 
 
 " No doubt of it, my dear," replied Mrs. Buscot; "no doubt." 
 
 The good dame felt a strong inclination at this moment to 
 introduce a subject very near her heart, but feeling doubtful as 
 to its reception, she checked herself. The devoted attachment 
 of the apprentice to her niece, had entirely won her regard, and 
 she fondly hoped she should be able to wean Amabel from all 
 thought of the Earl of Rochester, and induce her to give her 
 hand to her faithful lover. With this view, she often spoke to 
 her of Leonard — of his devotion and constancy — his good looks 
 and excellent qualities, and though Amabel assented to all she 
 said, Mrs. Buscot was sorry to perceive that the impression she 
 desired was not produced. It was not so with Nizza Macascree. 
 Whenever Leonard's name was mentioned, her eye sparkled, her 
 cheek glowed, and she responded so warmly to all that was said 
 in his praise, that Mrs. Buscot soon found out the state of her 
 heart. The discovery occasioned her some little disquietude, 
 for the worthy creature could not bear the idea of making even 
 her niece happy at the expense of another. 
 
 As to the object of all this tender interest, he felt far happier 
 than he had done for some time. He saw Amabel every day, 
 and noted with unspeakable delight the gradual improvement 
 which appeared to be taking place in her health. The greater 
 part of his time, however, was not passed in her society, but in 
 threading the intricacies of the wood, or in rambling over the 
 neighbouring downs; and he not only derived pleasure from 
 these rambles, but his health and spirits, which had been not a 
 little shaken by the awful scenes he had recently witnessed, were 
 materialby improved. Here, at last, he seemed to have got rid 
 of the grim spectre which, for two months, had constantly haunted 
 him. No greater contrast can be conceived than his present quiet 
 life offered to the fearful excitement he had recently undergone, 
 lor hot and narrow thoroughfares reeking with pestilential effluvia, 
 resounding with frightful shrieks, or piteous cries, and bearing on 
 every side marks of the destructive progress of the scourge — for 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 249 
 
 these terrible sights and sounds — for the charnel horrors of the 
 plague-pit — the scarcely less revolting scenes at the pest-house — 
 the dismal bell announcing the dead-cart — the doleful cries of 
 the buriers — for graves surfeited with corruption, and streets 
 filled with the dying and the dead — and, above all, for the ever- 
 haunting expectation that a like fate might be his own, — he had 
 exchanged green hills, fresh breezes, spreading views, the song 
 of the lark, and a thousand other delights, and assurances of 
 health and contentment. Often, as he gazed from the ridge of 
 the downs into the wide-spread vale beneath, he wondered 
 whether the destroying angel had smitten any of its peaceful 
 habitations, and breathed a prayer for their preservation. 
 
 But the satisfaction he derived from having quitted the infected 
 city, was trifling compared with that of Blaize, whose sole anxiety 
 was lest he should be sent back to London. Seldom straying 
 further than the gates of the mansion, though often invited by 
 John Lutcombe to accompany him to some of the neighbouring 
 villages; having little to do, and less to think of, unless to cal- 
 culate how much he could consume at the next meal, — for he 
 had banished all idea of the plague, — he conceived himself at 
 the summit of happiness, and waxed so sleek and round that his 
 face shone like a full moon, while his doublet would scarcely 
 meet around his waist. 
 
 One da} 7 , about a fortnight after their arrival, and when things 
 were in this happy state, Amabel, who was seated as usual in the 
 galleiy at the summit of the house, observed a troop of horse- 
 men, very gallantly equipped, appear at the further end of the 
 northern avenue. An inexpressible terror seized her, and she 
 would have fled into the house, but her limbs refused their office. 
 
 "Look there !" she cried to Nizza, who, at that moment, pre- 
 sented herself at the glass door. " Look there !" she said, pointing 
 to the cavalcade; "what I dreaded has come to pass. The Earl 
 of Rochester has found me out, and is coming hither to carry 
 me off. But I will die rather than accompany him." 
 
 "You may be mistaken," replied Nizza, expressing a hope- 
 fulness, which her looks belied ; " it may be the Earl ol' Craven." 
 
 "You give tne new life," rejoined Amabel; "but no — no — 
 my aunt has told me that the good earl will not quit the city 
 during the continuance of the plague. And see! some cf the 
 horsemen have distinguished us, and are waving their hats. My 
 heart tells me the Earl of Rochester is amongst them. Give me 
 your arm, Nizza 9 and I will try to gain some place of conceal- 
 ment." 
 
 " Ay, let us fly," replied the other, assisting her towards the 
 door; "I am in equal danger with yourself, for Sir Paul Parra- 
 ticin is doubtless with them. Oh! where — where is Leonard?" 
 
 " He must be below," cried Amabel. " But he could not aid 
 us at this juncture; we must depend upon ourselves." 
 
250 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 Descending a short staircase, they entered Amabel's chamber, 
 and fastening the door, awaited with breathless anxiety the arrival 
 of the horsemen. Though the room whither they had retreated 
 was in the upper part of the house, they could distinctly hear 
 what was going on below, and shortly afterwards the sound of 
 footsteps on the stairs, blended with merry voices and loud 
 laughter — amid which, Amabel could distinguish the tones of 
 the Earl of Rochester — reached them. 
 
 While both were palpitating with fright, the handle of the 
 door was tried, and a voice announced that the apprentice was 
 without. 
 
 " All is lost !" he cried, speaking through the keyhole ; " the 
 king is here, and is accompanied by the Earl of Rochester and 
 other profligates." 
 
 "The king!" exclaimed Amabel, joyfully; "then 1 am no 
 longer apprehensive." 
 
 "As yet, no inquiries have been made after you," continued 
 Leonard, unconscious of the effect produced by his intelligence, 
 " but it is evident they know you are here. Be prepared, there- 
 fore." 
 
 " I am prepared," rejoined Amabel. And as she spoke, she 
 threw open the door and admitted Leonard. "Do not stay with 
 us," she added to him. " In case of need, I will throw myself 
 on his majesty's protection." 
 
 " It will avail you little," rejoined Leonard, distrustfully. 
 
 " I do not think so," said Amabel, confidently. " I have faith 
 in his acknowledged kindness of heart." 
 
 "Perhaps you are right," returned Leonard. "Mrs. Busco, 
 is at present with his majesty in the receiving-room. Will you 
 not make fast your door?" 
 
 "No," replied Amabel, firmly; "if the king will not defend 
 me, I will defend myself." 
 
 Leonard glanced at her with admiration, but he said nothing. 
 
 " Is Sir Paul Parravicin here ?" asked Nizza Macascree, with 
 great anxiety. 
 
 "I have not seen him," replied Leonard; "and I have care- 
 fully examined the countenances of all the king's attendants." 
 
 " Heaven be praised !" exclaimed Nizza. 
 
 At this juncture, Mrs. Buseot entered the room. Her looks 
 bespoke great agitation, and she trembled violently. 
 
 " You have no doubt heard from Leonard that the king and 
 his courtiers are below," she said. " His majesty inquired 
 whether you were here, and I did not dare to deceive him. He 
 desires to see you, and has sent me for you. What is to be 
 done?" she added, with a look of distraction. "I suppose you 
 must obey." 
 
 "There is no alternative," replied Amabel; "I will obey his 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 251 
 
 majesty's commands as soon as I can collect myself. Take back 
 that answer, dear aunt." 
 
 " Has Leonard told you that the Earl of Rochester is here ?" 
 pursued Mrs. Buscot. 
 
 Amabel replied in the affirmative. 
 
 "God grant that good may come of it!" cried Mrs. Buscot, 
 clasping her hands together, as she quitted the room; "but I am 
 sorely afraid." 
 
 A half-suppressed groan from the apprentice told that he 
 shared in her apprehensions. 
 
 " Leave us, Leonard," said Amabel ; " I would prepare my- 
 self for the interview." 
 
 The apprentice obeyed, and closing the door after him, 
 stationed himself at the foot of the staircase. Left alone with 
 Nizza, Amabel threw herself on her knees, and besought the 
 support of Heaven on this trying occasion. She then arose, and 
 giving her hand to Nizza, they went down stairs together. Leo- 
 nard followed them at a little distance, and with a beating heart. 
 Two gentlemen-ushers were posted at the door of the chamber 
 occupied by the king. Not far from them stood Mrs. Buscot, 
 who, having made known her niece to the officials, they instantly 
 admitted her, but ordered Nizza to remain outside. 
 
 On entering the room, Amabel at once discovered the king. 
 He was habited in a magnificent riding-dress, and was seated on 
 a rich fauteuil, around which were grouped a dozen gaily-attired 
 courtiers. Amongst these were the Earl of Rochester and Sir 
 George Etherege. As Amabel advanced, glances of insolent 
 curiosity were directed towards her, and Rochester, stepping 
 forward, offered to lead her to the king. She, however, declined 
 the attention. Greatly mortified, the earl would have seized her 
 hand ; but there was so much dignity in her deportment, so 
 much coldness in her looks, that in spite of his effrontery, he felt 
 abashed. Charles smiled at his favourite's rebuff, but, in com- 
 mon with the others, he could not help being struck by Amabel's 
 extraordinary beauty and natural dignity, and he observed, in an 
 undertone, to Etherege, " Is it possible this can be a grocer's 
 daughter ?" 
 
 " She passes for such, my liege," replied Etherege, with a 
 smile. " But I cannot swear to her parentage." 
 
 " Since I have seen her, I do not wonder at Rochester's extra- 
 vagant passion," rejoined the monarch. " But, odds fish! she 
 seems to care little for him." 
 
 Having approached within a short distance of the king, 
 Amabel would have prostrated herself before him, but he pre- 
 vented her. 
 
 " Nay, do not kneel, sweetheart," he said, " I am fully satis- 
 fied of 'your loyalty, and never exact homage from one of your 
 
£52 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 sex, but, on the contrary, am ever ready to pay it. I have heard 
 much of your attractions, and, what is seldom the case in such 
 matters, find they have not been overrated. The brightest of 
 our court beauties cannot compare with you." 
 
 " A moment ago, the fair Amabel might be said to lack 
 bloom," observed Etherege; "but your majesty's praises have 
 called a glowing colour to her cheek." 
 
 " Would you deign to grant me a moment's hearing, my 
 liege ?" said Amabel, looking steadfastly at the king. fc 
 
 " Not a moment's hearing merely, sweetheart," returned 
 Charles; "but an hour's, if you list. I could dwell on the 
 music of your tones for ever." 
 
 " I thank your majesty for your condescension," she replied; 
 " but I will not long trespass on your patience. What I have to 
 say concerns the Earl of Rochester." 
 
 " Stand forward, my lord," said Charles to the earl, " and let 
 us hear what complaint is to be made against you." 
 
 Rochester advanced, and threw a passionate and half-re- 
 proachful glance at Amabel. 
 
 " It may be improper for me to trouble your majesty on so 
 light a matter," said Amabel ; " but your kindness emboldens 
 me to speak unreservedly. You may be aware that this noble- 
 man once entertained, or feigned to entertain, an ardent attach- 
 ment to me." 
 
 " I need scarcely assure you, my liege," interposed Rochester, 
 " that it was no feigned passion. And it is needless to add, that 
 however ardently 1 felt towards my fair accuser then, my passion 
 has in nowise abated." 
 
 " I should wonder if it had," rejoined Charles, gallantly. 
 * C I will not contradict you, my lord," said Amabel; "it is 
 possible you may have loved me, though I find it difficult to 
 reconcile your professions of regard with your conduct — but this 
 is not to the purpose. Whether you loved me or not, I loved 
 you — deeply and devotedly. There is no sacrifice I would not 
 have made for him," she continued, turning to the king, " and 
 influenced by these feelings, and deluded by false promises, I 
 forgot my duty, and was rash enough to quit my home with 
 him." 
 
 " All this I have heard, sweetheart," replied Charles. " There 
 is nothing very remarkable in it. It is the ordinary course of 
 such affairs. I am happy to be the means of restoring your lover 
 to you, and, in fact, came hither for that very purpose." 
 
 " You mistake me, my liege," replied Amabel. " I do not 
 desire to have him restored to me. Fortunately for myself, I 
 have succeeded in mastering my love for him. The struggle has 
 well-nigh cost me my life — but I have conquered." 
 
 " I have yet to learn, sweetheart," observed Charles, with an 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 253 
 
 incredulous look, " that woman's love, if deeply fixed, can be 
 subdued." 
 
 " If I had not been supported by religion, my liege, I could 
 not have subdued it," rejoined Amabel. " Night and day, I 
 have passed in supplicating the Great Power that implanted this 
 fatal passion in my breast, and, at length, my prayers have pre- 
 vailed." 
 
 " Aha ! we have a devotee here !" thought Charles. " Am I 
 to understand, fair saint, that you would reject the earl, if he 
 were to offer you his hand ?" he asked. 
 
 " Unquestionably " replied Amabel, firmly. 
 
 " This is strange," muttered Charles. " The girl is evidently 
 in earnest. What says your lordship ?" he added to Rochester. 
 
 " That she shall be mine, whether she loves me or not," 
 replied the earl. " My pride is piqued to the conquest." 
 
 " No wonder ! — the resistless Rochester flouted by a grocer's 
 daughter. Ha! ha!" observed Charles, laughing, while the rest 
 of the courtiers joined in his merriment 
 
 "Oh! sire," exclaimed Amabel, throwing herself at the king's 
 feet, and bursting into tears, " do not abandon me, I beseech 
 you. I cannot requite the earl's attachment — and shall die if he 
 continues his pursuit. Command him — oh 1 command him to 
 desist." 
 
 "I fear you have not dealt fairly with me, sweetheart," said 
 the king. " There is a well-favoured youth without, whom the 
 earl pointed out as your father's apprentice. Have you trans- 
 ferred your affections to him ?" 
 
 " Your majesty has solved the enigma," observed Rochester, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " You wrong me, my lord," replied Amabel. " Leonard Holt 
 is without. Let him be brought into the royal presence and 
 interrogated ; and if he will affirm that I have given him the 
 slightest encoui'agement by look or word, or even state that he 
 himself indulges a hope of holding a place in my regards, I will 
 admit there is some foundation for the charge. I pray your 
 majesty to send for him." 
 
 " It is needless," replied Charles, coldly. " I do not doubt 
 your assertion. But you will do the carl an injustice as well as 
 yourself, if you do not allow him a fair hearing." 
 
 " If you will allow me five minutes alone with you, Amabei, 
 or will take a single turn with me on the terrace, I will engage 
 to remove every doubt," insinuated Rochester. 
 
 " You would fail to do so, my lord," replied Amabel. " The 
 time is gone by when those accents, once so winning in my ear, 
 can move me." 
 
 " At least give me the opportunity," implored the earl. 
 
 " No," replied Amabel, decidedly, " I will never willingly 
 
25 ■* OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 meet you more ; for though I am firm in my purpose, I do not 
 think it right to expose myself to temptation. And now that 
 I have put your majesty in full possession of my sentiments," she 
 added, to the king; " now that I have told you with what bitter 
 tears I have striven to wash out my error, — I implore you to 
 extend your protecting hand towards me, and to save me from 
 further persecution on the part of the earl." 
 
 " I shall remain at this place to-night," returned Charles. 
 " Take till to-morrow to consider of it, and if you continue in 
 the same mind, your request shall be granted." 
 
 " At least, enjoin the earl to leave me unmolested till then," 
 cried Amabel. 
 
 " Hum !" exclaimed the king, exchanging a look with Ro- 
 chester. 
 
 " For pity, sire, do not hesitate," cried Amabel, in a tone of 
 such agony that the good-natured monarch could not resist it. 
 
 "Well, well," he rejoined; "it shall be as you desire. Ro- 
 chester, you have heard our promise, and will act in conformity 
 with it." 
 
 The earl bowed carelessly. 
 
 " Nay, nay, my lord," pursued Charles, authoritatively, " my 
 commands shall be obeyed, and if you purpose otherwise, I will 
 place you under restraint." 
 
 " Your majesty's wishes are sufficient restraint," rejoined Ro- 
 chester ; " I am all obedience." 
 
 " It is well," replied Charles, " Are you satisfied, fair 
 damsel ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," replied Amabel. And making a profound and 
 grateful reverence to the king, she retired. 
 
 Nizza Macascree met her at the door, and it was fortunate she 
 did so, or Amabel, whose strength began to fail her, would 
 otherwise have fallen. While she was thus engaged, Charles 
 caught sight of the piper's daughter, and being greatly struck by 
 her beauty, inquired her name. 
 
 " Odds fish !"he exclaimed, when informed of it by Rochester, 
 "a piper's daughter ! She is far more beautiful than your mis- 
 tress." 
 
 " If I procure her for your majesty, will } r ou withdraw your 
 interdiction from me?" rejoined the earl. 
 
 " No — no — that is impossible, after the pledge I have given," 
 replied Charles. " But you must bring this lovely creature to 
 me anon. I am enchanted with her, and do not regret this long 
 ride, since it has brought her under my notice. ' 
 
 " Your majesty's wishes shall be obeyed," said Rochester. 
 " I will not wait till to-morrow for an interview with Amabel," 
 he added to himself. 
 
 Supported by Nizza Macascree and her aunt, and followed by 
 Leonard, Amabel contrived to reach her own chamber, and as 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 255 
 
 soon as she was sufficiently recovered from the agitation she had 
 experienced, detailed to them all that had passed in her inter- 
 view with the king. While the party were consulting together 
 as to the course to be pursued in this emergency, the tap of a 
 wand was heard at the door, and the summons being answered 
 by Mrs. Buscot, she found one of the ushers without who in- 
 formed her it was the king's pleasure that no one should leave 
 the house till the following day, without his permission. 
 
 " To ensure obedience to his orders," continued the usher, 
 *' his majesty requires that the keys of the stables be delivered 
 to the keeping of his chief page, Mr. Chiffinch, who has orders, 
 together with myself, to keep watch during the night." 
 
 So saying, he bowed and retired, while Mrs. Buscot returned 
 with this new and alarming piece of intelligence to the others. 
 
 " Why should the mandate be respected?" cried Leonard, in- 
 dignantly. " We have committed no crime, and ought not to be 
 detained prisoners. Trust to me, and I will find some means of 
 eluding their vigilance. If you will remain here to-morrow," he 
 added to Amabel, " you are lost." 
 
 " Do not expect any rational advice from me, my dear niece," 
 observed Mrs. Buscot, "for I am fairly bewildered." 
 
 " Shall I not forfeit the king's protection by disobeying his 
 injunctions?" replied Amabel. " I am safer here than if I were 
 to seek a new asylum, which would be speedily discovered." 
 
 " Heaven grant you may not have cause to repent your deci 
 sion !" cried Leonard, despondingly. 
 
 " I must now, perforce, quit you, my dear niece," said Mrs. 
 Buscot, though it breaks my heart to do so. His majesty's 
 arrival has thrown everything into confusion, and if I do not look- 
 after the supper, which is commanded at an early hour, it will 
 never be ready. As it is, there will be nothing fit to set before 
 him. What with my distress about you, and my anxiety about 
 the royal repast, I am well-nigh beside myself." 
 
 With this, she quitted the room, and Amabel signifying to 
 Leonard that she desired to be left alone with Nizza Macascree, 
 he departed at the same time. 
 
 As Mrs. Buscot had stated, the utmost confusion prevailed 
 below. The royal purveyor, and cook, who formed part of the 
 king's suite, were busily employed in the kitchen, and though 
 they had the whole household at their command, they made 
 rather slow progress at first, owing to the want of materials. In 
 a short time, however, this difficulty was remedied. Ducks were 
 slaughtered by the dozen ; fowls by the score, and a couple of 
 fat geese shared the same fate. The store-ponds were visited for 
 fish by John Lutcombe ; and as the country abounded with 
 game, a large supply of pheasants, partridges, and rabbits, was 
 speedily procured by the keeper and his assistants. Amongst 
 others, Blaize lent a helping hand in this devastation of the poultry 
 
256 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 yard, and he had just returned to the kitchen, and commenced 
 plucking one of the geese, when he was aroused by a slap on 
 the shoulder, and looking up beheld Pillichody. 
 
 " What ho ! my little Blaize, my physic-taking porter," cried 
 the bully ; " how wags the world with you ? And how is my 
 pretty Patience ? How is that peerless kitchen-maiden ? By 
 the god of love ! I am dying to behold her again." 
 
 "Patience is well enough, for aught I know," replied Blaize, in 
 a surly tone. " But it is useless for you to think of her. She is 
 betrothed to me." 
 
 " I know it," replied Pillichody ; " but do not suppose you are 
 the sole master of her affections. The little charmer has too 
 good taste for that. * Blaize,' said she to me, ' will do very well 
 for a husband, but he cannot expect me to continue faithful to 
 him.' " 
 
 " Cannot I ?" exclaimed the porter, reddening. " Fiends take 
 her ! but 1 do ? When did she say this ?" 
 
 " When I last visited your master's house," replied Pillichody. 
 " Sweet soul ! I shall never forget her tender looks, nor the 
 kisses she allowed me to snatch from her honeyed lips when 
 your back was turned. The very recollection of them is en- 
 chanting." 
 
 " Zounds and fury 1" cried Blaize, transported with rage. " If 
 I am only a porter, while you pretend to be a major, I will let 
 you see I am the better man of the two." And taking the goose 
 by the neck, he swung it round his head like a flail, and began 
 to batter Pillichody about the face with it. 
 
 "S'death!" cried the bully, endeavouring to draw his sword, 
 "if you do not instantly desist, I will treat you like that accursed 
 bird — cut your throat, pluck, stuff, roast, and eat you after- 
 wards." He was, however, so confounded by the attack that he 
 could offer no resistance, and in retreating, caught his foot against 
 the leg of a table, and fell backwards on the floor. Being now 
 completely at the porter's mercy, and seeing that the latter was 
 preparing to pursue his advantage with a rolling-pin which he 
 had snatched from the dresser, he besought him piteously to 
 spare him. 
 
 " Recant all you have said," cried Blaize, brandishing the 
 rolling-pin over him. " Confess that you have calumniated Pa- 
 tience. Confess that she rejected your advances, if you ever 
 dared to make any to her. Confess that she is a model of purity 
 and constancy. Confess all this, villain, or I will break every 
 bone in your body." 
 
 " I do confess it," replied Pillichody, abjectly. " She is all 
 you describe. She never allowed me greater freedom than a 
 squeeze of the hand." 
 
 "That was too much," replied the porter, belabouring him 
 with the rolling-pin. " Swear that you will never attempt such 
 a liberty again, or I will pummel you to death. Swear it." 
 
ASH DOWN LODGE. 257 
 
 * I swear," replied Pillichody. 
 
 " Before I allow you to rise, I must disarm you to prevent 
 mischief," cried Blaize. And kneeling down upon the prostrate 
 bully, who groaned aloud, he drew his long blade from his side. 
 " There, now you may get up," he added. 
 
 So elated was Blaize with his conquest, that he could do 
 nothing for some time but strut up and down the kitchen with 
 the sword over his shoulder, to the infinite diversion of the other 
 domestics, and especially of John Lutcombe, who chanced to 
 make his appearance at the time, laden with a fresh supply of 
 game. 
 
 " Why, Blaize, man," cried the keeper, approvingly, " I did 
 not give you credit for half so much spirit." 
 
 " No man's courage is duly appreciated until it has been tried," 
 rejoined Blaize. " I would combat with you, gigantic John, if 
 Patience's fidelity were called in question." 
 
 Pillichody, meanwhile, had retired with a discomfited air into 
 a corner, where he seated himself on a stool, and eyed the porter 
 askance, as if meditating some terrible retaliation. Secretly ap- 
 prehensive of this, and thinking it becoming to act with gene- 
 rosity towards his foe, Blaize marched up to him, and extended 
 his hand in token of reconciliation. To the surprise of all, 
 Pillichody did not reject his overtures. 
 
 " I have a great regard for you, friend Blaize," he said, 
 " otherwise I should never rest till I had been repaid, with ter- 
 rible interest, for the indignities I have endured." 
 
 " Nay, heed them not," replied Blaize. " You must make 
 allowances for the jealous feelings you excited. I love Patience 
 better than my life." 
 
 " Since you put it in that light," rejoined Pillichody, " I am 
 willing to overlook the offence. Snakes and scorpions 1 no man 
 can be a greater martyr to jealousy than myself. I killed three 
 of my most intimate friends for merely presuming to ogle the 
 widow of Watling-street, who would have been mine, if she had 
 not died of the plague." 
 
 " Don't talk of the plague, I beseech you," replied Blaize, with 
 a shudder. " It is a subject never mentioned here." 
 
 " I am sorry I alluded to it, then," rejoined Pillichody. " Give 
 me back my sword. Nay, fear nothing. I entirely forgive you, 
 and am willing to drown the remembrance of our quarrel in a 
 bottle of sack." 
 
 Readily assenting to the proposition, Blaize obtained the key 
 of the cellar from the butler, and adjourning thither with Pil- 
 lichody, they seated themselves on a cask with a bottle of sack 
 and a couple of large glasses on a stool between them. 
 
 " I suppose you know why I am come hither ?" observed tb<* 
 major, smacking his lips after his second bumper. 
 
 8 
 
258 old saint paul's. 
 
 " Not precisely," replied Blaize. " But I presume your visit 
 has some reference to Mistress Amabel." 
 
 "A shrewd guess," rejoined Pillichody. "And this reminds 
 me that we have omitted to drink her health." 
 
 " Her better health," returned Blaize, emptying his glass. 
 "Heaven be praised! she has plucked up a little since we came 
 here." 
 
 " She would soon be herself again if she were united to the 
 Earl of Rochester," said Pillichody. 
 
 " There you are wrong," replied Blaize. " She declares she 
 has no longer any regard for him." 
 
 " Mere caprice, believe me," rejoined Pillichody. " She loves 
 him better than ever." 
 
 " It may be so," returned Blaize, " for Patience, who ought to 
 know something of the matter, assured me she was dying for the 
 earl. And if she had not told me the contrary herself, I should 
 not have believed it." 
 
 " Did she tell you so in the presence of Leonard ?" asked 
 Pillichody. 
 
 " Why, now I bethink me, he was present," replied Blaize. 
 involuntarily putting his hand to his shoulder, as he recalled the 
 horsewhipping he had received on that occasion. 
 
 "I knew it !" cried Pillichody. " She is afraid to confess her 
 attachment to the earl. Is Leonard as much devoted to her as 
 ever ?" 
 
 " I fancy so," replied Blaize ; " but she certainly gives him no 
 encouragement." 
 
 " Confirmation !" exclaimed Pillichody. " But fill your glass 
 We will drink to the earl's speedy union with Amabel." 
 
 " Not so loud," cried Blaize, looking uneasily round the cellar. 
 " I should not like Leonard to overhear us." 
 
 " Neither should I," returned Pillichody, " for I have some- 
 thing to say to you respecting him." 
 
 " You need not propose any more plans for carrying off Ama- 
 bel," cried Blaize, " for I wont take any part in them." 
 
 " I have no such intention," rejoined Pillichody. " The truth 
 is," he added mysteriously, " I am inclined to side vwth you and 
 Leonard. But as we have finished our bottle, suppose we take a 
 turn in the courtyard." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied Blaize. 
 
 Immediately after Amabel's departure, Charles proceeded with 
 his courtiers to the garden, and continued to saunter up and down 
 the terrace for some time, during which he engaged Rochester in 
 conversation, so as to give him no pretext for absenting himself. 
 The king next ascended to the belvidere, and having surveyed 
 the prospect from it, was about to descend when he caught a 
 glimpse of Nizza Macascree on the great staircase, and instantly 
 flew towards her. 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 259 
 
 "I must have a word with you, sweetheart," he cried, taking 
 her hand, which she did not dare to withdraw. 
 
 Ready to sink with confusion, Nizza suffered herself to be led 
 towards the receiving-room. Motioning to the courtiers to remain 
 without, Charles entered it with his blushing companion, and 
 after putting several questions to her, which she answered with 
 great timidity and modesty, inquired into the state of her heart. 
 
 " Answer me frankly/' he said. " Are your affections 
 engaged ?" 
 
 " Since your majesty deigns to interest yourself so much about 
 me," replied Nizza, " I will use no disguise. They are." 
 
 " To whom ?" demanded the king. 
 
 " To Leonard Holt," was the answer. 
 
 " What ! the apprentice who brought Amabel hither !" cried 
 the king. " Why, the Earl of Rochester seemed to intimate that 
 he was in love with Amabel. Is it so ?" 
 
 " I cannot deny it," replied Nizza, hanging down her head. 
 
 " If this is the case, it is incumbent on me to provide you with. 
 a new lover," replied Charles. " What will you say, sweetheart, 
 if I tell you you have made a royal conquest ?" 
 
 "I should tremble to hear it," replied Nizza. "But your 
 majesty is jesting with me." 
 
 " On my soul, no !" rejoined the king, passionately. " I ha 
 never seen beauty equal to yours, sweetheart, — never have been 
 so suddenly — so completely captivated before." 
 
 " Oh ! do not use this language towards me, my liege," replied 
 Nizza, dropping on her knee before him. " I am unworthy your 
 notice. My heart is entirely given to Leonard Holt." 
 
 " You will speedily forget him in the brilliant destiny which 
 awaits you, child," returned Charles, raising her. " Do not 
 bestow another thought on the senseless dolt who can prefer 
 Amabel's sickly charms to your piquant attractions. By Heaven ! 
 you shall be mine." 
 
 " Never I" exclaimed Nizza, extricating herself from his grasp, 
 and rushing towards the door. 
 
 " You fly in vain," cried the king, laughingly pursuing her. 
 
 As he spoke, the door opened, and Sir Paul Parravicin entered 
 the room. The knight started on seeing how matters stood, and 
 the king looked surprised and angry. Taking advantage of their 
 embarrassment, Nizza made good her retreat, and hurrying to 
 Amabel's chamber, closed and bolted the door. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" cried Amabel, startled by her agitated 
 appearance. 
 
 " Sir Paul Parravicin is here," replied Nizza. " I have seen 
 him. But that is not all. I am unlucky enough to have 
 attracted the king's fancy. He has terrified me with his pro- 
 posals." 
 
 82 
 
26<J OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 " Oar persecution is never to end," rejoined Amabel ; " you 
 Ave as unfortunate as myself." 
 
 " And there is no possibility of escape," returned Nizza, 
 bursting into tears ; " we are snared like birds in the nets of the 
 fowler." 
 
 " You can fly with Leonard, if you choose," replied Amabel. 
 
 " And leave you — impossible !" rejoined Nizza. 
 
 "There is nothing for it, then, but resignation," returned 
 Amabel. " Let us put a firm trust in Heaven, and no ill can 
 befal us." 
 
 After passing several hours of the greatest disquietude, they 
 were about to retire to rest, when Mrs. Buscot tapped at the door, 
 and making herself known, was instantly admitted. 
 
 "Alas!"' she cried, clasping her niece round the neck, "I 
 tremble to tell you what I have heard. JS -*nite the king's injunc- 
 tions, the wicked Earl of Rochester is d<_ ermined to see you 
 before morning, and to force you to compliance with his wishes. 
 You must fly as soon as it is dark." 
 
 " But how am I to fly, dear aunt?" rejoined Amabel. "You 
 yourself know that the keys of the stable are taken away, and 
 that two of the king's attendants will remain on the watch all 
 night. How will it be possible to elude their vigilance ?" 
 
 "Leave Leonard to manage it," replied Mrs. Buscot. "Only 
 prepare to set out. John Lutcombe will guide you across the 
 downs to Kingston Lisle, where good Mrs. Compton will take 
 care of you, and when the danger is over, you can return to me. 1 " 
 
 "It is a hazardous expedient," rejoined Amabel, "and I 
 would rather run all risks, and remain here. If the earl should 
 resort to valence, I can appeal to the king for protection." 
 
 " If you have any regard for me, fly," cried Nizza Macascree. 
 " I am lost if I remain here till to-morrow." 
 
 " For your sake I will go, then," returned Amabel. " But I 
 have a foreboding that I am running into the teeth of danger." 
 
 " Oh ! say not so," rejoined Mrs. Buscot. " I am persuaded 
 it is for the best. I must leave you now, but I will send Leonard 
 to you." 
 
 " It is needless," replied Amabel. " Let him come to us at 
 the proper time. We will be ready." 
 
 To explain the cause of Mrs. Buscot's alarm, it will be neces- 
 sary to return to the receiving-room, and ascertain what occurred 
 after Nizza's flight. Charles, who at first had been greatly 
 annoyed by Parravicin's abrupt entrance, speedily recovered his 
 temper, and laughed at the other's forced apologies." 
 
 "I find I have a rival in your majesty," observed the knight. 
 *' It is unlucky for me that you have encountered Nizza. 
 Her charms were certain to inflame you. But when I tell you 
 I am desperately enamoured of her, I am persuaded you will not 
 interfere with me." 
 
ASHDOWX LODCH 261 
 
 "I will tell you what I will do," replied the good-humoured 
 monarch, after a moment's reflection. " I remember your men- 
 tioning that you once played with a Captain Disbrowe for his 
 wife, and won her from him. We will play for this girl in the 
 same manner." 
 
 " But your majesty is a far more skilful player than Disbrowe," 
 replied Parravicin, reluctantly. 
 
 " It matters not," rejoined the monarch ; " the chances will be 
 more equal — or rather the advantage will be greatly on your 
 side, for you are allowed to be the luckiest and best player at my 
 court. If I win, she is mine. If, on the contrary, fortune favours 
 you, I resign her." 
 
 " Since there is no avoiding it, I accept the challenge," replied 
 Parravicin. 
 
 " The decision shall not be delayed an instant," cried Charles 
 " What, ho !— dice I— dice !" 
 
 An attendant answering the summons, he desired that the other 
 courtiers should be admitted, and dice brought. The latter order 
 could not be so easily obeyed, there being no such articles at 
 Ashdown ; and the attendants were driven to their wits' ends, 
 when Pillichody chancing to overhear what was going forward, pro- 
 duced a box and dice, which were instantly conveyed to the king, 
 and the play commenced. Charles, to his inexpressible delight 
 and Parravicin's chagrin, came off the winner, and the mortifi- 
 cation of the latter was increased by the laughter and taunts of 
 the spectators. 
 
 "You are not in your usual luck to-day," observed Rochester 
 to him, as they walked aside. 
 
 " For all this, do not think I will surrender Nizza," replied 
 Parravicin, in a low tone, " I love her too well for that." 
 
 " I cannot blame you," replied Rochester. " Step this way," 
 he added, drawing him to the further end of the room. " It is 
 my intention to carry off Amabel to-night, notwithstanding old 
 Rowley's injunctions to the contrary, and I propose to accom- 
 plish my purpose in the following manner. I will frighten her 
 into flying with Leonard Holt, and will then secretly follow her. 
 Nizza Macascree is sure to accompany her, and will, therefore, 
 be in your power." 
 
 " I see 1" cried Parravicin. " A capital project I" 
 
 " Pillichody has contrived to ingratiate himself with Blaize," 
 pursued the earl, " and through him the matter can be easily 
 managed. The keys of the stables, which are now intrusted to 
 Chifrmch, shall be stolen — the horses set free — and the two 
 damsels caught in the trap prepared for them, while the only 
 person blamed in the matter will be Leonard." 
 
 "Bravo!" exclaimed Parravicin. "I am impatient for the 
 6cheme to be put into execution." 
 
 "I will set about 't at once," returned Rochester. 
 
262 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 And separating from Parravicin, he formed some excuse for 
 quitting the royal presence. 
 
 About an hour afterwards, Pillichody sought out Blaize, and 
 told him, with a very mysterious air, that he had something to 
 tonfide to him. 
 
 " You know my regard for the Earl of Rochester and Sir Paul 
 Parravicin," he said, " and that I would do anything an honour- 
 able man ought to do to assist them. But there are certain 
 bounds which even friendship cannot induce me to pass. They 
 meditate the worst designs against Amabel and Nizza Macascree, 
 and intend to accomplish their base purpose before daybreak. I 
 therefore give you notice, that you may acquaint Leonard Holt 
 with the dangerous situation of the poor girls, and contrive their 
 escape in the early part of the night. I will steal the keys of the 
 stable for you from Chiffinch, and will render you every 
 assistance in my power. But if you are discovered, you must 
 not betray me." 
 
 "Not for the world!" replied Blaize. "I am sure we are 
 infinitely obliged to you. It is a horrible design, and must 
 be prevented. I wish all this flying and escaping was over. 
 I desire to be quiet, and am quite sorry to leave this charming 
 place." 
 
 " There is no alternative now," rejoined Pillichod} 7 . 
 
 " So it appears," groaned Blaize. 
 
 The substance of Pillichody's communication was immediately 
 conveyed to Leonard, who told Blaize to acquaint his informer 
 that he should have two pieces of gold, if he brought them the 
 keys. To obtain them was not very difficult, and the bully was 
 aided in accomplishing the task by the Earl of Rochester in the 
 following manner. Chiffinch was an inordinate drinker, and satis- 
 fied he could turn this failing to account, the earl went into 
 the hall where he was stationed, and after a little conversation, 
 called for a flask of wine. It was brought, and while they were 
 quaffing bumpers, Pillichody, who had entered unperceived, con- 
 trived to open a table-drawer in which the keys were placed, 
 and slip them noiselessly into his doublet. He then stole away, 
 and delivered his prize to Blaize, receiving in return the promised 
 reward, and chuckling to himself at the success of his roguery. 
 The keys were conveyed by the porter to Leonard, and the latter 
 handed" them in his turn to John Lutcombe, who engaged to have 
 the horses at the lower end of the south avenue an hour before 
 midnight. 
 
263 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 KINGSTON LISLE. 
 
 Ar.ouT half-past ten, and when it was supposed that the king 
 and his courtiers had retired to rest (for early hours were kept 
 in those days), Mrs. Buscot and Leonard repaired to Amabel's 
 chamber. The good housekeeper noticed with great uneasiness 
 that her niece looked excessively pale and agitated, and she 
 would have persuaded her to abandon all idea of flight, if she 
 had not feared that her stay might be attended with still worse 
 consequences. 
 
 Before the party set out, Mrs. Buscot crept down stairs to see 
 that all was safe, and returned almost instantly, with the very 
 satisfactory intelligence that Chiffinch was snoring in a chair in 
 the hall, and that the usher had probably retired to rest, as he 
 was nowhere to he seen. Not a moment, therefore, was to be 
 lost, and they descended the great staircase as noiselessly as 
 possible. So far all had gone well ; but on gaining the hall, 
 Amabel's strength completely deserted her, and if Leonard had 
 not caught her in his arms, she must have fallen. He was hurry- 
 ing forward with his burden towards a passage on the right, 
 when Chiffinch, who had been disturbed by the noise, suddenly 
 started to his feet, and commanded him to stop. At thi> 
 moment, a figure enveloped in a cloak darted from behind a 
 door, and extinguishing the lamp which Chiffinch had taken from 
 the table, seized him with a powerful grasp. All was now buried 
 in darkness, and while Leonard Holt was hesitating what to do, 
 he heard a voice, which he knew to be that of Pillichody, 
 whisper in his hear, " Come with me — I will secure your retreat. 
 Quick ! quick !" 
 
 Suffering himself to be drawn along, and closely followed by 
 Nizza Macascree and Mrs. Buscot, Leonard crossed the dining- 
 chamber, not without stumbling against some of the furniture by 
 the way, and through an open window into the court, where he 
 found Blaize awaiting him. Without waiting for thanks, Pilli- 
 chody then disappeared, and Mrs. Buscot, having pointed out the 
 course he ought to pursue, bade him farewell. 
 
 Hurrying across the court, he reached the south avenue, but 
 had not proceeded far when it became evident, from the lights 
 at the windows, as well as from the shouts and other noises pro- 
 ceeding from the court, that their flight was discovered. En- 
 cumbered as he was by his lovely burden, Leonard ran on so 
 swiftly that Nizza Macascree and Blaize could scarcely keep up 
 with him. They found John Lutcombe at the end of the avenue 
 with the horses, and mounting them, set off along the downs, 
 accompanied by the keeper, who acted as their guide. Striking 
 
264 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 off on the right, they came to a spot covered over with immense 
 grey stones, resembling those rocky fragments used by the 
 Druids in the construction of a cromlech, and, as it was quite 
 dark, it required some caution in passing through them. Guided 
 by the keeper, who here took hold of the bridle of his horse, 
 Leonard threaded the pass with safety; but Blaize was not 
 equally fortunate. Alarmed by the sounds in the rear, and not 
 attending to the keeper's caution, he urged his horse on, and the 
 animal coming in contact with a stone, stumbled, and precipi- 
 tated him and Nizza Macascree to the ground. Luckily, neither 
 of them fell against the stone, or the consequences might have 
 oeen fatal. John Lutcombe instantly flew to their aid, but 
 before he reached them, Nizza Macascree had regained her feet. 
 Blaize, however, who was considerably shaken and bruised by 
 the fall, was liot quite so expeditious, and his dilatoriness so pro- 
 voked the keeper, that, seizing him in his arms, he lifted him 
 into the saddle. Just as Nizza Macascree was placed on the 
 pillion behind him, the tramp of horses was heard rapidly 
 approaching. In another moment their pursuers came up, and 
 the foremost, whose tones proclaimed him the Earl of Rochester, 
 commanded them to stop. Inexpressibly alarmed, Amabel 
 could not repress a scream, and guided by the sound, the earl 
 dashed to her side and seized the bridle of her steed. 
 
 A short struggle took place between him and Leonard, in 
 which the latter strove to break away; but the earl, drawing his 
 sword, held it to his throat. 
 
 " Deliver up your mistress instantly," he cried, in a menacing 
 tone, " or you are a dead man." 
 
 Leonard returned a peremptory refusal. 
 
 " Hold !" exclaimed Amabel, springing from the horse. " I 
 will not be the cause of bloodshed. I implore you, my lord, to 
 desist from this outrage. You will gain nothing by it but my 
 death." 
 
 " Let him touch you at his peril," cried John Lutcombe, 
 rushing towards them, and interposing his stalwart person 
 between her and the earl. 
 
 " Stand aside, dog !" cried Rochester, furiously, " or I will 
 trample you beneath my horse's hoofs." 
 
 "You must first get near me to do it," rejoined the keeper. 
 And as he spoke, he struck the horse so violent a blow with a 
 stout oaken cudgel with which he was provided, that the animal 
 became unmanageable, and dashed across the downs to some 
 distance with his rider. 
 
 Meanwhile, Parravicin having ridden up with Pillichody (for 
 they proved to be the earl's companions,) assailed Blaize, and 
 commanded him to deliver up Nizza Macascree. Scared almost 
 out of his senses, the porter would have instantly complied, if the. 
 piper's daughter had not kept fast hold of him, and reproaching 
 
KINGSTON LISLE. 2C> 
 
 him with his cowardice, screamed loudly for help. Heedless of 
 her cries, Parravicin seized her, and strove to drag her from the 
 horse ; but she only clung the closer to Blaize, and the other, 
 expecting every moment to pay another visit to the ground, 
 added his vociferations for assistance to hers. 
 
 " Leave go your hold," he cried, to Pillichody, who had seized 
 him on the other side by the collar. " Leave go, I say, or you 
 will rend my jerkin asunder. What are you doing here ? I 
 thought you were to help us to escape." 
 
 " So I have done," rejoined Pillichody, bursting into a loud 
 laugh ; " and I am now helping to catch you again. What a 
 blind buzzard you must be not to perceive the net spread for 
 you ! Deliver up Nizza Macascree without more ado, or, by all 
 the fiends, I will pay you off for your dastardly assault upon me 
 this morning." 
 
 " I cannot deliver her up," cried Blaize, " she sticks to me as 
 fast as a burr. I shall be torn asunder between you. Help! 
 help!" 
 
 Parravicin having dismounted, now tore away Nizza Macas- 
 cree, and was just about to transfer her to his own steed, when 
 John Lutcombe, having driven away the earl in the manner before 
 described, came to the rescue. One blow from his cudgel 
 stretched the knight on the sod, and liberated Nizza Macascree, 
 who instantly flew to her perserver. Finding how matters stood, 
 and that he was likely to be well backed, Blaize plucked up his 
 courage, and grappled with Pillichody. In the struggle they 
 both tumbled to the ground. The keeper rushed towards them, 
 and seizing Pillichody, began to belabour him soundly. In vain 
 the bully implored mercy. He underwent a severe chastise- 
 ment, and Blaize added a few kicks to the shower of blows pro- 
 ceeding from the keeper, crying, as he dealt them, " Who is the 
 buzzard now, I should like to know ?" 
 
 By this time, Parravicin had regained his legs, and the Earl 
 of Rochester, having forced back his steed, both drew their 
 swords, and burning for vengeance, prepared to renew the 
 charge. The affair might have assumed a serious aspect, if it 
 had not chanced that at this juncture lights were seen hurrying 
 along the avenue, and the next moment, a large party issued 
 from it. 
 
 " It is the king !" cried Rochester. " What is to be done ?" 
 
 " Our prey must be abandoned," rejoined Parravicin. " It 
 will never do to be caught here." 
 
 With this he sprang upon his steed, and disappeared across 
 the downs with the earl. 
 
 John Lutcombe, on perceiving the approach of the torch- 
 bearers, instantly abandoned Pillichody, and assisting Blaize to 
 the saddle, placed Nizza behind him. Leonard, likewise, who 
 had dismounted to support Amabel, replaced her in the pillion, 
 
2b'6 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 and in a few seconds the party were in motion. Pillichody, who 
 was the only person now left, did not care to wait for the king's 
 arrival, but snatching the bridle of his steed, which was quietly 
 grazing at a little distance, mounted him, and galloped off in the 
 direction which he fancied had been taken by the earl and his 
 companion. 
 
 Guided by the keeper, who ran beside them, the fugitives 
 proceeded for a couple of miles at a rapid pace over the downs, 
 when, it not appearing that they were followed, John Lutcombe 
 halted for a moment to recover breath. The fresh air had in 
 some degree revived Amabel, and the circumstance of their pro- 
 vidential deliverance raised the spirits of the whole party. Soon 
 after this, they reached the ridge of the downs, the magnificent 
 view from which was completely hidden by the shades of night, 
 and tracking the old Roman road for about a mile, descended 
 the steep hill in the direction of the Blowing Stone. Skirting a 
 thick grove of trees, they presently came to a gate, which the 
 keeper opened, and led them through an orchard towards what 
 appeared to be in the gloom a moderately-sized and comfortable 
 habitation. 
 
 " The owner of this house, Mrs. Compton," observed John 
 Lutcombe, to Amabel, "is a widow, and the kindest lady in 
 Berkshire. A message has been sent by your aunt to beg her 
 to afford you an asylum for a few days, and I will answer for it 
 you will be hospitably received." 
 
 As he spoke, the loud barking of a dog was heard, and an old 
 grey-headed butler was seen advancing towards them with a 
 lantern in his hand. At the same time, a groom issued from the 
 stable on the right, accompanied by the dog in question, and 
 hastening towards them, assisted them to dismount. The dog 
 seemed to recognise the keeper, and leapt upon him, licked his 
 hand, and exhibited other symptoms of delight. 
 
 "What, Ringwood," cried the keeper, patting his head, "dost 
 thou know thy old master again ? 1 see you have taken good 
 care of him, Sam," he added to the groom. " I knew I was 
 placing him into good hands when I gave him to Mrs. Compton." 
 
 " Ay, ay, he can't find a better home, I fancy," said the groom. 
 
 "Will it please you to walk this way, ladies?" interposed the 
 butler. "My mistress has been expecting you for sometime, 
 and had become quite uneasy about you." So saying, he led 
 the way through a garden, filled with the odours of a hundred 
 unseen flowers, and ushered them into the house. 
 
 Mrs. Compton, an elderly lady, of very pleasing exterior, 
 received them with great kindness, and conducted them to a 
 comfortable apartment, surrounded with book-shelves and old 
 family portraits, where refreshments were spread out for them. 
 The good old lady seemed particularly interested in Amabel, 
 and pressed her, but in vain, to partake of the refreshments. 
 

 KINGSTON LISLE. 267 
 
 With extreme delicacy, she refrained from inquiring into the 
 cause of their visit, and seeing that they appeared much fatigued, 
 rang for a female attendant, and conducted them to a sleeping- 
 chamber, where she took leave of them for the night. Amabel 
 was delighted with her kind hostess, and contrary to her expec- 
 tations and to those of Nizza Macascree, enjoyed undisturbed 
 repose. She awoke in the morning greatly refreshed, and after 
 attiring herself, gazed through her chamber window. It looked 
 upon a trim and beautiful garden, with a green and mossy plot 
 carved out into quaintly-fashioned beds, filled with the choicest 
 flowers, and surrounded by fine timber, amid which a tall fir-tree 
 appeared proudly conspicuous. Mrs. Compton, who, it appeared, 
 always arose with the sun, was busied in tending her flowers, 
 and as Amabel watched her interesting pursuits, she could scarcely 
 help envying her. 
 
 " What a delightful life 3 r our mistress must lead," she observed 
 to a female attendant who was present. " I cannot imagine 
 greater happiness than hers." 
 
 " My mistress ought to be happy," said the attendant; "for 
 there is no one living who docs more good. Not a cottage nor 
 a farm-house in the neighbourhood but she visits to inquire 
 whether she can be of any service to its inmate, and wherever 
 her services are required, they are always rendered. Mrs. 
 Compton's name will never be forgotten in Kingston Lisle." 
 
 At this moment, Amabel caught sight of the benevolent coun- 
 tenance of the good old lady looking up at the window, and a 
 kindly greeting passed between them. Ringwood, who was a 
 privileged intruder, was careering round the garden, and though 
 his mistress watched his gambols round her favourite flower-beds 
 with some anxiety, she did not check him. Amabel and Nizza 
 now went down stairs, and Mrs. Compton returning from the 
 garden, all the household, including Leonard and Blaize, assem- 
 bled in the breakfast-room for morning prayers. 
 
 Breakfast over, Mrs. Compton entered into conversation with 
 Amabel, and ascertained all the particulars of her history. She 
 was greatly interested in it, but did not affect to conceal the 
 anxiety it gave her. 
 
 "Yours is really a very dangerous position," she said, "and 1 
 should be acting unfairly towards you, if I told you otherwise. 
 However, I will give you all the protection in my power, and I 
 trust your retreat may not be discovered." 
 
 Mrs. Compton's remark did not tend to dispel Amabel's 
 uneasiness, and both she and Nizza Macascree passed a day of 
 great disquietude. 
 
 In the meantime, Leonard and Blaize were treated with great 
 hospitality by the old butler in the servants' hall ; and though 
 the former was not without apprehension that their retreat might 
 be discovered, he trusted, if it were so, to some fortunate chance 
 
£G8 OLD SAI^T PAULS. 
 
 to effect their escape. He did not dare to confide his apprehen- 
 sions to the butler, nor did the other make any inquiries, but it 
 being understood that their visit was to be secret, every precaution 
 was taken to keep it so. John Lutcombe had tarried no longer 
 than enabled him to discuss a jug of ale, and then set out for 
 Ashdown, promising to return on the following day; but he had 
 not yet made his appearance. Evening arrived, and nothing 
 alarming having occurred, all became comparatively easy; and 
 Mrs. Compton herself, who had looked unusually grave through- 
 out the day, now recovered her wonted cheerfulness. 
 
 Their satisfaction, however, was not long afterwards disturbed 
 by the arrival of a large train of horsemen at the gate, and a 
 stately personage alighted, and walked at the head of a gallant 
 train, towards the house. At the sight of the new-comers, whom 
 they instantly knew were the king and his suite, Amabel and 
 Nizza Macascree flew up-stairs, and shutting themselves in their 
 chamber, awaited the result in the utmost trepidation. They 
 were not kept long in suspense. Shortly after the king's arrival, 
 Mrs. Compton herself knocked at the door, and in a tone of deep 
 commiseration, informed Amabel that his majesty desired to see 
 her. Knowing that refusal was impossible, Amabel complied, 
 and descended to a room looking upon the garden, in which she 
 found the king. He was attended only by Chiffinch, and received 
 her w'th a somewhat severe aspect, and demanded why she had 
 left Ashdown contrary to his express injunctions? 
 
 Amabel stated her motives. 
 
 " What you tell me is by no means satisfactory," rejoined the 
 king; "but since you have chosen to trust to yourself, you can 
 no longer look for protection from me." 
 
 "I beseech your majesty to consider the strait into which 1 
 was driven," returned Amabel, imploringly. 
 
 " Summon the Earl of Rochester to the presence," said the 
 king, turning from her to Chiffinch. 
 
 " In pity, sire," cried Amabel, throwing herself at his feet. 
 
 "Let the injunction be obeyed," rejoined Charles, peremp« 
 torily. 
 
 And the chief page departed. 
 
 Amabel instantly arose, and drew herself proudly up. Soon 
 afterwards, Rochester made his appearance, and on seeing 
 Amabel, a flush of triumphant joy overspread his features. 
 
 " I withdraw my interdiction, my lord," said the king to him. 
 "You are at liberty to renew your suit to this girl." 
 
 "Hear me, Lord Rochester," said Amabel, addressing the 
 earl; "I have conquered the passion I once felt for you, and 
 regard you only as one who has sought my ruin, and from whom 
 I have fortunately escaped. When you learn from my own lips 
 that my heart is dead to you, that I never can love you more, 
 
KINGSTON LISLE. 269 
 
 and that I only desire to be freed from your addresses, I cannot 
 doubt but you will discontinue them." 
 
 " Your declaration only inflames me the more, lovely Amabel, n 
 replied the earl, passionately. " You must, and shall be mine." 
 
 " Then my death will rest at your door," she rejoined. 
 
 "I will take my chance of that," rejoined the earl, carelessly. 
 
 Amabel then quitted the king's presence, and returned to her 
 own chamber, where she found Nizza Macascree, in a state of 
 indescribable agitation. 
 
 " All has happened that I anticipated," said she to Nizza Ma- 
 cascree. " The king will no longer protect me, and I am ex- 
 posed to the persecutions of the Earl of Rochester, who is here." 
 
 As she spoke an usher entered, and informed Nizza Macascree 
 that the king commanded her presence. The piper's daughter 
 looked at Amabel with a glance of unutterable anguish. 
 
 " I fear you must go," said Amabel, " but Heaven will protect 
 you !" 
 
 " They then tenderly embraced each other, and Nizza Ma- 
 cascree departed with the usher. 
 
 Some time having elapsed, and Nizza not returning, Amabel 
 became seriously uneasy. Hearing a noise below, she looked 
 forth from the window, and perceived the king and all his train 
 departing. A terrible foreboding shot through her heart. She 
 gazed anxiously after them, but could not perceive Nizza Ma- 
 cascree. Overcome at last by her anxiety, she rushed down 
 stairs, and had just reached the last step when she was seized by 
 two persons. A shawl was passed over her head, and she wag 
 forced out of the house. 
 
 IND OF THE THIRD BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT. 
 
 Amabel's departure for Berkshire caused no change in her 
 father's mode of life. Everything proceeded as before within his 
 quiet dwelling ; and, except that the family were diminished in 
 number, all appeared the same. It is true they wanted the in- 
 terest, and indeed the occupation afforded them by the gentle 
 invalid, but in other respects, no difference was observable. 
 Devotional exercises, meals, the various duties of the house, and 
 cheerful discourse, filled up the day, which never proved weari- 
 some. The result proved the correctness of Mr. Bloundel's 
 judgment. While the scourge continued weekly to extend its 
 ravages throughout the city, it never crossed his threshold ; and, 
 except suffering in a slight degree from scorbutic affections, 
 occasioned by the salt meats to which they were now confined, 
 and for which the lemon and lime-juice, provided against such a 
 contingency, proved an efficacious remedy, all the family enjoyed 
 perfect health. For some weeks after her separation from her 
 daughter, Mrs. Bloundel continued in a desponding state, but 
 after that time she became more reconciled to the deprivation, 
 and partially recovered her spirits. Mr. Bloundel did not dare 
 to indulge a hope that Amabel would ever return, but though he 
 suffered much in secret, he never allowed his grief to manifest 
 itself. The circumstance that he had not received any intel- 
 ligence of her did not weigh much with him, because the dif- 
 ficulty of communication became greater and greater, as each 
 week the scourge increased in violence, and he was inclined to 
 take no news as good news. It was not so in the present case, 
 but of this he was happily ignorant. 
 
 In this way, a month passed on. And now every other con- 
 sideration was merged in the alarm occasioned by the daily in- 
 creasing fury of the pestilence. Throughout July the excessive 
 heat of the weather underwent no abatement, but in place of the 
 clear atmosphere that had prevailed during the preceding month, 
 unwholesome blights filled the air, and, confining the pestilential 
 effluvia, spread the contagion far amU wide with extraordinary 
 
THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT. 2/1 
 
 rapidity. Not only was the city suffocated with lieat, but fillec 
 with noisome smells, arising from the carcases with which the 
 close alleys and other out-of-the-way places were crowdel, and 
 which were so far decomposed as not to be capable of removal. 
 The aspect of the rver was as much changed as that of the city. 
 Numbers of bodies were thrown into it, and floating up with the 
 tides, were left to taint the air on its banks, while strange ill- 
 omened fowl, attracted thither by their instinct, preyed upon 
 them. Below the bridge, all captains of ships moored in the 
 Pool or off Wapping, held as little communication as possible 
 with those on shore, and only received fresh provisions with the 
 greatest precaution. As the plague increased, most of these re- 
 moved lower down the river, and many of them put out entirely 
 to sea. Above the bridge, most of the wherries and other smaller 
 craft had disappeared, their owners having taken them up the 
 river, and moored them against its banks at different spots, where 
 they lived in them under tilts. Many hundreds of persons re- 
 mained upon the river in this way during the whole continuance 
 of the visitation. 
 
 August had now arrived, but the distemper knew no cessation. 
 On the contrary, it manifestly increased in violence and malig- 
 nity. The deaths rose a thousand in each week, and in the last 
 week in this fatal month amounted to upwards of sixty thousand I 
 
 But terrible as this was, the pestilence had not yet reached its 
 height. Hopes were entertained that when the weather became 
 cooler, its fury would abate ; but these anticipations were fear- 
 fully disappointed. The bills of mortality rose the first week in 
 September to seven thousand, and though they slightly decreased 
 during the second week, — awakening a momentary hope, — on the 
 third they advanced to twelve thousand ! In less than ten days, 
 upwards of two thousand persons perished in the parish of Aid- 
 gate alone ; while Whitechapel suffered equally severely. Out 
 of the hundred parishes in and about the city, one only, that of 
 Saint John the Evangelist in Watling-street, remained unin- 
 fected, and this merely because there was scarcely a soul left 
 within it, the greater part of the inhabitants having quitted their 
 houses, and fled into the country. 
 
 The deepest despair now seized upon all the survivors. 
 Scarcely a family but had lost half of its number, — many more 
 than half, — while those who were left felt assured that their turn 
 would speedily arrive. Even the reckless were appalled, and 
 abandoned their evil courses. Not only were the dead lying in 
 the passages and alleys, but even in the main thoroughfares, and 
 none would remove them. The awful prediction of Solomon 
 Eagle that " grass would grow in the streets, and that the living 
 should not be able to bury the dead," had come to pass. London 
 had become one vast lazar-house, and seemed in a fair way of 
 becoming a mighty sepulchre. 
 
272 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 During all this time, Saint Paul's continued to be used as a 
 pest-house, but it was not so crowded as heretofore, because, as 
 not one in fifty of the infected recovered when placed under 
 medical care, it was not thought worth while to remove them 
 from their own abodes. The number of attendants, too, had 
 diminished. Some had died, but the greater part had abandoned 
 their offices from a fear of sharing the fate of their patients. In 
 consequence of these changes, Judith Malmavns had been 
 advanced to the post of chief-nurse at the cathedral. Both she 
 and Chowles had been attacked by the plague, and both had 
 recovered. Judith attended the coffin-maker, and it was mainly 
 owing to her that he got through the attack. She never left him 
 for a moment, and would never suffer any one to approach him — 
 a necessary precaution, as he was so much alarmed by his situa- 
 tion that he would infallibly have made some awkward revela- 
 tions. When Judith, in her turn, was seized, Chowles exhibited 
 no such consideration for her, and scarcely affected to conceal his 
 disappointment at her recovery. This want of feeling on his 
 part greatly incensed her against him, and though he contrived 
 in some degree to appease her, it was long before she entirely 
 forgave him. Far from being amended by her sufferings, she 
 seemed to have grown more obdurate, and instantly commenced 
 a fresh career of crime. It was not, however, necessary now to 
 hasten the end of the sick. The distemper had acquired such 
 force and malignity that it did its work quickly enough — often 
 too quickly ; — and all she sought was to obtain possession of the 
 poor patient's attire, or any valuables they might possess worth 
 appropriating. To turn to the brighter side of the picture, it 
 must not be omitted, that when the pestilence was at its height, 
 and no offers could induce the timorous to venture forth, or 
 render assistance to the sufferers, Sir John Lawrence the Lord 
 Mayor, the Duke of Albemarle, the Earl of Craven, and the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, devoted themselves to the care of 
 the infected, and supplied them with every necessary they re- 
 quired. Among the physicians no one deserves more honourable 
 mention than Doctor Hodges, who was unremitting in his atten- 
 tions to the sufferers. 
 
 To return to the grocer. While the plague was thus raging 
 around him, and while every house in Wood-street, except one 
 or two, from which the inmates had fled, was attacked by the 
 pestilence, he and his family had remained untouched. About 
 the middle of August, he experienced a great alarm. His second 
 son, Hubert, fell sick, and he removed him to one of the upper 
 rooms, which he had set aside as a hospital, and attended upon 
 him himself. In a few days, however, his fears were removed, 
 and he found, to his great satisfaction, that the youth had not 
 been attacked by the plague, but was only suffering from a slight 
 fever, which quickly yielded to the remedies applied. About 
 
THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT. 273 
 
 the same time, too, he lost his porter, Dallison. The poor fellow 
 •did not make his appearance as usual for two days, and intel- 
 ligence of his fate was brought on the following day by his wife, 
 who came to state that her husband was dead, and had been 
 thrown into the plague-pit at Aldgate. The same night, how- 
 ever, she brought another man, named Allcstry, who took the 
 place of the late porter, and acquainted his employer with the 
 deplorable state of the city. 
 
 Two days afterwards, Allcstry himself died, and Mr. Bloundel 
 had no one to replace him. He thus lost all means of ascer- 
 taining what was going forward ; but the deathlike stillness around 
 him, broken only by the hoarse tolling of a bell, by a wild shriek 
 or other appalling cry, proclaimed too surely the terrible state of 
 things. Sometimes, too, a passenger would go by, and would 
 tell him the dreadful height to which the bills of mortality had 
 risen, assuring him that ere another month had expired, not a 
 soul would be left alive in London. 
 
 One night, as Solomon Eagle, who had likewise been miracu- 
 lously preserved, pursued his course through the streets, he 
 paused before Mr. Bloundel's house, and looking up at the win- 
 dow at which the latter had chanced to be stationed, cried in a 
 loud voice, " Be of good cheer. You have served God faithfully, 
 and there shall no evil befal you, neither shall the plague come 
 nigh your dwelling." And raising his arms, as if invoking a 
 blessing upon the habitation, he departed. 
 
 It was now the second week in September, and as yet Mr. 
 Bloundel had received no tidings of his daughter. At any other 
 season he would have been seriously uneasy, but now, as has been 
 already stated, all private grief was swallowed up in the horror 
 of the general calamity. Satisfied that she was in a healthful 
 situation, and that her chance of preservation from the pestilence 
 was better than that of any other member of his family, he turned 
 his thoughts entirely to them. Redoubling his precautions, he 
 tried by every means to keep up the failing spirits of his house- 
 hold, and but rarely ventured to open his shutter, and look forth 
 on the external world. 
 
 On the tenth of September, which was afterwards accounted 
 the most fatal day of this fatal month, a young man of a very 
 dejected appearance, and wearing the traces of severe suffering 
 in his countenance, entered the west end of London, and took 
 his way slowly towards the city. He had passed St Giles' with- 
 out seeing a single living creature, or the sign of one in any of 
 the houses. The broad thoroughfare was completely grown over 
 with grass, and the habitations had the most melancholy and 
 deserted air imaginable. Some doors and windows were wide 
 open, discovering rooms with goods and furniture scattered about, 
 having been left in this state by their inmates ; but most part of 
 them were closely fastened up. 
 
 T 
 
274 OLD SAINT PAUL'S 
 
 As he proceeded along Holborn, the ravages of the scourge 
 were yet more apparent. Every house, on either side of the way, 
 had a red cross, with the fatal inscription above it, upon the door. 
 Here and there, a watchman might be seen, looking; more like a 
 phantom than a living thing. Formerly, the dead were conveyed 
 away at night, but now the carts went about in the day time. 
 On reaching Saint Andrew's, Holborn, several persons were seen 
 wheeling hand-barrows filled with corpses, scarcely covered with 
 clothing, and revealing the blue and white stripes of the pestilence, 
 towards a cart which was standing near the church gates. The 
 driver of the vehicle, a tall, cadaverous-looking man, was ringing 
 his bell, and jesting with another person, whom the young man 
 recognised, with a shudder, as Chowles. The coffin-maker also 
 recognised him at the same moment, and called to him, but the 
 other paid no attention to the summons and passed on. 
 
 Crossing Holborn-bridge, he toiled faintly up the opposite 
 hill, for he was evidently suffering from extreme debility, and on 
 gaining the summit was obliged to support himself against a wall, 
 for a few minutes, before he could proceed. The same frightful 
 evidences of the ravages of the pestilence were observable here 
 as elsewhere. The houses were all marked with the fatal cross, 
 and shut up. Another dead cart was heard rumbling along, 
 accompanied by the harsh cries of the driver, and the doleful 
 ringing of the bell. The next moment the loathly vehicle was 
 seen coming along the Old Bailey. It paused before a house, 
 from which four bodies were brought, and then passed on towards 
 Smithfield. Watching its progress with fearful curiosity, the 
 young man noted how often it paused to increase its load. His 
 thoughts, coloured by the scene, were of the saddest and dreariest 
 complexion. All around wore the aspect of death. The few 
 figures in sight seemed staggering towards the grave, and the 
 houses appeared to be plague-stricken like the inhabitants. The 
 heat was intolerably oppressive, and the air tainted with noisome 
 exhalations. Ever and anon, a window would be opened, and a 
 ghastly face thrust from it, while a piercing shriek or lamentable 
 cry, was uttered. No business seemed going on — there were no 
 passengers — no vehicles in the streets. The mighty city was 
 completely laid prostrate. 
 
 After a short rest, the young man shaped his course towards 
 Saint Paul's, and on reaching its western precincts, gazed for 
 some time at the reverend structure, as if its contemplation called 
 up many and painful recollections. Tears started to his eyes, 
 and he was about to turn away, when he perceived the figure ot 
 Solomon Eagle stationed near the cross at the western extremity 
 of the roof. The enthusiast caught sight of him at the same 
 moment, and motioned him to come nearer. 
 
 " What has happened?" he demanded, as the other approached 
 the steps of the pnruco. 
 
 
TI1E PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT. 275 
 
 The young man shook his head mournfully. 
 
 " It is a sad tale," he said, " and cannot be told now." 
 
 " I can conjecture what it is," replied Solomon Eagle. " But 
 come to the small door near the northern entrance of the cathe- 
 dral at midnight. I will meet you there." 
 
 " I will not fail," replied the young man. 
 
 " One of the terrible judgments which I predicted would befal 
 this devoted city has come to pass," cried Solomon Eagle. " An- 
 other yet remains — the judgment by fire, and if its surviving 
 inhabitants repent not, of which there is as yet no sign, it will 
 assuredly follow." 
 
 " Heaven avert it !" groaned the other, turning away. 
 
 Proceeding along Cheapside, he entered Wood-street, and N>ok 
 his way towards the grocer's dwelling. When at a little distance 
 from it, he paused, and some minutes elapsed before he conk. 
 muster strength to go forward. Here, as elsewhere, there were 
 abundant indications of the havoc occasioned by the fell disease. 
 Not far from the grocer's shop, and in the middle of the street, 
 lay the body of a man, with the face turned upwards, wbil? 
 crouching in an angle of the wall sat a young woman watching ii 
 As the young man drew nearer, he recognised in the dead man 
 the principal of the Brotherhood cf Saint Michael, and in the 
 poor mourner one of his profligate female associates. 
 
 " What has become of your unhappy companions ?" he 
 demanded of the woman. 
 
 " The last of them lies there," she rejoined mournfully. " All 
 the rest died long ago. My lover was true to his vow, and instead 
 of deploring their fate, lived with me and three other women in 
 mirth and revelry till yesterday, when the three women died, and 
 he fell sick. He did not, however, give in, but continued carous- 
 ing until an hour before his death." 
 
 Too much shocked to make any reply, the young man pro- 
 ceeded towards the hutch. Beneath a doorway, at a little distance 
 from it, sat a watchman with a halbert on his shoulder, guarding 
 the house ; but it was evident he would be of little further use. 
 His face was covered with his hands, and his groans proclaimed 
 that he himself was attacked by the pestilence. Entering the 
 hutch, the young man pulled the cord of the bell, and the sum- 
 mons was soon after answered by the grocer, who appeared at the 
 window. 
 
 " What, Leonard Holt 1" he exclaimed, in surprise, on seeing 
 the young man, — " is it you ? — what ails you ? — you look fright- 
 fully ill." 
 
 " I have been attacked a second time by the plague," replied 
 the apprentice, " and am only just recovered from it." 
 
 " What of my child ?" cried the grocer eagerly, — u what ol 
 herr' 
 
 " Alas, alas !" exclaimed the apprentice. 
 
 T*2 
 
276 OLD SAINT PAFL'S. 
 
 "Do not keep me in suspense," rejoined the grocer. " Is sh» 
 dead ?" 
 
 " No, not dead," replied the apprentice, " hut " 
 
 "But what?" ejaculated the grocer — "in Heavens name, 
 speak !" 
 
 " These letters will tell you all," replied the apprentice, pro- 
 ducing a packet. " I had prepared them to send to you in case 
 of my death. I am not equal to further explanation now." 
 
 With trembling eagerness the grocer lowered the rope, and 
 Leonard having tied the packet to it, it was instantly drawn up.. 
 
 Notwithstanding his anxiety to ascertain the fate of Amabel, 
 Mr. Bloundel would not touch the packet until he had guarded 
 against the possibility of being infected by it. Seizing it with a 
 pair of tongs, he plunged it into a pan containing a strong 
 solution of vinegar and sulphur, which he had always in readiness 
 in the chamber, and when thoroughly saturated, laid it in the sun 
 to dry. On first opening the shutter to answer Leonard's 
 summons^ he had flashed off a pistol, and he now thought to 
 expel the external air by setting fire to a ball composed of quick 
 brimstone, saltpetre, and yellow amber, which being placed on an, 
 iron plate speedily filled the room with a thick vapour, and 
 prevented the entrance of any obnoxious particles. These pre- 
 cautions taken, he again addressed himself, while the packet was 
 drying, to Leonard, whom he found gazing anxiously at the 
 window, ai d informed him that all his family had hitherto- 
 escaped contagion. 
 
 "A special providence must have watched over you, sir,'* 
 replied the apprentice ; " and I believe yours is the only family 
 in the whole city that has been so spared. I have reason to be 
 grateful for my own extraordinary preservation, and yet I would 
 rather it had pleased Heaven to take me away than leave me to 
 my present misery." 
 
 " You keep me in a frightful state of suspense, Leonard," 
 rejoined the grocer, regarding the packet wistfully, " for I dare 
 not open your letters till they are thoroughly fumigated. You 
 assure me my child is living. Has she been attacked by the 
 plague ?" 
 
 " Would she had !" groaned Leonard. 
 
 " Is she still at Ashdown ?" pursued the grocer. " Ah ! yon 
 shake your head. I see ! — I must be beside myself not to have 
 thought of it before. She is in the power of the Earl of 
 Rochester." 
 
 " She is," cried Leonard, catching at the angle of the shed for 
 support. 
 
 " And I am here !" exclaimed Mr. Bloundel, forgetting his 
 caution, and thrusting himself far out of the window, as if with 
 the intention of letting himself down by the rope, — " I am her?,, 
 when I ought to be near her!" 
 
 
HVintara 1'uilt amuetrtng tin- jacket to tin- Cleaner. 
 
THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT. 277 
 
 " Calm yourself, I beseech you, sir," cried Leonard. " A 
 moment's rashness will undo all you have done." 
 
 " True !" replied the grocer, checking himself. " I must 
 think of the others as well as of her. But where is she? Hide 
 nothing from me." 
 
 " I have reason to believe she is in London," replied the 
 apprentice. " I traced her hither, and should not have desisted 
 from my search if I had not been checked by the plague, which 
 attacked me on the night of my arrival. I was taken to the pest- 
 house near Westbourne-green, where I have been for the last 
 three weeks." 
 
 " If she was brought to London, as you state," rejoined the 
 grocer, " I cannot doubt but she has fallen a victim to the 
 scourge." 
 
 " It may be," replied Leonard, moodily, " and I would almost 
 hope it is so. When you peruse my letters you will learn that 
 she was carried off by the earl from the residence of a lady at 
 Kingston Lisle, whither she had been removed for safety, and 
 after being taken from place to place, was at last conveyed to an 
 old hall in the neighbourhood of Oxford, where she was concealed 
 for nearly a month." 
 
 " Answer me, Leonard," cried the grocer, "and do not attempt 
 to deceive me. Has she preserved her honour?" 
 
 " Up to the time of quitting Oxford, she had preserved it," 
 replied the apprentice. " She herself assured me she had resisted 
 all the earl's importunities, and would die rather than yield to 
 him. But I will tell you how I obtained an interview with her. 
 After a long search, I discovered the place of her concealment, 
 the old hall I have just mentioned, and climbed in the night, and 
 at the hazard of my life, to the window of the chamber where 
 she was confined. I saw and spoke with her; a.id having 
 arranged a plan by which I hoped to accomplish her deliverance 
 on the following night, descended. Whether our brief conference 
 was overheard, and communicated to the earl, I know not ; but 
 it would seem so, for he secretly departed with her the next 
 morning, taking the road, as I subsequently learnt, to London. I 
 instantly started in pursuit, and had reached Paddington, when 
 I fell ill, as I have related." 
 
 " What you tell me in some measure eases my mind," replied 
 Mr. Bloundel, after a pause ; *' for I feel that my daughter, it 
 alive, will be able to resist her persecutor. What has become ot 
 your companions?" 
 
 " Nizza Macascree has met with the same fate as Amabel," 
 replied Leonard. " She was unfortunate enough to attract the 
 king's attention, when he visited Ashdown Lodge in company of 
 the Earl of Rochester, and was conveyed to Oxford, where the 
 court is now held, and must speedily have fallen a victim to her 
 royal lover if she had not disappeared, having been carried off, it 
 
278 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 was supposed, by Sir Paul Parravicin. But the villain was frus 
 trated in his infamous design. The king's suspicion falling upon 
 him, he was instantly arrested, and though he denied all know- 
 ledge of Nizza's retreat, and was afterwards liberated, his 
 movements were so strictly watched, that he had no opportunity 
 of visiting her." 
 
 " You do not mention Blaize," said Mr. Bloundel. " No ill, 
 I trust, has befallen him?" 
 
 " I grieve to say he has been attacked by the distemper he so 
 much dreaded," replied Leonard. "He accompanied me to 
 London, but quitted me when I fell sick, and took refuge with a 
 farmer named Wingfield, residing near Kensal-green. I acci- 
 dentally met Wingfield this morning, and he informed me that 
 Blaize was taken ill the day before yesterday, and removed to the 
 pest-house in Finsbury-fields. I will go thither presently, and 
 see what has become of him. Is Dr. Hodges still among the 
 living ?" 
 
 " I trust so," replied Mr. Bloundel, " though I have not seen 
 him for the last ten days." 
 
 He then disappeared for a few minutes, and on his return 
 low?red a small basket containing a flask of canary, a loaf which 
 hr bxr.self had baked, and a piece of cold boiled beef. The 
 r j-pra'Atlce thankfully received the provisions, and retiring to the 
 iiutch, began to discuss them, fortifying himself with a copious 
 draught of canary. Having concluded his repast, he issued 
 forth, and acquainting Mr. Bloundel, who had at length ven- 
 tured to commence reading the contents of the packet by the 
 aid of powerful glasses, that he was about to proceed to Dr. 
 Hodges's residence, to inquire after him, set off in that direction. 
 
 Arrived in Great Knightrider-street, he was greatly shocked 
 at finding the door of the doctor's habitation fastened, nor could 
 he make any one hear, though he knocked loudly and repeatedly 
 against it. The shutters of the lower windows were closed, and 
 the place looked completely deserted. All the adjoining houses 
 were shut up, and not a living being could be discerned in the 
 street from whom information could be obtained relative to the 
 physician. Here, as elsewhere, the pavement was overgrown 
 with grass, and the very houses had a strange and melancholy 
 look, as if sharing in the general desolation. On looking down 
 a narrow street leading to the river, Leonard perceived a flock of 
 poultry scratching among the staves in search of food, and 
 instinctively calling them, they flew towards him, as if delighted 
 at the unwonted sound of a human voice. These, and a half- 
 starved cat, were the only things living that he could perceive. 
 At the further end of the street, he caught sight of the river, 
 speeding in its course towards the bridge, and scarcely knowing 
 "whither he was going, sauntered to its edge. The tide had just 
 turned, and the stream was sparkling in the sunshine, but no 
 
THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT. 279 
 
 craft could be discovered upon its bosom, and except a fevV 
 barges moored to its sides, all vestiges of the numberless vessels 
 with which it was once crowded were gone. Its quays were 
 completely deserted. Boxes and bales of goods lay untouched 
 on the wharves ; the cheering cries with which the workmen 
 formerly animated their labour were hushed. There was no 
 sound of creaking cords, no rattle of heavy chains ; — none of the 
 busy hum ordinarily attending the discharge of freight from a 
 vessel, or the packing of goods and stores on board. All traffic 
 was at an end; and this scene, usually one of the liveliest possible, 
 was now forlorn and desolate. On the opposite shore of the 
 river it appeared to be the same, — indeed, the borough of South- 
 wark was now suffering the utmost rigour of the scourge; — and 
 except for the rows of houses on its banks, and the noble bridge 
 by which it was spanned, the Thames appeared as undisturbed 
 as it must have been before the great city was built upon its 
 banks. 
 
 The apprentice viewed this scene with a singular kind of 
 interest. He had become so accustomed to melancholy sights 
 that his feelings had lost their acuteness, and the contemplation 
 of the deserted buildings and neglected wharves around him, 
 harmonized with his own gloomy thoughts. Pursuing his walk 
 along the side of the river, he was checked by a horrible smell, 
 and looking downward, he perceived a carcase in the last s'tage 
 of decomposition lying in the mud. It had been washed ashore 
 by the tide, and a large bird of prey was contending for the 
 possession of it with a legion of water-rats. Sickened by the 
 sight, he turned up a narrow thoroughfare near Baynard's Castle, 
 and crossing Thames-street, was about to ascend Addle-hill, 
 when he perceived a man wheeling a hand-barrow, containing a 
 couple of corpses, in the direction of the river, with the intention, 
 doubtless, of throwing them into it, as the readiest means of 
 disposing of them. Both bodies were stripped of their clothing, 
 and the blue tint of the nails, as well as the blotches with which 
 they were covered, left no doubt as to the disease of which they 
 had died. Averting his gaze from the spectacle, Leonard turned 
 off' on the right along Carter-lane, and threading a short passage, 
 approached the southern boundary of the cathedral ; and pro- 
 ceeding towards the great door opposite him, passed through it. 
 The mighty lazar-house was less crowded than he expected to 
 find it, but its terrible condition far exceeded his worst concep- 
 tions. Not more than half the pallets were occupied; but as 
 the sick were in a great measure left to themselves, the utmost 
 disorder prevailed. A troop of lazars, with sheets folded around 
 them, glided, like phantoms, along Paul's-walk, and mimicked 
 in a ghastly manner the air anel deportment of the gallants who 
 had formerly thronged the place. No attempt being made to 
 maintain silence, the noise was perfectly stunning; some of 
 
2 SO OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 the sick were shrieking, — some laughing in a wild unearthly 
 manner, — some praying, — some uttering loud execrations, — 
 others groaning and lamenting. The holy building seemed to 
 have become the abode of evil and tormented spirits. Many 
 dead were lying in the beds, — the few attendants who were 
 present not caring to remove them; and Leonard had little 
 doubt, that before another sun went down the whole of the 
 ghastly assemblage before him would share their fate. If the 
 habitations he had recently gazed upon had appeared plague- 
 stricken, the sacred structure in which he was now standing 
 seemed yet more horribly contaminated. Ill-kept, and ill-ven- 
 tilated, the air was loaded with noxious effluvia, while the 
 various abominations that met the eye at every turn would have 
 been sufficient to produce the distemper in any one who had 
 come in contact with them. They were, however, utterly dis- 
 regarded by the miserable sufferers and their attendants. The 
 magnificent painted windows were dimmed by a thick clammy 
 steam, which could scarcely be washed off; — while the carved 
 oak screens, the sculptured tombs, the pillars, the walls, and the 
 flagged floors were covered with impurities. 
 
 Satisfied with a brief survey of this frightful scene, Leonard 
 turned to depart, and was passing the entrance to Saint Faith's, 
 which stood open, when he caught sight of Judith standing at 
 the foot of the broad stone steps, and holding a lamp in her 
 hand. She was conversing with a tall, richly-dressed man, whose 
 features he fancied he had seen before, though he could not at 
 the moment call them to mind. After a brief conversation, they 
 moved off into the depths of the vault, and he lost sight of them. 
 All at once, it occurred to Leonard that Judith's companion was 
 the unfortunate stranger whose child he had interred, and who 
 had been so strangely affected at the sight of Nizza Macascree. 
 Determined to ascertain the point, he hurried down the steps 
 and plunged into the vault. It was buried in profound darkness, 
 and he had not proceeded far when he stumbled over something 
 lying in his path, and found from the groan that followed that it 
 was a plague-patient. Before he could regain his feet, the 
 unfortunate sufferer whom he had thus disturbed, implored him 
 in piteous accents, which, with a shudder, he recognised as those 
 of Blaize, to remove him. Leonard immediately gave the poor 
 porter to understand that he was near him, and would render 
 him every aid in his power. 
 
 " Your assistance comes too late, Leonard," groaned Blaize, — 
 "it's all over with me now, but I don't like to breathe my last in 
 this dismal vault, without medicine or food, both of which I am 
 denied by that infernal hag, Mother Malmayns, who calls herself 
 a nurse, but who is in reality a robber and murderess. Oh I the 
 frightful scenes I have witnessed since I have been brought herel 
 
THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT. 2S1 
 
 I told you I should not escape the plague. I shill die of it — I 
 am sure I shall." 
 
 "I thought you were at the pest-house in Finsbury-fields, M 
 said Leonard. 
 
 "I was taken there," replied Blaize; "but the place was full, 
 and they would not admit me, so I was sent to Saint Paul's, 
 where there was plenty of room. Yesterday I did pretty well, 
 for I was in the great ward above, and one of the attendants 
 obeyed my directions implicitly, and I am certain if they had 
 been fully carried out, I should have got well. I will tell you 
 what I did. As soon as I was placed on a pallet, and covered 
 with blankets, I ordered a drink to be prepared of the inner 
 bark of an ash tree, green walnuts, scabious vervain, and saffron, 
 boiled in two quarts of the strongest vinegar. Of this mixture I 
 drank plentifully, and it soon produced a plentiful perspi ration. 
 I next had a hen, — a live one of course, — stripped of the feathers, 
 and brought to me. Its bill was held to the large blotch under 
 my arm, and kept there till the fowl died from the noxious 
 matter it drew forth. I next repeated the experiment with a 
 pigeon, and derived the greatest benefit from it. The tumour 
 had nearly subsided, and if I had been properly treated after- 
 wards, I should now be in a fair way of recovery. But instead 
 of nice strengthening chicken broth, flavoured with succory and 
 marigolds; or water-gruel, mixed with rosemary and winter- 
 savory ; or a panado, seasoned with verjuice or wood-sorrel ; 
 instead of swallowing large draughts of warm beer; or water 
 boiled with carduus seeds; or a posset drink, made with sorrel, 
 bugloss, and borage ; — instead of these remedies, or any other, I 
 was carried to this horrible place when I was asleep, and strapped 
 to mv pallet, as you perceive. Unloose me, if you can do nothing 
 else." 
 
 " That I will readily do," replied Leonard ; " but I must first 
 procure a light." 
 
 With this, he groped his way among the close ranks of pon- 
 derous pillars, but though he proceeded with the utmost caution, 
 he could not avoid coming in contact with the beds of some of 
 the other patients, and disturbing them. At length, he descried 
 a glimmer of light issuing from a door which he knew to be that 
 of the vestry, and which was standing slightly ajar. Opening it, 
 he perceived a lamp burning on the table, and without stopping 
 to look around him, seized it, and hurried back to the porter. 
 Poor Blaize presented a lamentable, and yet grotesque appear- 
 ance. His plump person was greatly reduced in bulk, and his 
 round cheeks had become hollow and cadaverous. He was 
 strapped, as he had stated, to the pallet, which in its turn was 
 fastened to the adjoining pillar. A blanket was tightl} r swathed 
 around him, and a large cloth was bound round his head in lieu 
 
282 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 of a night-cap. Leonard instantly set about releasing him, and 
 had just unfastened the straps when he heard footsteps approach- 
 ing, and looking up, perceived the stranger and Judith Malmayns 
 advancing towards him. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 
 
 Judith, being a little in advance of her companion, took Leonard 
 in the first instance for a chirurgeon's assistant, and called to 
 him in a harsh and menacing voice to let her charge alone. On 
 drawing near, however, she perceived her mistake, and, reco- 
 gnising the apprentice, halted with a disconcerted look. By this 
 time, the stranger had come up, and remarking her embarrass- 
 ment, inquired the cause of it. 
 
 " Look there," cried Judith, pointing towards the apprentice. 
 " Yonder stands the very man you seek." 
 
 " What! Leonard Holt," cried the other, in astonishment. 
 
 " Ay, Leonard Holt," rejoined Judith. "You can now put 
 any questions to him you think proper." 
 
 The stranger did not require the suggestion to be repeated, 
 but instantly hastened to the apprentice. 
 
 " Do you remember me ?" he asked. 
 
 Leonard answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " I owe you a large debt of obligation," continued the stranger, 
 "and you shall not find me slow in paying it. But let it pass 
 for the moment. Do you know aught of Nizza Macascree ? I 
 know she was taken to Oxford by the king, and subsequently 
 disappeared." 
 
 "Then you know as much as I do of her, sir," rejoined 
 Leonard. 
 
 " I was right, you see, Mr. Thirlby," interposed Judith, with 
 a malicious grin. " I told you this youth would be utterly 
 ignorant of her retreat." 
 
 " My firm conviction is, that she is in the power of Sir Paul 
 Parravicin," observed Leonard. "But it is impossible to say 
 where she is concealed." 
 
 " Then my last hope of finding her has fallen to the ground," 
 replied Thirlby, with a look of great distress. " Ever since my 
 recovery from the plague, I have been in search of her. I 
 traced her from Ashdown Park to Oxford, but she was gone 
 before my arrival at the latter place ; and though I made every 
 possible inquiry after her, and kept strict and secret watch upon 
 the villain whom I suspected, as you do, of carrying her off, I 
 could gain no clue to her retreat. Having ascertained, however, 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 283 
 
 tnat you were seen in the neighbourhood of Oxford about the 
 time of her disappearance, I had persuaded myself you must 
 have aided her escape. But now,"' he added, with a groan, "I 
 find I was mistaken." 
 
 " You were so," replied Leonard, mournfully. " I was in search 
 of my master's daughter, Amabel, who was carried off at the same 
 time by the Earl of Rochester, and my anxiety about her made 
 me neglectful of Nizza." 
 
 "I am not ignorant of your devoted attachment to her," 
 remarked the stranger. 
 
 " You will never find Amabel again," observed Judith, bitterly. 
 
 " What mean you, woman ?" asked Leonard. 
 
 "I mean what I say," rejoined Judith. " I repeat, you will 
 never see her again." 
 
 " You would not speak thus positively without some motive," 
 returned Leonard, seizing her arm. " Where is she? What has 
 happened to her?" 
 
 " That you shall never learn from me," returned Judith, with 
 a triumphant glance. 
 
 " Speak, or I will force you to do so," cried Leonard, furiously. 
 
 "Force me 1" cried Judith, laughing derisively; "you know 
 not whom you threaten." 
 
 " But / do," interposed Thirlby. " This young man shall 
 have an answer to this question," he continued, addressing her 
 in an authoritative tone. " Do you know anything of the girl?" 
 
 " No," replied Judith ; " I was merely jesting with him." 
 
 "Shame on you, to trifle with his feelings thus," rejoined 
 Thirlby. " Step with me this way, young man, I wish to speak 
 with you." 
 
 " Do not leave me here, Leonard," cried Blaize, " or I shall die 
 before you come back." 
 
 " I have no intention of leaving you," rejoined Leonard. " Are 
 you aware whether Doctor Hodges is still alive, sir ?" he added, 
 to Thirlby. " I have just been to his residence in Great Knight- 
 rider-street, and found it shut up." 
 
 " He has removed to Watling-street," replied the other ; " but 
 I have not seen him since my return to London. If you wish it, 
 I will go to his house at once, and send him to look after your 
 poor friend." 
 
 Leonard was about to return thanks for the offer, when the 
 design was frustrated by Blaize himself, who was so terrified by 
 Judith's looks, that he could pay no attention to what was going 
 forward ; and fearing, notwithstanding Leonard's assurance to the 
 contrary, that he should be left behind, he started to his feet, and 
 wrapping the blanket about him, ran up the steps leading to the 
 cathedral. Leonard and Thirlby followed, and seeing him dart 
 into the southern aisle, would have pursued him along it, but were 
 afraid of coming in contact with the many sick persons by whom 
 
284 OLD SAIXT PAUL'S. 
 
 it was thronged. They contented themselves, therefore, with 
 watching his course, and were not a little surprised and alarmed to 
 find the whole troop of lazars set off after him, making the sacred 
 walls ring with their cries. Frightened by the clamour, Blaize 
 redoubled his speed, and, with this ghastly train at his heels, crossed 
 the lower part of the mid aisle, and darting through the pillars, 
 took refuge within Bishop Kempe's Chapel, the door of which 
 stood open, and which he instantly closed after him. Judith, 
 who had followed the party from the subterranean church, laughed 
 heartily at the chase of the poor porter, and uttered an exclamation 
 of regret at its sudden conclusion. Leonard, however, being 
 apprehensive of mischief from the crowd of sick persons collected 
 before the door, some of whom were knocking against it and try- 
 ing to force it open, addressed himself to a couple of the attendants, 
 and prevailed on them to accompany him to the chapel. The 
 assemblage was speedily dispersed, and Blaize hearing Leonard's 
 voice, instantly opened the door and admitted him ; and, as soon 
 as his fears were allayed, he was placed on a pallet within the 
 chapel, and wrapped up in blankets, while such remedies as were 
 deemed proper were administered to him. Committing him to 
 the care of the attendants, and promising to reward them well 
 for their trouble, Leonard told Blaize he should go and bring 
 Doctor Hodges to him. Accordingly, he departed, and finding 
 Thirlby waiting for him at the south door, they went forth 
 together. 
 
 " I am almost afraid of leaving the poor fellow," said Leonard, 
 hesitating, as he was about to descend the steps. " Judith Mal- 
 mayns is so cunning and unscrupulous that she may find some 
 means of doing him an injury." 
 
 " Have no fear," replied Thirlby. " She has promised me not 
 to molest him further." 
 
 " You appear to have a strange influence over her, then," 
 observed Leonard. " May I ask how you have attained it ?" 
 
 " No matter," replied the other. " It must suffice that I am 
 willing to exercise it in your behalf." 
 
 " And you are not disposed to tell me the nature of the interest 
 you feel in Nizza Macascree ?" pursued Leonard. 
 
 '* Not as yet," replied Thirlby, with a look and tone calculated 
 to put a stop to further inquiries. 
 
 Passing through Saint Austin's-gate, they approached Watling- 
 street, at the corner of which stood the house where Doctor Hodges 
 had taken up his temporary abode, that he might visit the sick in 
 the cathedral with greater convenience, and be more readily sum- 
 moned whenever his attendance might be required. Thirlby's 
 knock at the door was answered to Leonard's great satisfaction by 
 the old porter, who was equally delighted to see him. It did not 
 escape Leonard that the porter treated the stranger with great 
 respect, and he inferred from this that he was a person of some 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 235 
 
 consideration, as indeed his deportment bespoke him. The old 
 man informed them that his master had been summoned on a 
 case of urgency early in the morning, and had not yet returned, 
 neither was he aware whither he was gone. He promised, how- 
 ever, to acquaint him with Blaizc's condition immediately on his 
 return — " and I need not assure you," he added to Leonard, 
 " that he will instantly go to him." 
 
 Thirlby then inquired of the porter whether Mike Macascree, 
 the blind piper, was still at Dame Lucas's cottage, in Finsbur} T - 
 fields, and was answered in the affirmative by the old man, who 
 added, however, in a voice of much emotion, that the good dame 
 herself was no more. 
 
 " She died about a fortnight ago of the plague," he said, "and 
 is buried where she desired to be, beneath an old apple-tree in 
 her garden." 
 
 " Alas !" exclaimed Leonard, brushing away a tear, " her own 
 foreboding is too truly realized." 
 
 " I am about to visit the old piper," observed Thirlby to the 
 apprentice. " Will you go with me ?" 
 
 The other readily acquiesced, only stipulating that they should 
 call in Wood-street on the way, that he might inquire whether his 
 master wanted him. Thirlby agreeing to this, and the old porter 
 repeating his assurance that Leonard might make himself quite 
 easy as to Blaize, for he would send his master to him the instant 
 he returned, they set out. On reaching Wood-street, the appren- 
 tice gave the customary signal, and the grocer answering it, he 
 informed him of his unexpected meeting with Blaize, and of the 
 state in which he had left him. Mr. Bloundel was much distressed 
 by the intelligence, and telling Leonard that he should not require 
 him again that night, besought him to observe the utmost caution. 
 This the apprentice promised, and joining Thirlby, who had 
 walked forward to a little distance, they struck into a narrow 
 street on the right, and proceeding along Aldermanbury, soon 
 arrived at the first postern in the city walls beyond Cripplegate. 
 
 Hitherto, Thirlby had maintained a profound silence, and 
 appeared lost in melancholy reflection. Except now and then 
 casting a commiserating glance at the wretched objects they 
 encountered on the road, he kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the 
 ground, and walked at a brisk pace, as if desirous of getting out 
 of the city as quickly as possible. Notwithstanding his weakness, 
 Leonard managed to keep up with him, and his curiosity being 
 greatly aroused by what had just occurred, he began to study his 
 appearance and features attentively. Thirlby was full six feet in 
 height, and possessed a powerful and well-proportioned figure, 
 and would have been considered extremely handsome but for a 
 certain sinister expression about the eyes, which were large and 
 dark, but lighted by a fierce and peculiar fire. His complexion 
 was dark, and his countenance still bore the impress of the dread- 
 
286 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 ful disease from which he had recently recovered. A gloomy 
 shade sat about his brow, and it seemed to Leonard as if he had 
 been led by his passions into the commission of crimes of which 
 he had afterwards bitterly repented. His deportment was proud 
 and commanding, and though he exhibited no haughtiness 
 towards the apprentice, but on the contrary treated him with 
 great familiarity, it was plain he did so merely from a sense of 
 gratitude. His age was under forty, and his habiliments were 
 rich, though of a sombre colour. 
 
 Passing through the postern, which stood wide open, the 
 watchman having disappeared, they entered a narrow lane, 
 skirted by a few detached houses, all of which were shut up, and 
 marked with the fatal cross. As they passed one of these habita- 
 tions, they were arrested by loud and continued shrieks of the 
 most heart-rending nature, and questioning a watchman who 
 stood at an adjoining door, as to the cause of them, he said they 
 proceeded from a poor lady who had just lost the last of her 
 family by the plague. 
 
 " Her husband and all her children, except one daughter, died 
 last week," said the man, " and though she seemed deeply afflicted, 
 yet she bore her loss with resignation. Yesterday, her daughter 
 was taken ill, and she died about two hours ago, since when the 
 poor mother has done nothing but shriek in the way you hear. 
 Poor soul ! she will die of grief, as many have done before her at 
 this awful time." 
 
 " Something must be done to pacify her," returned Thirlby, 
 in a voice of much emotion, — " she must be removed from her 
 child." 
 
 " Where can she be removed to ?" rejoined the watchman. 
 " Who will receive her ?" 
 
 "At all events, we can remove the object that occasions her 
 affliction," rejoined Thirlby. " My heart bleeds for her. I never 
 neard shrieks so dreadful." 
 
 " The dead-cart will pass by in an hour," said the watchman ; 
 " and then the body can be taken away." 
 
 " An hour will be too late," rejoined Thirlby. " If she con- 
 tinues in this frantic state, she will be dead before that time. 
 You have a hand-barrow there. Take the body to the plague- 
 pit at once, and I will reward you for your trouble." 
 
 " We shall find some difficulty in getting into the house," 
 said the watchman, who evidently felt some repugnance to the 
 task. 
 
 " Not so," replied Thirlby. And pushing forcibly against the 
 door, he burst it open, and, directed by the cries, entered a room 
 on the right. The watchman's statement proved correct. 
 Stretched upon a bed in one corner lay the body of a beautiful 
 girl, while the poor mother was bending over it in a state 
 bordering on distraction. On seeing Thirlby, she fled to the 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 287 
 
 farther end of the room, but did not desist from her cries. la 
 fact, she was unable to do so, being under the dominion of the 
 wildest hysterical passion. In vain Thirlby endeavoured to make 
 her comprehend by signs the nature of his errand. Waving him 
 off, she continued shrieking more loudly than ever. Half-stunned 
 by the cries, and greatly agitated by the sight of the child, whose 
 appearance reminded him of his own daughter, Thirlby motioned 
 the watchman who had followed him into the room to bring 
 away the body, and rushed forth. His injunctions were obeyed. 
 The remains of the unfortunate girl were wrapped in a sheet, 
 and deposited in the hand-barrow. The miserable mother 
 followed the watchman to the door, but did not attempt to 
 interfere with him, and having seen the body of her child dis- 
 posed of in the manner above described, turned back. The next 
 moment, a heavy sound proclaimed that she had fallen to the 
 ground, and her shrieks were hushed. Thirlby and Leonard 
 exchanged sad and significant looks, but neither of them went 
 back to see what had happened to her. The watchman shook 
 his head, and setting the barrow in motion, proceeded along a 
 narrow foot-path across the fields. Remarking that he did not 
 take the direct road to the plague-pit, Leonard called to him, and 
 pointed out the corner in which it lay. 
 
 " I know where the old plague-pit is, as well as you," replied 
 the watchman, " but it has been filled these three weeks. The 
 new pit lies in this direction." 
 
 So saying, he pursued his course, and they presently entered 
 a field, in the middle of which lay the plague-pit, as was 
 evident from the immense mound of clay thrown out of the 
 excavation. 
 
 " That pit is neither so deep nor so wide as the old one," said 
 the watchman, " and if the plague goes on at this rate, they will 
 soon have to dig another, — that is, if any one should be left alive 
 to undertake the job." 
 
 And chuckling as if he had said a good thing, he impelled his 
 barrow forward more quickly. A few seconds brought them near 
 the horrible chasm. It was more than half full, and in all 
 respects resembled the other pit, except that it was somewhat 
 smaller. There was the same heaving and putrefying mass, — 
 the same ghastly objects of every kind, — the grey-headed old 
 man, the dark-haired maiden, the tender infant, — all huddled 
 together. 
 
 Wheeling the barrow to the edge of the pit, the watchman cast 
 his load into it; and without even tarrying to throw a handful of 
 soil over it, turned back, and rejoined Thirlby, who had halted 
 at some distance from the excavation. 
 
 While the latter was searching for his purse to reward the 
 watchman, they heard wild shrieks in the adjoining field, and the 
 next moment perceived the wretched mother running towards 
 
288 old saint Paul's. 
 
 tnem. Guessing her purpose from his former experience, Leonard 
 called to the others to stop her, and stretching out his arms placed 
 himself in her path. But all their efforts were in vain. She 
 darted past them, and though Leonard caught hold of her, she 
 broke from him, and leaving a fragment of her dress in his. 
 grasp, flung herself into the chasm. 
 
 Well knowing that all help was vain, Thirlby placed a few 
 pieces of money in the watchman's hand, and hurried away. He 
 was followed by Leonard, who was equally eager to quit the spot, 
 It so chanced that the path they had taken led them near the site 
 of the old plague-pit, and Leonard pointed it out to his companion. 
 The latter stopped for a moment, and then, without saying a 
 word, ran quickly towards it. On reaching the spot, they found 
 that the pit was completely filled up. The vast cake of clay 
 with which it was covered had swollen and cracked in an 
 extraordinary manner, and emitted such a horrible effluvium that 
 they both instantly retreated. 
 
 " And that is the grave of my poor child," cried Thirlby, 
 halting, and bursting into a passionate flood of tears. " It would 
 have been a fitting resting-place for a guilty wretch like me ; but 
 for her it is horrible." 
 
 Allowing time for the violence of his grief to subside, Leonard 
 addressed a few words of consolation to him, and then tried to 
 turn the current of his thoughts by introducing a different 
 subject. With this view, he proceeded to detail the piper's 
 mysterious conduct as to the packet, and concluded by mention- 
 ing the piece of gold which Nizza wore as an amulet, and 
 which she fancied must have some connexion with her early 
 history. 
 
 " I have heard of the packet and amulet from Doctor Hodges," 
 said Thirlby : " and should have visited the piper on my recovery 
 from the plague, but I was all impatience to behold Nizza, and 
 could not brook an instant's delay. But you know his cottage- 
 We cannot be far from it." 
 
 " Yonder it is," replied Leonard, pointing to the little habita- 
 tion which lay at a field's distance from them — " and we are 
 certain to meet with him, for I hear the notes of his pipe." 
 
 Nor was he deceived, for as they crossed the field, and 
 approached the cottage, the sounds of a melancholy air played 
 on the pipe became each, instant more distinct. Before entering 
 the gate, they paused for a moment to listen to the music, and 
 Leonard could not help contrasting the present neglected appear- 
 ance of the garden with the neatness it exhibited when he last 
 saw it. It was overgrown with weeds, while the drooping 
 flowers seemed to bemoan the loss of their mistress. Leonard's 
 gaze involuntarily wandered in search of the old apple-tree, and 
 he presently discovered it. It was loaded with fruit, and the 
 rounded sod beneath it proclaimed the grave of the ill-fated 
 Dame Lucas., 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 289 
 
 Satisfied with this survey, Leonard opened the gate, but had 
 no sooner set foot in the garden than the loud barking of a dog 
 was heard, and Bell rushed forth. Leonard instantly called to 
 her, and on hearing his voice, the little animal instantly changed 
 her angry tones to a gladsome whine, and skipping towards him 
 fawned at his feet. 
 
 While he stooped to caress her, the piper, who had been 
 alarmed by the barking, appeared at the door, and called out to 
 know who was there ? At the sight of him, Thirlby, who was 
 close behind Leonard, uttered a cry of surprise, and exclaiming, 
 " It is he !" rushed towards him. 
 
 The cry of recognition uttered by the stranger caused the 
 piper to start, as if he had received a sudden and violent shock. 
 The ruddy tint instantly deserted his cheek, and was succeeded 
 by a deadly paleness: his limbs trembled, and he bent forward 
 with a countenance of the utmost anxiety, as if awaiting a con- 
 firmation of his fears. When within a couple of yards of him, 
 Thirlby paused, and having narrowly scrutinized his features, as 
 if to satisfy himself he was not mistaken, again exclaimed, though 
 in a lower and deeper tone than before, " It is he I" and seizing 
 his arm, pushed him into the house, banging the door to after 
 him in such a manner as to leave no doubt in the apprentice's 
 mind that his presence was not desired. Accordingly, though 
 extremely anxious to hear what passed between them, certain 
 their conversation must relate to Nizza Macascree, Leonard did 
 not attempt to follow, but accompanied by Bell, who continued 
 to gambol round him, directed his steps towards the grave of 
 Dame Lucas. Here he endeavoured to beguile the time in 
 meditation, but in spite of his efforts to turn his thoughts into a 
 different channel, they perpetually recurred to what he supposed 
 to be taking place inside the house. The extraordinary effect 
 produced by Nizza Macascree on Thirlby — the resemblance he 
 had discovered between her and some person dear to him — the 
 anxiety he appeared to feel for her, as evinced by his recent 
 search for her — the mysterious connexion which clearly subsisted 
 between him and the piper — all these circumstances convinced 
 Leonard that Thirlby was, or imagined himself, connected by 
 ties of the closest relationship with the supposed piper's daughter. 
 
 Leonard had never been able to discern the slightest resem- 
 blance either in manner or feature, or in those indescribably 
 slight personal peculiarities that constitute a family likeness, 
 between Nizza and her reputed father, — neither could he now 
 recal any particular resemblance between her and Thirlby ; still 
 he could not help thinking her beauty and high-bred looks 
 savoured more of the latter than the former. He came, there- 
 fore, to the conclusion that she must be the offspring of some 
 early and unfortunate attachment on the part of Thirlby, whose 
 remorse might naturally be the consequence of his culpable con- 
 
 U 
 
290 old saint Paul's. 
 
 duct at that time. His sole perplexity was the piper's connexion 
 with the affair ; but he got over this difficulty by supposing that 
 Nizza's mother, whoever she was, must have committed her to 
 Macascree's care when an infant, probably with strict injunc- 
 tions, which circumstances might render necessary, to conceal 
 her even from her father. Such was Leonard's solution of the 
 mystery; and feeling convinced that he had made himself master 
 of the stranger's secret, he resolved to give him to understand a* 
 much as soon as he beheld him again. 
 
 More than half an hour having elapsed, and Thirlby not 
 coming forth, Leonard began to think sufficient time had been 
 allowed him for private conference with the piper, and he there- 
 fore walked towards the door, and coughing to announce his 
 approach, raised the latch and entered the house. He found the 
 pair seated close together, and conversing in a low and earnest 
 tone. The piper had completely recovered from his alarm, and 
 seemed perfectly at ease with his companion, while all traces of 
 anger had disappeared from the countenance of the other. Before 
 them on the table lay several letters, taken from a packet, the 
 cover of which Leonard recognised as the one that had been 
 formerly intrusted to him. Amidst them was the miniature of a 
 lady, — at least, it appeared so to Leonard, in the hasty glance 
 he caught of it ; but he could not be quite sure, for, on seeing 
 him, Thirlby closed the case, and placing his hand on the piper's 
 mouth, to check his further speech, arose. 
 
 " Forgive my rudeness," he said, to the apprentice, '* but I 
 have been so deeply interested in what I have just heard, that I 
 quite forgot you were waiting without. I shall remain here some 
 hours longer, but will not detain you, especially as I am unable 
 to admit you to our conference. I will meet you at Doctor 
 Hodges' in the evening, and shall have much to say to you." 
 
 "I can anticipate some part of yoxxx communication," replied 
 Leonard. " You will tell me you have a daughter still living." 
 
 " You are inquisitive, young man," rejoined Thirlby, sternly. 
 
 " You do me wrong, sir," replied Leonard. " I have no 
 curiosity as regards yourself; and if I had, would never lower 
 myself in my own estimation to gratify it. Feeling a strong 
 interest in Nizza Macascree, I am naturally anxious to know 
 whether my suspicion that a near relationship subsists between 
 yourself and her is correct." 
 
 " I cannot enter into farther explanation now," returned 
 Thirlby. " Meet me at Doctor Hodges' this evening, and you 
 shall know more. And now, farewell. I am in the midst of a 
 deeply-interesting conversation, which your presence interrupts. 
 Do not think me rude, — do not think me ungrateful. My 
 anxiety must plead my excuse." 
 
 "None is necessary, sir," replied Leonard; "I will no longer 
 place any restraint upon you." 
 
THE SECuXD PLAGUE-PIT. 291 
 
 So saying, and taking care not to let Bell out, he passed 
 through the door, and closed it after him. Having walked to 
 some distance across the fields, musing on what had just occurred, 
 and scarcely conscious whither he was going, he threw himself 
 down on the grass, and fell asleep. He awoke after some time 
 much refreshed, and finding he was considerably nearer Bishops- 
 gate than any other entrance into the city, determined to make 
 for it. A few minutes brought him to a row of houses without 
 the walls, none of which appeared to have escaped infection, and, 
 passing them, he entered the city gate. As he proceeded along 
 the once-crowded but now utterly-deserted thoroughfare that 
 opened upon him, he could scarcely believe he was in a spot 
 which had once been the busiest of the busy haunts of men, — so 
 silent, so desolate did it appear! On reaching Cornhill, he 
 found it equally deserted. The Exchange was closed, and as 
 Leonard looked at its barred gates, a saddening train of reflection 
 passed through his mind. His head declined upon his breast, 
 and he continued lost in a mournful reverie until he was roused 
 by a hand laid on his shoulder, and starting — for such a saluta- 
 tion at this season was alarming — he looked round, and beheld 
 Solomon Eagle. 
 
 "You are looking upon that structure," said the enthusiast, 
 " and are thinking how much it is changed. Men who possess 
 boundless riches imagine their power above that of their Maker, 
 and suppose they may neglect and defy him. But they are mis- 
 taken. Where are now the wealthy merchants who used to 
 haunt those courts and chambers ? — why do they not come here 
 as of old ? — why do they not buy and sell, and send their mes- 
 sengers and ships to the farthest parts of the world ? Because 
 the Lord hath smitten them and driven them forth — ' From the 
 least of them even to the greatest of them,' as the prophet Jere- 
 miah saith, * every one has been given to covetousness.' The 
 balances of deceit have been in their hands. They have cozened 
 their neighbours, and greedily gained from them, and will find it 
 true what the prophet Ezekiel hath written, that ' the Lord will 
 pour out his indignation upon them, and consume them with the 
 fire of his wrath.' Yea, I tell you, unless they turn from their 
 evil ways, — unless they cast aside the golden idol they now 
 worship, and set up the Holy One of Israel in its stead, a fire 
 will be sent to consume them, and that pile which they have 
 erected as a temple to their God shall he burnt to the ground." 
 
 Leonard's heart was too full to make any answer, and the en- 
 thusiast, after a brief pause, again addressed him. 
 
 " Have you seen Doctor Hodges pass this way ? I am in 
 search of him." 
 
 " On what account ?" asked Leonard, anxiously. " His advice, 
 I trust, is not needed on hehalf of any one in whom I am in- 
 terested." 
 
 U2 
 
292 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " No matter," replied Solomon Eagle, in a sombre tone, 
 * Have you seen him ?" 
 
 " I have not," rejoined the apprentice ; "but he is probably at 
 Saint Paul's." 
 
 "I have just left the cathedral, and was told he had proceeded 
 to some house near Cornhill," rejoined the enthusiast. 
 
 " If you have been there, you can perhaps tell me how my 
 master's porter, Blaize Shotterel, is getting on," said Leonard. 
 
 " I can," replied the enthusiast. " I heard one of the chirur- 
 geons say that Doctor Hodges had pronounced him in a fair way 
 of recovery. But I must either find the doctor, or go elsewhere. 
 Farewell !" 
 
 " I will go with you in search of him," said Leonard. 
 
 " No, no, — you must not — shall not," cried Solomon Eagle. 
 
 " Wherefore not ?" asked the apprentice. 
 
 " Do not question me, — but leave me," rejoined the enthusiast. 
 
 K Do you know aught of Amabel — of her retreat ?" persisted 
 Leonard, who had a strange misgiving that the enthusiast's 
 errand in some w r av referred to her. 
 
 " I do," replied Solomon Eagle, gloomily ; " but I again advise 
 you not to press me further." 
 
 " Answer me one question, at least," cried Leonard. " Is she 
 with the Earl of Rochester?" 
 
 " She is," replied Solomon Eagle ; " but I shall allay your 
 fears in that respect when I tell you she is sick of the plague." 
 
 Leonard heard nothing more, for, uttering a wild shriek, he 
 fell to the ground insensible. He was aroused to consciousness 
 by a sudden sense of strangulation, and opening his eyes, beheld 
 two dark figures bending over him, one of whom was kneeling; 
 on his chest. A glance showed him that this person was 
 Chowles; and instantly comprehending what was the matter, 
 and aware that the coffin-maker was stripping him previously to 
 throwing him into the dead-cart, which was standing hard-by, 
 he cried aloud, and struggled desperately to set himself free. 
 Little opposition was offered ; for, on hearing the cry, Chowles 
 quitted his hold, and retreating to a short distance, exclaimed, 
 with a look of surprise, " Why, the fellow is not dead, after 
 all!" 
 
 " I am neither dead, nor likely to die, as you shall find to your 
 cost, rascal, if you do not restore me the clothes you have robbed 
 me of," cried Leonard, furiously. 
 
 And chancing to perceive a fork, dropped by Chowles in his 
 hasty retreat, he snatched it up, and brandishing it over his 
 head, advanced towards him. Thus threatened, Chowles tossed 
 him a rich suit of livery. 
 
 " These are not mine," said the apprentice, gazing at the 
 habiliments. 
 
 " They are better than your own," replied Chowles, " and 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 293 
 
 therefore you ought to be glad of the exchange. But give me 
 them back again. I have no intention of making you a present/' 
 
 " This is the livery of the Earl of Rochester," cried Leonard. 
 
 " To be sure it is," replied Chowles, with a ghastly smile 
 '* One of his servants is just dead." 
 
 " Where is the pi'ofligate noble ?" cried Leonard, eagerly. 
 
 "There is the person who owned these clothes," replied 
 Chowles, pointing to the dead-cart. " You had better ask 
 him." 
 
 " Where is the Earl of Rochester, I say, villain ?" cried 
 Leonard, menacingly. 
 
 " How should I know?" rejoined Chowles. "Here are your 
 clothes," he added, pushing them towards him. 
 
 " I will have an answer," cried Leonard. 
 
 " Not from me," replied Chowles. 
 
 And hastily snatching up the livery, he put the cart in motion, 
 and proceeded on his road. 
 
 Leonard would have followed him, but the state of his attire 
 did not permit him to do so. Having dressed himself, he hastened 
 to the cathedral, where he soon found the attendant who had 
 charge of Blaize. 
 
 " Doctor Hodges has been with him," said the man, in reply 
 to his inquiries after the porter, " and has good hopes of him. 
 But the patient is not entirely satisfied with the treatment he 
 has received, and wishes to try some remedies of his own. 
 Were his request granted, all would soon be over with him." 
 
 " That I am sure of," replied Leonard. " But let us go to 
 him." 
 
 " You must not heed his complaints," returned the attendant. 
 " I assure you he is doing as well as possible ; but he is so dread- 
 fully frightened at a trifling operation which Doctor Hodges finds 
 it necessary to perform upon him, that we have been obliged to 
 fasten him to the bed." 
 
 " Indeed 1" exclaimed Leonard, suspiciously. " Has Judith 
 Malmayns had no hand in this arrangement?" 
 
 " Judith Malmayns has been absent during the whole of the 
 afternoon," said the man, "and another nurse has taken her 
 place in St. Faith's. She has never been near Blaize since I 
 have had charge of him." 
 
 By this time they had reached the pallet in which the porter 
 was laid. His eyes and a small portion of his snub-nose were 
 alone visible, his head being still enveloped by the linen cloth, 
 while his mouth was covered by blankets. He looked so anxiously 
 at the apprentice, that the latter removed the covering from his 
 mouth, and enabled him to speak. 
 
 " I am glad to find you are getting on so well," said Leonard, 
 in a cheerful tone. " Doctor Hodges has been with you, I 
 understand ?" 
 
294 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " He has," groaned Blaize ; u but be has done me no good, — 
 none whatever. I could doctor myself much better, if I might 
 be allowed ; for I know every remedy that has been prescribed 
 for the plague, but he would adopt none that I mentioned to him. 
 1 wanted him to place a hot loaf, fresh from the oven, to the 
 tumour, to draw it; but he would not consent. Then I asked 
 for a cataplasm, composed of radish-roots, mustard-seed, onions 
 and garlic roasted, mithridate, salt, and soot from a chimney 
 where wood only has been burnt. This he liked no better than 
 the first. Next, I begged for an ale posset with pimpernel 
 soaked in it, assuring him that by frequently drinking such a 
 mixture, Secretary Naunton drew the infection from his very 
 heart. But the doctor would have none of it, and seemed to 
 doubt the fact." 
 
 " What did he do?" inquired Leonard. 
 
 " He applied oil of St. John's wort to the tumour," replied 
 Blaize, with a dismal groan, " and said if the scar did not fall off, 
 he must cauterize it. Oh ! I shall never be able to bear the pain 
 of the operation." 
 
 " Recollect your life is at stake," rejoined Leonard. " You 
 must either submit to it or die." 
 
 "I know I must," replied Blaize, with a prolonged groan; 
 " but it is a terrible alternative." 
 
 " You will not find the operation so painful as you imagine," 
 rejoined Leonard ; " and you know I speak from personal 
 experience." 
 
 " You give me great comfort," said Blaize. " And so you 
 really think I shall get better?" 
 
 " I have no doubt of it, if you keep up your spirits," replied 
 Leonard. " The worst is evidently over. Behave like a man." 
 
 " I will try to do so," rejoined Blaize. " I have been told 
 that if a circle is drawn with a blue sapphire round a plague- 
 blotch, it will fall off. Couldn't we just try the experiment?" 
 
 " It will not do to rely upon it," observed the attendant, with 
 a smile. " You will find a small nob of red-hot iron, which we 
 call ' the button,' much more efficacious." 
 
 " Oh, dear! oh, dear!" exclaimed Blaize, "I already feel that 
 dreadful button burning into my flesh." 
 
 " On the contrary, you wont feel it at all," replied the 
 attendant. K The iron only touches the point of the tumour, in 
 which there is no sensibility." 
 
 " In that case, I don't care how soon the operation is per- 
 formed," replied Blaize. 
 
 " Doctor Hodges will choose his own time for it," said the 
 attendant. " In the meantime, here is a cup of barley-broth for 
 you. You will find it do you good." 
 
 While the man applied the cup to the poor porter's lips, — for 
 he would not unloose the straps, for fear of mischief, — Leonard, 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 295 
 
 who was sickened by the terrible scene around him, took his 
 departure, and quitted the cathedral by the great western entrance. 
 Seating himself on one of the great blocks of stone left there by 
 the workmen employed in repairing the cathedral, but who had 
 long since abandoned their task, he thought over all that had 
 recently occurred. Raising his eyes at length, he looked toward 
 the cathedral. The oblique rays of the sun had quitted the 
 columns oi the portico, which looked cold and grey, while the 
 roof and towers were glittering in light. In ten minutes more 
 only the summit of the central tower caught the last reflection of 
 the declining orb. Leonard watched the rosy gleam till it dis- 
 appeared, and then steadfastly regarded the reverend pile as its 
 hue changed from grey to black, until at length each pinnacle 
 and buttress, each battlement and tower, was lost in one vast 
 indistinct mass. Night had fallen upon the city, — a night des- 
 tined to be more fatal than any that had preceded it. And yet 
 it was so calm, so beautiful, so clear, that it was scarcely possible 
 to imagine that it was unhealthy. The destroying angel was, 
 however, fearfully at work. Hundreds were falling beneath his 
 touch; and as Leonard wondered how many miserable wretches 
 were at that moment released from suffering, it crossed him like 
 an icy chill that among the number might be Amabel. So 
 forcibly was he impressed by this idea, that he fell on his knees 
 and prayed aloud. 
 
 He was aroused by hearing the ringing of a bell, which 
 announced the approach of the dead-cart, and presently after- 
 wards the gloomy vehicle approached from Ludgate-hill, and 
 moved slowly towards the portico of the cathedral, where it 
 halted. A great number of the dead were placed within it, 
 and the driver, ringing his bell, proceeded in the direction of 
 Cheapside. A very heavy dew had fallen, for as Leonard put 
 his hand to his clothes they felt damp, and his long hair was 
 filled with moisture. Reproaching himself with having need- 
 lessly exposed himself to risk, he was about to walk away, when 
 he heard footsteps at a little distance, and looking in the direction 
 of the sound, perceived the tall figure of Thirlby. Calling to 
 him, the other, who appeared to be in haste, halted for a moment, 
 and telling the apprentice he was going to Doctor Hodges's. 
 desired him to accompany him thither, and went on. 
 
296 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANK 
 
 On reaching Watling-street, Leonard and his companion found 
 Doctor Hodges was from home. This did not much surprise the 
 apprentice, after the information he had received from Solomon 
 Eagle, but Thirlby was greatly disappointed, and eagerly ques- 
 tioned the porter as to the probable time of his master's return. 
 The man replied that it was quite uncertain, adding, " He has 
 been in since you were last here, and has seen Blaize. He had 
 not been gone to the cathedral many minutes when a gentleman 
 arrived, desiring his instant attendance upon a young woman 
 who was sick of the plague." 
 
 " Did you hear her name ?" asked Leonard and Thirlby, in a 
 breath. 
 
 "No," replied the porter, "neither did I obtain any information 
 respecting her from the gentleman, who appeared in great distress. 
 But I observed that my master, on his return, looked much sur- 
 prised at seeing him, and treated him with a sort of cold respect." 
 
 "Was the gentleman young or old?" demanded Leonard, 
 hastily. 
 
 " As far as I noticed," replied the porter, " for he kept his face 
 covered with a handkerchief!, I should say he was young — very 
 young." 
 
 "You are sure it was not Lord Rochester?" pursued Leonard. 
 
 "How should I be sure of it," rejoined the porter, "since I 
 have never seen his lordship that I am aware of? But I will 
 tell you all that happened, and you can judge for yourselves. 
 My master, as I have just said, on seeing the stranger, looked 
 surprised and angry, and bowing gravely, conducted him to his 
 study, taking care to close the door after him. I did not, of 
 course, hear what passed, but the interview was brief enough, 
 and the gentleman, issuing forth, said, as he quitted the room, 
 'You will not fail to come?' To which my master replied, 
 ' Certainly not, on the terms I have mentioned.' With this, the 
 gentleman hurried out of the house. Shortly afterwards the 
 doctor came out, and said to me, ' I am going to attend a young 
 woman who is sick of the plague, and may be absent for some 
 time. If Mr. Thirlby or Leonard Holt should call, detain them 
 till my return.' " 
 
 " My heart tells me that the young woman he is gone to visit 
 is no other than Amabel," said Leonard Holt, sorrowfully. 
 
 " I suspect it is Nizza Macascree," cried Thirlby. " Which 
 way did your master take?" 
 
 "I <iid not observe," replied the porter, "but he told me he 
 should cross London-bridge." 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-fANE. 297 
 
 "I will go into Southwark in quest of him," said Thirlbv. 
 "Every moment is of consequence now." 
 
 " You had better stay where you are," replied the old porter. 
 "It is the surest way to meet with him." 
 
 Thirlby, however, was too full of anxiety to listen to reason, 
 and his impatience producing a corresponding effect upon Leonard, 
 though from a different motive, they set forth together. 
 
 " If I fail to find him, you may expect me back ere long," were 
 Thirlby's last words to the porter. Hurrying along Watling- 
 street, and taking the first turning on the right, he descended to 
 Thames-street, and made the best of his way towards the bridge. 
 Leonard followed him closely, and they pursued their rapid 
 course in silence. By the time they reached the north gate of 
 the bridge, Leonard found his strength failing him, and halting 
 at one of the openings between the tall houses overlooking the 
 river, where there was a wooden bench for the accommodation 
 of passengers, he sank upon it, and begged Thirlby to go on, 
 saying he would return to Watling-street as soon as he recovered 
 from his exhaustion. Thirlby did not attempt to dissuade him 
 from his purpose, but instantly disappeared. 
 
 The night, it has before been remarked, was singularly beau- 
 tiful. It was almost as light as day, for the full harvest moon 
 (alas ! there was no harvest for it to smile upon !) having just 
 risen, revealed every object with perfect distinctness. The bench 
 on which Leonard was seated lay on the right side of the bridge, 
 and commanded a magnificent reach of the river, that flowed 
 beneath like a sheet of molten silver. The apprentice gazed 
 along its banks, and noted the tall spectral-looking houses on 
 the right, until his eye finally settled on the massive fabric of 
 Saint Paul's, the roof and towers of which rose high above the 
 lesser structures. His meditations were suddenly interrupted 
 by the opening of a window in the house near him, while a loud 
 splash in the water told that a body had been thrown into it. 
 He turned away with a shudder, and at the same moment per- 
 ceived a watchman, with a halbert upon his shoulder, advancing 
 slowly towards him from the Southwark side of the bridge. 
 Pausing as he drew near the apprentice, the watchman com- 
 passionately inquired whether he was sick, and being answered 
 in the negative, was about to pass on, when Leonard, fancying 
 he recognised his voice, stopped him. 
 
 " We have met somewhere before, friend," he said, " though 
 where, or under what circumstances, I cannot at this moment 
 call to mind." 
 
 " Not unlikely," returned the other, roughly ; " but the chances 
 are against our meeting again." 
 
 Leonard heaved a sigh at the remark. 
 
 "I now recollect where I met you, friend," he remarked. "Ifi 
 was at Saint Paul's, when I was in search of my master's daughter, 
 
298 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 who had been carried off by the Earl of Rochester. But you 
 were then in the garb of a smith." 
 
 " I recollect the circumstance, too, now you remind me of it," 
 replied the other. "Your name is Leonard Holt as surely as 
 mine is Robert Rainbird. I recollect, also, that you offended 
 me about a dog belonging to the piper's pretty daughter, Nizza 
 Macascree, which I was about to destroy in obedience to the 
 Lord Mayor's commands. However, I bear no malice, and if T 
 did, this is not a time to rip up old quarrels." 
 
 "You are right, friend," returned Leonard. "The few of us 
 left ought to be in charity with each other." 
 
 " Truly, ought we," rejoined Rainbird. "For my own part, 
 I have seen so much misery within the last few weeks, that my 
 disposition is wholly changed. I was obliged to abandon my 
 old occupation of a smith, because my master died of the plague, 
 and there was no one else to employ me. I have therefore served 
 as a watchman, and in twenty days have stood at the doors of 
 more than twenty houses. It would freeze your blood were I to 
 relate the scenes I have witnessed." 
 
 "It might have done formerly," replied Leonard; "but my 
 feelings are as much changed as your own. I have had the 
 plague twice myself." 
 
 " Then, indeed, you can speak," replied Rainbird. "Thank 
 God, I have hitherto escaped it ! Ah ! these are terrible times — 
 terrible times ! The worst that ever London knew. Although 
 I have been hitherto miraculously preserved myself, I am firmly 
 persuaded no one will escape." 
 
 " I am almost inclined to agree with you," replied Leonard. 
 
 " For the last week the distemper has raged fearfully — fear- 
 fully, indeed," said Rainbird ; " but yesterday and to-day have 
 far exceeded all that have gone before. The distempered have 
 died quicker than cattle of the murrain. I visited upwards of a 
 hundred houses in the Borough this morning, and only found 
 ten persons alive ; and out of those ten, not one, I will venture to 
 say, is alive now. It will, in truth, be a mercy if they are gone. 
 There were distracted mothers raving over their children — a 
 young husband lamenting his wife, — two little children weeping 
 over their dead parents, with none to attend them, none to feed 
 them, — an old man mourning over his son cut off in his prime. 
 In short, misery and distress in their worst form, — the streets 
 ringing with shrieks and groans, and the numbers of dead so 
 great that it was impossible to carry them off. You remember 
 Solomon Eagle's prophecy?" 
 
 " Perfectly," replied Leonard ; " and I lament to see its fulfil- 
 ment." 
 
 " ' The streets shall be covered with grass, and the living 
 shall not be able to bury their dead,' — so it ran," said Rainbird. 
 ** And it has come to pass. Not a carriage of any description, 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANE. 299 
 
 save the dead-cart, is to be seen in the broadest streets of London, 
 which are now as green as the fields without her walls, and as 
 silent as the grave itself. Terrible times, as I said before — 
 terrible times 1 The dead are rotting in heaps in the courts, in 
 the alleys, in the very houses, and no one to remove them. 
 What will be the end of it all ? What will become of this great 
 city?" 
 
 " It is not difficult to foresee what will become of it," replied 
 Leonard, " unless it pleases the Lord to stay his vengeful arm. 
 And something whispers in my ear that we are now at the worst. 
 The scourge cannot exceed its present violence without working 
 our ruin; and deeply as we have sinned, little as we repent, I 
 cannot bring myself to believe that God will sweep his people 
 entirely from the face of the earth." 
 
 " I dare not hope otherwise," rejoined Rainbird, " though I 
 would fain do so. I discern no symptoms of abatement of the 
 distemper, but, on the contrary, an evident increase of malignity, 
 and such is the opinion of all I have spoken with on the subject. 
 Chowles told me he buried two hundred more yesterday than he 
 had ever done before, and yet he did not carry a third of the dead 
 to the plague-pit. He is a strange fellow that Chowles. But for 
 his passion for his horrible calling there is no necessity for him to 
 follow it, for he is now one of the richest men in London." 
 
 " He must have amassed his riches by robbery then," remarked 
 Leonard. 
 
 "■ True," returned Rainbird. (i He helps himself without 
 scruple to the clothes, goods, and other property of all who die 
 of the pestilence, and after ransacking their houses, conveys his 
 plunder in the dead cart to his own dwelling." 
 
 " In Saint Paul's ?" asked Leonard. 
 
 " No, a large house in Nicholas-lane, once belonging to a 
 wealthy merchant, who perished with his family of the plague," 
 replied Rainbird. " He has filled it from cellar to garret with the 
 spoil he has obtained." 
 
 " And how has he preserved it ?" inquired the apprentice. 
 
 " The plague has preserved it for him," replied Rainbird. "The 
 few authorities who now act have, perhaps, no knowledge of his 
 proceedings ; or if they have, have not cared to interfere, awaiting 
 a more favourable season, if it should ever arrive, to dispossess 
 him of his hoard, and punish him for his delinquencies ; while in 
 the meantime they are glad, on any terms, to avail themselves of 
 his services as a burier. Other people do not care to meddle 
 with him, and the most daring robber would be afraid to touch 
 infected money or clothes." 
 
 " If you are going towards Nicholas-lane," said Leonard, as if 
 struck with a sudden idea, " and will point out to me the house 
 in question, you will do me a favour." 
 
 Rainbird nodded assent, and they walked on together towards 
 
300 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 Fish-street-hill. Ascending it, and turning off on the right, they 
 entered Great Eastcheap, but had not proceeded far when they 
 were obliged to turn back, the street being literally choked up 
 with a pile of carcases deposited there by the burier's assistants. 
 Shaping their course along Gracechurch-street, they turned off 
 into Lombard-street, and as Leonard gazed at the goldsmiths' 
 houses on either side, which were all shut up, with the fatal red 
 cross on the doors, he could not help remarking to his companion, 
 " the plague has not spared any of these on account of their 
 riches." 
 
 " True," replied the other, " and of the thousands who used 
 formerly to throng this street not one is left. Wo to London ! — 
 wo ! — wo !" 
 
 Leonard echoed the sentiment, and fell into a melancholy train 
 of reflection. It has been more than once remarked that the par- 
 ticular day now under consideration was the one in which the 
 plague exercised its fiercest dominion over the city; and though 
 at first its decline was as imperceptible as the gradual diminution 
 of the day after the longest has passed, yet still the alteration 
 began. On that day, as if Death had known that his power was 
 to be speedily arrested, he sharpened his fellest arrows, and dis- 
 charged them with unerring aim. To pursue the course of the 
 Destroyer from house to house — to show with what unrelenting 
 fury he assailed his victims — to describe their sufferings — to 
 number the dead left within their beds, thrown into the streets, 
 or conveyed to the plague-pits — would be to present a narrative 
 as painful as revolting. On this terrible night it was as hot as if 
 it had been the middle of June. No air was stirring, and the 
 silence was so profound, that a slight noise was audible at a great 
 distance. Hushed in the seemingly placid repose lay the great 
 city, while hundreds of its inhabitants were groaning in agony, 
 or breathing their last sigh. 
 
 On reaching the upper end of Nicholas-lane, Rainbird stood 
 still for a moment, and pointed out a large house on the right, 
 just below the old church dedicated to the saint from which the 
 thoroughfare took its name. They were about to proceed towards 
 it, when the smith again paused, and called Leonard's attention 
 to two figures quickly advancing from the lower end of the street. 
 As the apprentice and his companion stood in the shade, they 
 could not be seen, while the two persons, being in the moonlight, 
 were fully revealed. One of them, it was easy to perceive, was 
 Chowles. He stopped before the door of his dwelling and 
 unfastened it, and while he was thus occupied, the other person 
 turned his face so as to catch the full radiance of the moon, dis- 
 closing the features of Sir Paul Parravicin. Before Leonard 
 recovered from the surprise into which he was thrown by this 
 unexpected discovery, they had entered the house. 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANE. SOI 
 
 He then hurried forward, but, to his great disappointment, 
 found the door locked. Anxious to get into the house without 
 alarming those who had preceded him, he glanced at the windows ; 
 but the shutters were closed and strongly barred. While hesi- 
 tating what to do, Rainbird came up, and guessing his wishes, 
 told him there was a door at the back of the house by which he 
 might probably gain admittance. Accordingly they hastened 
 down a passage skirting the churchyard, which brought them to 
 a narrow alley lying between Nicholas-lane and Abchurch-lane. 
 Tracking it for about twenty yards, Rainbird paused before a 
 small yard door, and trying the latch, found it yielded to his touch. 
 
 Crossing the yard, they came to another door. It was locked, 
 and though they could have easily burst it open, the} 7 preferred 
 having recourse to an adjoining window, the shutter of which 
 being carelessly fastened, was removed without noise or difficult}*. 
 In another moment they gained a small dark room on the ground- 
 floor, whence they issued into a passage, where, to their great 
 joy, they found a lighted lantern placed on a chair. Leonard 
 hastily possessed himself of it, and was about to enter a room on 
 the left when his companion arrested him. 
 
 " Before we proceed further," he said, in low voice, " I must 
 know what you are about to do ?" 
 
 '• My purpose will be explained in a word," replied the appren- 
 tice in the same tone. " I suspect that Nizza Macascree is con- 
 fined here by Sir Paul Parravicin and Chowlcs, and if it turns out 
 I am right in my conjecture, I propose to liberate her. Will you 
 help me ?" 
 
 " Humph I" exclaimed Rainbird, "I don't much fancy the job. 
 However, since I am here, I'll not go back. I am curious to see 
 the coffin-maker's hoards. Look at yon heap of clothes. There 
 are velvet doublets and silken hose enow to furnish wardrobes for 
 a dozen court gallants. And yet, rich as the stuff's are, I would 
 not put the best of them on for all the wealth of London." 
 
 " Nor I," replied Leonard. " I shall make free, however, with 
 a sword," he added, selecting one from the heap. " I may need 
 a weapon." 
 
 " I require nothing more than my halbert," observed the smith ; 
 '* and I would advise you to throw away that velvet scabbard. 
 It is a certain harbour for infection." 
 
 Leonard did not neglect the caution, and pushing open the door, 
 they entered a large room which resembled an upholsterer's shop, 
 being literally crammed with chairs, tables, cabinets, moveable 
 cupboards, bedsteads, curtains, and hangings, all of the richest 
 description. 
 
 " What I heard is true," observed Rainbird, gazing around in 
 astonishment. " Chowles must have carried off every thing he 
 could lay hands upon. What can he do with all that furniture ?" 
 
S02 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 M What the miser does with his store," replied Leonard: "feast 
 his eyes with it, but never use it." 
 
 They then proceeded to the next room. It was crowded with 
 books, looking-glasses, and pictures; many of them originally of 
 great value, but greatly damaged by the careless manner in which 
 they were piled one upon another. A third apartment was filled 
 with flasks of wine, with casks probably containing spirits, and 
 boxes, the contents of which they did not pause to examine. A 
 fourth contained male and female habiliments, spread out like the 
 dresses in a theatrical wardrobe. Most of these garments were 
 of the gayest and costliest description, and of the latest fashion, 
 and Leonard sighed as he looked upon them, and thought of the 
 fate of those they had so lately adorned. 
 
 " There is contagion enough in those clothes to infect a whole 
 city," said Rainbird, who regarded them with different feelings. 
 " I have half a mind to set fire to them." 
 
 "It were a good deed to do so," returned Leonard; "but it 
 must not be done now. Let us go up stairs. These are the only 
 rooms below." 
 
 Accordingly, they ascended the staircase, and entered chamber 
 after chamber, all of which were as full of spoil as those they had 
 just visited ; but they could find no one, nor was there any symp- 
 tom that the house was tenanted. They next stood still within 
 the gallery, and listened intently for some sound to reveal those 
 they sought, but all was still and silent as the grave. 
 
 " We cannot be mistaken," observed Leonard. " It is clear 
 this house is the receptable for Chowles's plunder. Besides, we 
 should not have found the lantern burning if they had gone forth 
 again. No, no ; they must be hidden somewhere, and I will not 
 quit the place till I find them." 
 
 Their search, however, was fruitless. Tbey mounted to the 
 garrets, opened every door, and glanced into every corner. Still, 
 no one was to be seen. 
 
 " I begin to think Nizza cannot be here," said the apprentice ; 
 " but I am resolved not to depart without questioning Chowles 
 on the subject." 
 
 " You must find him first," rejoined Rainbird. " If he is any- 
 where, he must be in the cellar, for we have been into every 
 room in this part of the house. For my own part, I think you 
 had better abandon the search altogether. No good will come 
 of it." 
 
 Leonard, however, was not to be dissuaded, and they went down 
 stairs. A short flight of stone steps brought them to a spacious 
 kitchen, but it was quite empty, and seemed to have been long 
 disused. They then peeped into the scullery adjoining, and were 
 about to retrace their steps, when Rainbird plucked Leonard's 
 6leeve to call attention to a gleam of light issuing from a door 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANK 303 
 
 which stood partly ajar, in a long narrow passage leading appa- 
 rently to the cellars. 
 
 " They are there," he said, in a whisper. 
 
 ** So I see," replied Leonard, in the same tone. And raising 
 his finger to his lips in token of silence, he stole forward on the 
 points of his feet and cautiously opened the door. 
 
 At the further end of the cellar — for such it was — knelt 
 Chowles, examining with greedy eyes the contents of a large 
 chest, which, from the hasty glance that Leonard caught of 
 it, appeared to be filled with gold and siver plate. A link stuck 
 against the wall threw a strong light over the scene, and showed 
 that the coffin-maker was alone. As Leonard advanced, the 
 sound of his footsteps caught Chowlcs's ear, and uttering a cry 
 of surprise and alarm, he let fall the lid of the chest, and sprang 
 to his feet. 
 
 " What do you want ?" he cried, looking uneasily round, as if 
 in search of some weapon. " Are you come to rob me ?" 
 
 " No," replied Leonard ; u neither are we come to reclaim the 
 plunder you have taken from others. We are come in search of 
 Nizza Macascree." 
 
 " Then you have come on a fool's errand," replied Chowles, 
 regaining his courage, " for she is not here. I know nothing of 
 her." 
 
 " That is false," rejoined Leonard. " You have just conducted 
 Sir Paul Parravicin to her." 
 
 This assertion on the part of the apprentice, which he thought 
 himself justified under the circumstances in making, produced 
 a strong effect on Chowles. He appeared startled and con- 
 founded. 
 
 " What right have you to play the spy upon me thus ?" he 
 faltered. 
 
 "The right that every honest man possesses to check the designs 
 of the wicked," replied Leonard. " You admit she is here. Lead 
 me to her hiding-place without more ado." 
 
 "If you know where it is," rejoined Chowles, who now per- 
 ceived the trick that had been practised upon him, " you will not 
 want me to conduct you to it. Neither Nizza nor Sir Paul Par- 
 ravicin are here." 
 
 " That is false, prevaricating scoundrel," cried Leonard. " My 
 companion and I saw you enter the house with your profligate 
 employer. And as we gained admittance a few minutes after 
 you, it is certain no one can have left it. Lead me to Nizza's 
 retreat instantly, or I will cut your throat." 
 
 And seizing Chowles by the collar, he held the point of his 
 sword to his breast. 
 
 " Use no violence," cried Chowles, struggling to free himself, 
 " and I will take you wherever you please. This way — this way," 
 
oOi OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 And he motioned as if he would take them up stairs. 
 
 " Do not think to mislead me, villain," cried Leonard, tighten 
 ing his grasp. " We have searched every room in the upper 
 part of the house, and though we have discovered the whole of 
 your ill-gotten hoards, we have found nothing else. No one is 
 there." 
 
 " Well, then," rejoined Chowles, " since the truth must out. 
 Sir Paul is in the next house. But it is his own abode. I have 
 nothing to do with it, nothing whatever. He is accountable for 
 his own actions, and you will be accountable to him if you intrude 
 upon his privacy. Release me, and I swear to conduct you to him, 
 But you will take the consequences of your rashness upon your- 
 self. I only go upon compulsion." 
 
 " I am ready to take any consequences," replied Leonard, 
 resolutely. 
 
 " Come along, then," said Chowles, pointing down the 
 passage. 
 
 " You mean us no mischief?" cried Leonard, suspiciously. "If 
 you do, the attempt will cost you your life." 
 
 Chowles made no answer, but moved along the passage as 
 quickly as Leonard, who kept fast hold of him, and walked by 
 his side, would permit. Presently they reached a door, which 
 neither the apprentice nor Rainbird had observed before, and 
 which admitted them into an extensive vault, with a short stair- 
 case at the further end, communicating with a passage that 
 Leonard did not require to be informed was in another house. 
 
 Here Chowles paused. 
 
 " I think it right to warn you you are running into a danger 
 from which ere long you will be glad to draw back, young man," 
 he said, to the apprentice. " As a friend, I advise you to proceed 
 no further in the matter." 
 
 " Waste no more time in talking," cried Leonard, fiercely, and 
 forcing him forward as he spoke, " where is Nizza ? Lead me to 
 her without an instant's delay." 
 
 " A wilful man must have his way," returned Chowles, hurry- 
 ing up the main staircase. " It is not my fault if any harm befals 
 you." 
 
 They had just gained the landing when a door on the right was 
 suddenly thrown open, and Sir Paul Parravicin stood before them, 
 lie looked surprised and startled at the sight of the apprentice, and 
 angrily demanded his business. 
 
 " I am come for Nizza Macascree," replied Leonard, " whom 
 you and Chowles have detained against her will." 
 
 Parravicin glanced sternly and inquiringly at the coffin-maker. 
 
 " I have protested to him that she is not here, Sir Paul," said 
 the latter, " but he will not believe me, and has compelled me 
 by threats of taking my life, to bring him and his companion 
 to you." 
 
THE HOUSE IX NICHOLAS-LANE. 805 
 
 " Then take them back again,*' rejoined Parravicin, turning 
 haughtily upon his heel. 
 
 " That answer will not suffice, Sir Paul," cried Leonard — " I 
 will not depart without her." 
 
 " How !" exclaimed the knight, drawing his sword. " Do you 
 dare to intrude upon my presence ? Begone, or I will punish 
 your presumption." And he prepared to attack the apprentice. 
 
 "Advance a footstep," rejoined Leonard, who had never relin- 
 quished his grasp of Chowles, " and I pass my sword through 
 this man's bod}'. Speak, villain," he continued, in a tone so for- 
 midable that the coffin-maker shook with apprehension, — "is she 
 here or not?" 
 
 Chowles gazed from him to the knight, whose deportment 
 was equally menacing, and appeared bewildered with terror. 
 
 " It is needless," said Leonard, " vour looks answer for you. 
 She is." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I confess she is," replied Chowles. 
 
 "You hear what he says, Sir Paul," remarked Leonard. 
 
 " His fears would make him assert anything," rejoined Parra- 
 vicin, disdainfully. " If you do not depart instantly, I will drive 
 you forth." 
 
 " Sir Paul Parravicin," rejoined Leonard, in an authoritative 
 tone, "I command you, in the king's name, to deliver up this 
 girl." 
 
 Parravicin laughed scornfully. 
 
 " The king has no authority here," he said. 
 
 "Pardon me, Sir Paul," rejoined Chowles, who began to be 
 seriously alarmed at his own situation, and eagerly grasped at 
 the opportunity that offered of extricating himself from it, — 
 "pardon me. If it is the king's pleasure she should be removed, 
 it materially alters the case, and I can be no party to her deten- 
 tion." 
 
 " Both you and your employer will incur his majesty's severest 
 displeasure, by detaining her after this notice," remarked Leonard. 
 
 " Before I listen to the young man's request, let him declare 
 that it is his intention to deliver her up to the king," rejoined 
 Parravicin, coldly. 
 
 " It is my intention to deliver her up to one who has the best 
 right to take charge of her," returned Leonard. 
 
 " You mean her father," sneered Parravicin. 
 
 " Ay, but not the person you suppose to be her father," replied 
 Leonard. " An important discovery has been made respecting 
 her parentage." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Parravicin, with a look of surprise. 
 "Who has the honour to be her father?" 
 
 " A gentleman named Thirlby," replied Leonard. 
 
 " What !" cried Parravicin, starting, and turning pale. " Did 
 you say Thirlby ?" 
 
 X 
 
306 old saint Paul's. 
 
 The apprentice reiterated his assertion. 
 
 Parravicin uttered a deep groan, and pressed his hand forcihly 
 against his brow for some moments, during which the apprentice 
 watched him narrowly. He then controlled himself by a powerful 
 effort, and returned his sword to its scabbard. 
 
 " Come into this room, young man," he said to the apprentice, 
 "and let your companion remain outside with Chowles. Fear 
 nothing. I intend you no injury." 
 
 " I do not distrust you," replied Leonard, " and if I did, should 
 have no apprehension." 
 
 And motioning Rainbird to remain where he was, he entered 
 the room with the knight, who instantly closed the door. 
 
 Parravicin's first proceeding was to question him as to his 
 reasons for supposing Nizza to be Thirlby's daughter, and clearly 
 perceiving the deep interest his interrogator took in the matter, 
 and the favourable change that, from some unknown cause, had 
 been wrought in his sentiments, the apprentice did not think fit 
 to hide anything from him. Parravicin's agitation increased as 
 he listened to the recital ; and at last, overcome by emotion, he 
 sank into a chair, and covered his face with his hands. Reco- 
 vering himself in a short time, he arose, and began to pace the 
 chamber to and fro. 
 
 " What I have told you seems to have disturbed you, Sir Paul," 
 remarked Leonard. " May I ask the cause of your agitation ?" 
 
 "No, man, you may not," replied Parravicin, angrily. And 
 then suddenly checking himself, he added, with forced calmness, 
 "And so you parted with Mr. Thirlby on London-bridge, and 
 you think he will return to Doctor Hodges's residence in Watling- 
 street ?" 
 
 " I am sure of it," replied Leonard. 
 
 " I must see him without delay," rejoined Parravicin. 
 
 " I will take you to him," remarked Leonard ; " but first I 
 must see Nizza." 
 
 Parravicin walked to a table, on which stood a small silver 
 Dell, and ringing it, the summons was immediately answered by 
 an old woman. He was about to deliver a message to her, when 
 the disturbed expression of her countenance struck him, and he 
 hastily inquired the cause of it. 
 
 " You must not see the young lady to-night, Sir Paul," said 
 the old woman. 
 
 " Why not ?" demanded the knight, hastily. " Why not ?" 
 
 " Because, — but you frighten me so that I dare not speak," 
 was the answer. 
 
 " I will frighten you still more if you keep me in this state of 
 suspense," rejoined Parravicin, furiously. "Is she ill?" 
 
 "I fear she has got the plague," returned the old woman. 
 " Now you can see her if you think proper." 
 
 " I will see her," said Leonard. " I have no fear of infection." 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANK SO 7 
 
 The old woman looked hard at Parravicin, as if awaiting his 
 orders. 
 
 "Yes, yes, you can take him to her room," said the knight, 
 who seemed completely overpowered by the intelligence, " if he 
 chooses to go thither. But why do you suppose it is the plague?" 
 
 " One cannot well be deceived in a seizure of that kind," 
 replied the old woman, shaking her head. 
 
 " I thought the disorder never attacked the same person twice," 
 said Parravicin. 
 
 "I myself am an instance to the contrary," replied Leonard. 
 
 " And, as you have twice recovered, there may be a chance 
 for Nizza," said Parravicin. "This old woman will take you to 
 her. I will hasten to Doctor Hodgcs's residence, and if I should 
 fail in meeting him, will not rest till I procure assistance else- 
 where. Do not leave her till I return." 
 
 Leonard readily gave a promise to the desired effect, and 
 accompanying him to the door, told Rainbird what had hap- 
 pened. The latter agreed to wait below to render any assistance 
 that might be required, and went down stairs with Parravicin 
 and Chowles. The two latter instantly quitted the house together, 
 and hastened to Watling-street. 
 
 VS ith a beating heart, Leonard then followed the old woman 
 to Nizza's chamber. They had to pass through a small ante- 
 room, the door of which was carefully locked. The suite of 
 apartments occupied by the captive girl were exquisitely and 
 luxuriously furnished, and formed a striking contrast to the rest 
 of the house. The air was loaded with perfumes; choice pictures 
 adorned the walls; and the tables were covered with books and 
 china ornaments. The windows, however, were strictly barred, 
 and every precaution appeared to be taken to prevent an attempt 
 at escape. Leonard cast an anxious look round as he entered 
 the ante-room, and its luxurious air filled him with anxiety. 
 His conductress, however, did not allow him time for reflection, 
 but led him into another room, still more richly furnished than 
 the first, and lighted by a large coloured lamp, that shed a warm 
 glow around it. An old dwarfed African, in a fantastic dress, 
 and with a large scimetar stuck in his girdle, stepped forward on 
 their approach, and shook his head significantly. 
 
 "He is dumb," said the old woman, "but his gestures are 
 easy to be understood. He means that Nizza is worse." 
 
 Leonard heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 Passing into a third room, they perceived the poor girl stretched 
 jn a couch placed in a recess at one side. She heard their foot- 
 steps, and without raising her head, or looking towards them, 
 6aid, in a weak but determined voice — " Tell your master I will 
 see him no more. The plague has again attacked me, and I am 
 glad of it, for it will deliver me from him. It will be useless to 
 offer me any remedies, for I will not take them." 
 
 x2 
 
S08 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " It is not Sir Paul Parravicin," replied the old woman. " I 
 have brought a stranger, with whose name I am unacquainted, 
 to see you." 
 
 " Then you have done very wrong," replied Nizza. " I will 
 pee no one." 
 
 "Not even me, Nizza?" asked Leonard, advancing. 
 
 The poor girl started at the sound of his voice, and raising 
 herself on one arm, looked wildly towards him. As soon as shn 
 was satisfied that her fancy did not deceive her, she uttered a 
 cry of delight, and falling backwards on the couch, became 
 insensible. 
 
 Leonard and the old woman instantly flew to the poor girl's 
 assistance, and restoratives being applied, she speedily opened her 
 eyes, and fixed them tenderly and inquiringly on the apprentice. 
 Before replying to her mute interrogatories, Leonard requestec 
 the old woman to leave them, — an order very reluctantly obeyed 
 — and as soon as they were left alone, proceeded to explain, as 
 briefly as he could, the manner in which he had discovered her 
 place of captivity. Nizza listened to his recital with the greatest 
 interest, and though evidently suffering acute pain, uttered no 
 complaint, but endeavoured to assume an appearance of com- 
 posure and tranquillity. 
 
 "I must now tell you all that has befallen me since we last 
 met," she said, as he concluded. " I will not dwell upon the 
 persecution I endured from the king, whose passion increased in 
 proportion to my resistance, — I will not dwell upon the arts, the 
 infamous arts, used to induce me to comply with his wishes, — 
 neither will I dwell upon the desperate measure I had deter- 
 mined to resort to, if driven to the last strait, — nor would I 
 mention the subject at all, except to assure you I escaped con- 
 tamination, where few escaped it." 
 
 "You need not give me any such assurance," remarked 
 Leonard. 
 
 " While I was thus almost driven to despair," pursued Nizza,. 
 " a young female, who attended me, and affected to deplore my 
 situation, offered to help me to escape. I eagerly embraced the 
 offer ; and one night, having purloined, as she stated, the key or 
 the chamber in which I was lodged, she conducted me by a back 
 staircase into the palace gardens. Thinking myself free, I warmly 
 thanked my supposed deliverer, who hurried me towards a gate, 
 at which she informed me a man was waiting to guide me to a 
 cottage about a mile from the city, where I should be in perfect 
 safety." 
 
 " I see the device," cried Leonard. " But why — why did you 
 trust her ?" 
 
 " What could I do ?" rejoined Nizza. " To stay was as bad aa 
 to fly, and might have been worse. At all events, I had no 
 distrust. My companion opened the gate, and called to some 
 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANK 309 
 
 person without. It was profoundly dark; but I could perceive 
 a carriage, or some other vehicle, at a little distance. Alarmed 
 at the sight, I whispered my fears to my companion, and would 
 have retreated; but she laid hold of my hand, and detained me. 
 The next moment, I felt a rude grasp upon my arm. Before I 
 could cry out, a hand was placed over my mouth so closely as 
 1 almost to stifle me ; and I was forced into the carriage by two 
 persons, who seated themselves on either side of me, threatening 
 to put me to death if I made the slightest noise. The carriage 
 was then driven off at a furious pace. For some miles it pursued 
 the high road, and then struck into a lane, where, in consequence 
 of the deep and dangerous ruts, the driver was obliged to relax 
 his speed. But in spite of all his caution, one of the wheels 
 sunk into a hole, and in the efforts to extricate it, the carriage 
 was overturned. No injury was sustained either by me or the 
 others inside, and the door being forced open without much 
 difficulty, we were let out. One of my captors kept near me, 
 while the other lent his assistance to the coachman to set the 
 carriage to rights. It proved, however, to be so much damaged, 
 that it could not proceed ; and after considerable delay, my 
 conductors ordered the coachman to remain with it till further 
 assistance could be sent; and,, taking the horses, one of them, 
 notwithstanding my resistance, placed me beside him, and 
 galloped off. Having ridden about five miles, we crossed an 
 extensive common, and passed an avenue of trees, which brought 
 us to the entrance of an old house. Our arrival seemed to be 
 expected ; for the instant we appeared, the gate was opened, and 
 the old woman you have just seen, and who is called Mrs. Car- 
 teret, together with a dumb African, named Hassan, appeared 
 at it. Some muttered discourse passed between my conductors 
 and these persons, which ended in my being committed to the 
 care of Mrs. Carteret, who led me up stairs to a richly-furnished 
 chamber, and urged me to take some refreshment before I retired 
 to rest, which, however, I declined." 
 
 " Still you saw nothing of Sir Paul Parravicin ?" asked Leonard. 
 " On going down stairs next morning, he was the first person 
 I beheld," replied Nizza. "Falling upon his knees, he implored 
 my pardon for the artifice he had practised, and said he had 
 been compelled to have recourse to it in order to save me from 
 the king. He then began to plead his own suit; but finding 
 his protestations of passion of no effect, he became yet more 
 importunate; when, at this juncture, one of the men who had 
 acted as my conductor on the previous night, suddenly entered 
 the room, and told him he must return to Oxford without an 
 instant's delay, as the king's attendants were in search of him. 
 Casting a look at me that made me tremble, he then departed; 
 and though I remained more than two months in that house, I 
 fcaw nothing more of him." 
 
310 old saint Paul's. 
 
 "Did you not attempt to escape during that time?" asked 
 Leonard. 
 
 "I was so carefully watched by Mrs. Carteret and Hassan, 
 that it would have been vain to attempt it," she replied. " About 
 a week ago, the two men who had conducted me to my place of 
 captivity, again made their appearance, and told me I must 
 accompany them to London. I attempted no resistance, well 
 aware it would be useless; and as the journey was made by 
 by-roads, three days elapsed before we reached the capital. We 
 arrived at night, and I almost forgot my own alarm in the terrible 
 sights I beheld at every turn. It would have been useless to call 
 out for assistance, for there was no one to afford it. I asked my 
 conductors if they had brought me there to die, and they answered 
 sternly, 'It depended on myself.' At Ludgate we met Chowles, 
 the coffin-maker, and he brought us to this house. Yesterday, 
 Sir Paul Parravicin made his appearance, and told me he had 
 brought me hither to be out of the king's way. He then renewed 
 his odious solicitations. I resisted him as firmly as before ; but 
 he was more determined, and I might have been reduced to the 
 last extremity but for your arrival, or for the terrible disorder 
 that has seized me. But I have spoken enough of myself. Tell 
 me what has become of Amabel ?" 
 
 " She, too, has got the plague," replied Leonard, mournfully. 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" cried Nizza, bursting into tears — " she is so dear 
 to you, that I grieve for her far more than for myself." 
 
 "I have not seen her since I last beheld you," said Leonard, 
 greatly touched by the poor girl's devotion. " She was carried 
 off by the Earl of Rochester on the same night that you were 
 taken from Kingston Lisle by the king." 
 
 " And she has been in his power ever since ?" demanded Nizza, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Ever since," repeated Leonard. 
 
 " The same power that has watched over me, I trust has pro- 
 tected her," cried Nizza, fervently. 
 
 " I cannot doubt it," replied Leonard. " She would now not 
 be alive were it otherwise. But I have now something of 
 importance to disclose to you. You remember the stranger we 
 met near the plague-pit in Finsbury-fields, and whose child I 
 buried?" 
 
 " Perfectly," replied Nizza. 
 
 "What if I tell you he is your father?" said Leonard. 
 
 " What !" cried Nizza, in the utmost surprise. " ilave I then, 
 been mistaken all these years in supposing the piper to be my 
 father?" 
 
 "You have," replied Leonard. "I cannot explain more to 
 you at present, but a few hours will reveal all. Thirlby is the 
 name of your father. Have you ever heard it before ?" 
 
 " Never," returned Nizza. " It is strange what you tell me. 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANK 311 
 
 I have often reproached myself for not feeling a stronger affection 
 for the piper, who always treated me with the kindness of a parent. 
 But it now seems the true instinct was wanting. Tell me your 
 reasons for lairrposingr this person to be my father." 
 
 As Leonard was about to reply, the door was opened by Mrs. 
 Carteret, who said that Sir Paul Parravicin had just returned 
 with Doctor Hodges and another gentleman. The words were 
 scarcely uttered, when Thirlby rushed into the room, and flinging 
 himself on his knees before the couch, cried — "At last I have 
 found you, — my child ! my child 1" 
 
 The surprise which Nizza must have experienced at such an 
 address was materially lessened by what Leonard had just tolii 
 her, and after earnestly regarding the stranger for some time, sh© 
 exclaimed, in a gentle voice, " My father I" 
 
 Thirlby sprang to his feet, and would have folded her in his 
 arms, if Doctor Hodges, who by this time had reached the couch, 
 had not prevented him. 
 
 " Touch her not, or you destroy yourself," he cried. 
 
 "I care not if I do," rejoined Thirlby. "The gratification 
 would be cheaply purchased at the price of my life, and if I could 
 preserve hers by the sacrifice, I would gladly make it." 
 
 "No more of this," cried Hodges, impatiently, " or you will 
 defeat any attempt I may make to cure her. You had better not 
 remain here. Your presence agitates her." 
 
 Gazing wistfully at his daughter, and scarcely able to tear him- 
 self away, Thirlby yielded at last to the Doctor's advice, and 
 quitted the room. He was followed by Leonard, who received a 
 hint to the same effect. On reaching the adjoining room, they 
 found Sir Paul Parravicin walking to and fro in an agitated 
 manner. He immediately came up to Thirlby, and in an anxious 
 but deferential tone, inquired how he had found Nizza ? The 
 latter shook his head, and sternly declining any further con- 
 versation, passed on with the apprentice to an outer room. He 
 then flung himself into a chair, and appeared lost in deep and bitter 
 reflection. Leonard was unwilling to disturb him, but at last his 
 own anxieties compelled him to break silence. 
 
 " Can you tell me aught of Amabel ?" he asked. 
 
 " Alas ! no," replied Thirlby, rousing himself. " I have had 
 no time to inquire about her, as you shall hear. After leaving 
 you on the bridge, I went into Southwark, and hurrying through 
 all the principal streets, inquired from every watchman I met 
 whether he had seen any person answering to Doctor Hodges's 
 description, but could hear nothing of him. At last, I gave up 
 the quest, and retracing my steps, was proceeding along Cannon- 
 street, when I descried a person a little in advance of me, whclr 
 I thought must be the doctor, and calling out to him, found 1 
 was not mistaken. I had just reached him, when two other 
 persons turned the corner of Nicholas-lane. On seeing us one 
 
SI 2 OLD SAINT rAUl/s. 
 
 of them ran up to the doctor, exclaiming, ' By Heaven, the very 
 person I want !' It was Sir Paul Parravicin, and he instantly 
 explained his errand. Imagine the feelings with which I heard 
 his account of the illness of my daughter. Imagine, also, the 
 horror I must have experienced in recognising in her persecutor 
 my " 
 
 The sentence was not completed, for at that moment the dooi 
 was opened bj" Sir Paul Parravicin, who, advancing towards 
 Thirlby, begged, in the same deferential tone as before, to have a 
 few words with him. 
 
 " I might well refuse you," replied Thirlb} 7 , sternly, " but it 
 is necessary we should have some explanation of what has 
 occurred." 
 
 "It is," rejoined Parravicin, "and, therefore, I have sought 
 
 J° u -" 
 
 Thirlby arose, and accompanied the knight into the outer room, 
 
 closing the door after him. More than a quarter of an hour, — 
 
 it seemed an age to Leonard, — elapsed, and still no one came. 
 
 Listening intently, he heard voices in the next room. They 
 
 were loud and angry, as if in quarrel. Then all was quiet, and at 
 
 last Thirlby reappeared, and took his seat beside him. 
 
 " Have you seen Doctor Hodges ?" inquired the apprentice, 
 eagerly. 
 
 *•' I have," replied Thirlby, — " and he speaks favourably of my 
 poor child. He has administered all needful remedies, but as it 
 is necessary to watch their effect, he will remain with her some 
 time longer." 
 
 " And, meanwhile, I shall know nothing of Amabel," cried 
 Leonard, in a tone of bitter disappointment. 
 
 " Your anxiety is natural," returned Thirlby, "but you may 
 rest satisfied, if Doctor Hodges has seen her, he has done all that 
 human aid can effect. But as 3011 must perforce wait his coming 
 forth, I will endeavour to beguile the tedious interval by relating 
 to you so much of my history as refers to Nizza Macascree." 
 
 After a brief pause, he commenced. 
 
 " You must know, then, that in my youth I became desperately 
 enamoured of a lady named Isabella Morley. She was most beau- 
 tiful — but I need not enlarge upon her attractions, since you have 
 beheld her very image in Nizza. When I first met her, she was 
 attached to another, but I soon rid myself of my rival. I quar- 
 relled with him, and slew him in a duel. After a long and urgent 
 suit, for the successful issue of which I was mainly indebted to 
 my rank and wealth, which gave great influence with her parents, 
 Isabella became mine. But I soon found out she did not love 
 me. In consequence of this discovery, I became madly jealous, 
 and embittered her life and my own by constant, and, now I know 
 too well, groundless suspicions. She had borne me a son, and in 
 the excess of my jealous fury, fancying the child was not my own, 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANK 313 
 
 I threatened to put it to death. This violence led to the unhappy 
 result I am about to relate. Another child was born, a daughter 
 ■ — need I say Nizza, or, to give her her proper name, Isabella, for 
 she was so christened after her mother, — and one night — one luck- 
 less night, maddened by some causeless doubt, I snatched the 
 innocent babe from her mother's arms, and if I had not been pre- 
 vented by the attendants, who rushed into the room on hearing 
 their mistress's shrieks, should have destroyed her. After awhile, 
 I became pacified, and on reviewing my conduct more calmly on 
 the morrow, bitterly reproached myself, and hastened to express 
 my penitence to my wife. ' You will never have an opportu- 
 nity of repeating your violence,' she said ; * the object of your 
 cruel and unfounded suspicions is gone.' — ' Gone !' 1 exclaimed ; 
 * whither ?' And as I spoke I looked around the chamber. But 
 the babe was nowhere to be seen. In answer to my inquiries, my 
 wife admitted that she had caused her to be removed to a place of 
 safety, but refused, even on my most urgent entreaties, accom- 
 panied by promises of amended conduct, to tell me where. I 
 next interrogated the servants, but they professed entire ignorance 
 of the matter. For three whole days I made ineffectual search 
 for the child, and offered large rewards to any one who would 
 bring her to me. But the}' failed to produce her; and repairing 
 to my wife's chamber, I threatened her with the most terrible con- 
 sequences if she persisted in her vindictive project. She defied 
 me, and, transported with rage, I passed my sword through her 
 body, exclaiming, as I dealt the murderous blow, 'You have sent 
 the brat to her father — to your lover, madam.' Horror and 
 remorse seized me the moment I had committed the ruthless act, 
 and I should have turned my sword against myself, if I had not 
 been sta} r ed by the cry of my poor victim, who implored me to 
 hold my hand. ' Do not add crime to crime,' she cried ; ' you have 
 done me grievous wrong. I have not, indeed, loved you, because 
 my affections were not under my control, but I have been ever 
 true to you, and this I declare with my latest breath. I freely 
 forgive you, and pray God to turn your heart.' And with these 
 words she expired. I was roused from the stupefaction into which 
 1 was thrown by the appearance of the servants. Heaping exe- 
 crations upon me, they strove to seize me ; but I broke through 
 them, and gained a garden at the back of my mansion, which 
 was situated on the bank of the Thames, not far from Chelsea. 
 This garden ran down to the river side, and was defended by a 
 low wall, which I leapt, and plunged into the stream. A boat 
 was instantly sent in pursuit of me, and a number of persons ran 
 along the banks, all eager for my capture. But being an excellent 
 swimmer, I tried to elude them, and as I never appeared again, 
 it was supposed I was drowned." 
 
 " And Nizza, or as I ought now to call her, Isabella, was con- 
 fided, I suppose, to the piper?" inquired Leonard. 
 
SI 4 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " She was confided to his helpmate," replied Thirlby, " why 
 had been nurse to my wife. Mike Macascree was one of mo 
 father's servants, and was in his younger days a merry, worthless 
 fellow. The heavy calamity under which he now labours had 
 not then befallen him. On taking charge of my daughter, his 
 wife received certain papers substantiating the child's origin, 
 together with a miniature, and a small golden amulet. The 
 papers and miniature were delivered by her on her death-bed to 
 the piper, who showed them to me to-night." 
 
 " And the amulet I myself have seen," remarked Leonard. 
 
 " To resume my own history," said Thirlby — " after the 
 dreadful catastrophe I have related, I remained concealed in 
 London for some months, and was glad to find the report of my 
 death generally believed. I then passed over into Holland, 
 where I resided for several years, in the course of which time I 
 married the widow of a rich merchant, who died soon after oui 
 union, leaving me one child." 
 
 And he covered his face with his hands 10 hide his emotion. 
 After awhile, he proceeded — 
 
 " Having passed many years, as peacefully as one whose con- 
 science was so heavily burdened as mine could hope to pass 
 them, in Amsterdam, I last summer brought my daughter, around 
 whom my affections were closely twined, to London, and took 
 up my abode in the eastern environs of the city. There again I 
 was happy — too happy ! — until at last the plague came — but 
 why should I relate the rest of my sad story?" he added, in a 
 voice suffocated with emotion — "you know it as well as I do." 
 
 " You said you had a sou," observed Leonard, after a pause — 
 " Is he yet living ?" 
 
 " He is," replied Thirlby, a shade passing over his counte- 
 nance. " On my return to England I communicated to him 
 through Judith Malmayns, who is my foster-sister, that I was 
 still alive, telling him the name I had adopted, and adding, I 
 should never disturb him in the possession of his title and 
 estates." 
 
 "Title!" exclaimed Leonard. 
 
 " Ay, title !" echoed Thirlby. " The title I once bore was 
 that of Lord Argentine." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," said Leonard, "for I began to fear Sir 
 Paul Parravicin was your son." 
 
 " Sir Paul Parravicin, or, rather, the Lord Argentine, for such 
 is his rightful title, is my son," returned Thirlby; "and I lament 
 ;o own I am his father. When among his worthless associates, 
 — nay, even with the king, — he drops the higher title, and assumes 
 that by which you have known him; and it is well he does so, for 
 his actions are sufficient to tarnish a far nobler name than that 
 he bears. Owing to this disguise I knew not he was the person 
 who carried off my daughter. But, thank Heaven ! another, and 
 
THE TRIALS OF AMABEL. 315 
 
 fotner crime, has been spared us. All these things have beer 
 strangely explained to me to-night. And thus, you see, young 
 man, the poor piper's daughter turns out to be the Lady Isabella 
 Argentine." 
 
 Before an answer could be returned, the door was opened by 
 Hodges, and both starting to their feet, hurried towards him. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TRIALS OF AMABEL. 
 
 It will now be necessary to return to the period of Amabel's 
 abduction from Kingston Lisle. The shawl thrown over her 
 head prevented her cries from being heard; and, notwithstanding 
 her struggles, she was placed on horseback before a powerful 
 man, who galloped off with her along the Wantage road. After 
 proceeding at a rapid pace for about two miles, her conductor 
 came to a halt, and she could distinguish the sound of other 
 horsemen approaching. At first she hoped it might prove a 
 rescue ; but she was quickly undeceived. The shawl was 
 removed, and she beheld the Earl of Rochester, accompanied by 
 Pillichody, and some half-dozen mounted attendants. The earl 
 would have transferred her to his own steed, but she offered such 
 determined resistance to the arrangement, that he was compelled 
 to content himself with riding by her side. All his efforts to 
 engage her in conversation were equally unsuccessful. She 
 made no reply to his remarks, but averted her gaze from him ; 
 and, whenever he approached, shrank from him with abhorrence. 
 The earl, however, was not easily repulsed, but continued his 
 attentions and discourse, as if both had been favourably received. 
 In this way they proceeded for some miles, one of the earl's 
 attendants, who was well acquainted with the country, being, in 
 fact, a native of it, serving as their guide. They had quitted the 
 Wantage road, and leaving that ancient town, renowned as the 
 birthplace of the great Alfred, on the right, had taken the direc- 
 tion of Abingdon and Oxford. It was a lovely evening, and 
 their course led them through many charming places. But th^ 
 dreariest waste would have been as agreeable as the richest 
 prospect to Amabel. She noted neither the broad meadows, 
 yet white from the scythe, nor the cornfields waving with their 
 deep and abundant, though yet immature crops; nor did she 
 cast even a passing glance at any one of those green spots which 
 every lane offers, and upon which the eye of the traveller ordi- 
 narily delights to linger. She rode beneath a natural avenue of 
 trees, whose branches met overhead like the arches of a cathe- 
 dral, and was scarcely conscious of their pleasant shade. She 
 
316 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 heard neither the song of the wooing thrush, nor the cry of the 
 startled blackbird, nor the evening hymn of the soaring lark. 
 Alike to her was the gorse-covered common, along which they 
 swiftly speeded, and the steep hill-side up which they more 
 iwiftly mounted. She breathed not the delicious fragrance of 
 the new-mown hay, nor listened to the distant lowing herds, the 
 bleating sheep, or the cawing rooks. She thought of nothing 
 but her perilous situation, — heard nothing but the voice of 
 Rochester, — felt nothing but the terror inspired by his presence. 
 
 As the earl did not desire to pass through any village, if he 
 could help it, his guide led him along the most unfrequented 
 roads; but, in spite of his caution, an interruption occurred 
 which had nearly resulted in Amabel's deliverance. While 
 threading a narrow lane, they came suddenly upon a troop of 
 haymakers, in a field on the right, who, up to that moment, had 
 been hidden from view by the high hedges. On seeing them, 
 Amabel screamed loudly for assistance, and was instantly 
 answered by their shouts. Rochester ordered his men to gallop 
 forward, but the road winding round the meadow, the hay- 
 makers were enabled to take a shorter cut and intercept them. 
 Leaping the hedge, a stout fellow rushed towards Amabel's con- 
 ductor, and seized the bridle of his steed. He was followed by 
 two others, who would have instantly liberated the captive girl, 
 if the earl had not, with great presence of mind, cried out, 
 ** Touch her not, as you value your lives ! She is ill of the 
 plague I" 
 
 At this formidable announcement, which operated like magic 
 upon Amabel's defenders, and made them fall back more quickly 
 than the weapons of the earl's attendants could have done, they 
 retreated, and communicating their fears to their comrades, who 
 were breaking through the hedge in all directions, and hurrying 
 to their aid, the whole band took to their heels, and regardless of 
 Amabel's continued shrieks, never stopped till they supposed 
 themselves out of the reach of infection. The earl was thus at 
 liberty to pursue his way unmolested, and laughing heartily at 
 the success of his stratagem, and at the consternation he had 
 created among the haymakers, pressed forward. 
 
 Nothing further occurred till, in crossing the little river Ock, 
 near Lyford, the horse ridden by Amabel's conductor missed its 
 footing, and precipitated them both into the water. No ill con- 
 sequences followed the accident. Throwing himself into tha 
 shallow stream, Rochester seized Amabel, and placed her beside 
 him on his own steed. A deathly paleness overspread her 
 countenance, and a convulsion shook her frame as she was thus 
 brought into contact with the earl, who, fearing the immersion 
 might prove dangerous in her present delicate state of health, 
 quickened his pace to procure assistance. Before he had pro- 
 ceeded a hundred yards, Amabel fainted. Gazing at her with 
 
THE TRIALS OF AMABEL. 317 
 
 admiration, and pressing her inanimate frame to his breast, 
 Rochester imprinted a passionate kiss on her cheek. 
 
 " By my sonl !" he mentally ejaculated, " I never thought 1 
 could be so desperately enamoured. I would not part with her 
 for the crown of these realms." 
 
 While considering whither he should take her, and much 
 alarmed at her situation, the man who acted as guide came to 
 his relief. Halting till the earl came up, he said. "' If you want 
 assistance for the young lady, my lord, I can take you to a good 
 country inn, not far from this, where she will be well attended 
 to, and where, as it is kept by my father, I can answer that no 
 questions will be asked." 
 
 " Precisely what I wish, Sherborne," replied Rochester. " We 
 will halt there for the night. Ride on as fast as you can." 
 
 Sherborne struck spurs into his steed, and passing Kingston 
 Bagpuze, reached the high road between Abingdon and Faring- 
 don, at the corner of which stood the inn in question, — a good- 
 sized habitation, with large stables and a barn attached to it. 
 Here he halted, and calling out in a loud and authoritative voice, 
 the landlord instantly answered the summons ; and, on being 
 informed by his son of the rank of his guest, doffed his cap, and 
 hastened to assist the earl to dismount. But Rochester declined 
 his services, and bidding him summon his wife, she shortly after- 
 wards made her appearance in the shape of a stout middle-aged 
 dame. Committing Amabel to her care, the earl then alighted, 
 and followed them into the house. 
 
 The Plough, for so the inn was denominated, was thrown into 
 the utmost confusion by the arrival of the earl and his suite. All 
 the ordinary frequenters of the inn were ejected, while the best 
 parlour was instantly prepared for the accommodation of his lord- 
 ship and Pillichody. But Rochester was far more anxious for 
 Amabel than himself, and could not rest for a moment till 
 assured by Dame Sherborne that she was restored to sensibility, 
 and about to retire to rest. He then became easy, and sat down 
 to supper with Pillichody. So elated was he by his success, that, 
 yielding to his natural inclination for hard drinking, he con- 
 tinued to revel so freely and so long with his follower, that day- 
 break found them over their wine, the one toasting the grocer's 
 daughter, and the other Patience, when they both staggered off 
 to bed. 
 
 A couple of hours sufficed Rochester to sleep off the effects of 
 his carouse. At six o'clock he arose, and ordered his attendants 
 to prepare to set out without delay. When all was ready, he 
 sent for Amabel, but she refused to come down stairs, and finding 
 his repeated messages of no avail, he rushed into her room, and 
 bore her, shrieking, to his steed. 
 
 In an hour after this, they arrived at an old hall, belonging to 
 the earl, in the neighbourhood of Oxford. Amabel was entrusted 
 
SI 8 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 to the care of a female attendant, named Prudence, and towards 
 evening, Rochester, who was burning with impatience for an 
 interview, learnt to his infinite disappointment, that she was so 
 seriously unwell, that if he forced himself into her presence her 
 life might be placed in jeopardy. She continued in the same 
 state for several days, at the end of which time the chirurgeon who 
 attended her, and who was a creature of the earl's, pronounced 
 her out of danger. Rochester then sent her word by Prudence 
 that he must see her in the course of that day, and a few hours 
 after the delivery of the message, he sought her room. She was 
 much enfeebled by illness, but received him with great self- 
 possession. 
 
 " I cannot believe, my lord," she said, " that you desire to 
 destroy me, and when I assure you — solemnly assure you, that 
 if you continue to persecute me thus, my death will be the 
 consequence, I am persuaded you will desist, and suffer me to 
 depart." 
 
 "Amabel," rejoined the earl, passionately, — " is it possible you 
 can be so changed towards me? Nothing now interferes to 
 prevent our union." 
 
 " Except my own determination to the contrary, nry lord," she 
 replied. " I can never be yours." 
 
 " Wherefore not?" asked the earl, half angrily, half reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " Because I know and feel that I should condemn myself to 
 wretchedness," she replied. " Because— for since your lordship 
 will force the truth from me, I must speak out, — I have learnt to 
 vegard } r our character in its true light, — and because my heart is 
 wedded to heaven." 
 
 '•'Pshaw!" exclaimed the earl, contemptuously; "you have 
 been listening so long to your saintly father's discourses, that you 
 fancy them applicable to yourself. But you are mistaken in me," 
 he added, altering his tone ; " I see where the main difficulty 
 lies. You think I am about to delude you, as before, into a 
 mock marriage. But I swear to you you are mistaken. I love 
 you so well that I would risk my temporal and eternal happiness 
 for you. It will rejoice me to raise you to my own rank — to 
 place you among the radiant beauties of our sovereign's court, 
 the brightest of whom you will outshine, and to devote my 
 whole life to your happiness." 
 
 "It is too late," sighed Amabel. 
 
 " Why too late ?" cried the earl, imploringly. " We have gone 
 through severe trials, it is true. I have been constantly baffled in 
 my pursuit of you, but disappointment has only made me love 
 you more devotedly. Why too late ? What is to prevent our 
 Nuptials from taking place to-day — to-morrow — when you will ? 
 The king himself shall be present at the ceremony, and shall 
 give you away. Will this satisfy your scruples ? I know I have 
 
THE TRIALS OF AMABEL. 319 
 
 offended you. I know I deserve your anger. But the love that 
 prompted me to act thus, must also plead my pardon." 
 
 " Strengthen me !" she murmured, looking supplicatingly 
 upwards. " Strengthen me, for my trial is very severe." 
 
 " Be not deceived, Amabel," continued Rochester, yet more 
 ardently; "that you love me I am well assured, however strongly 
 you may at this moment persuade yourself to the contrary. Be 
 not governed by your father's strait-laced and puritanical 
 opinions. Men, such as he is, cannot judge of fiery natures like 
 mine. I mvself have had to conquer a stubborn and rebellious 
 spirit, — the demon pride. But I have conquered. Love has 
 achieved the victory, — love for you. I offer you my heart, my 
 hand, my title. A haughty noble makes this offer to a grocer's 
 daughter. Can you, will you refuse me ?" 
 
 " I can and do, my lord," she replied. "I have achieved a 
 yet harder victory. With me, principle has conquered love. I no 
 longer respect you, no longer love you — and, therefore, cannot 
 wed you." 
 
 " Rash and obstinate girl," cried the carl, unable to conceal his 
 mortification; "you will bitterly repent your inconsiderate con- 
 duct. I offer you devotion such as no other person could offer 
 you, and rank such as no other is likely to offer you. You are 
 now in my power, and you shall be mine, — in what way rests 
 with yourself. You shall have a week to consider the matter. 
 At the end of that time, I will again renew my proposal. If 
 3 T ou accept it, well and good. If not, you know the alter- 
 native." 
 
 And without waiting for a reply, he quitted the room. 
 
 He was as good as his word. During the whole of the week 
 allowed Amabel for consideration, he never intruded upon her, 
 nor was his name at any time mentioned by her attendants. If 
 she had been, indeed, Countess of Rochester, she could not have 
 been treated with greater respect than was shown her. The 
 apartment allotted her opened upon a large garden, surrounded 
 by high walls, and she walked within it daily. Her serenity of 
 mind remained undisturbed ; her health visibly improved ; and, 
 what was yet more surprising, she entirely recovered her beauty. 
 The whole of her time not devoted to exercise, was spent in 
 reading, or in prayer. 
 
 On the appointed day, Rochester presented himself. She 
 received him with the most perfect composure, and with a bland 
 look, from which he augured favourably. He waved his hand to 
 the attendants, and they were alone. 
 
 " I came for your answer, Amabel," he said ; " but I scarceby 
 require it, being convinced from your looks that I have nothing 
 to fear. Oh ! why did you not abridge this tedious interval ? 
 Why not inform me you had altered your mind? But I will 
 not reproach you. I am too happy, to complain of the delay." 
 
320 old saint Paul's. 
 
 " I must undeceive you, my lord," returned Amabel, gravely. 
 " No change has taken place in my feelings. I still adhere to the 
 resolution I had come to when we last parted." 
 
 " How !" exclaimed the earl, his countenance darkening, and 
 the evil look which Amabel had before noticed taking possession 
 of it. " One moment lured on, and next rebuffed. But no — 
 no !" he added, constraining himself, " you cannot mean it. It is 
 not in woman's nature to act thus. You have loved me— you 
 love me still. Make me happy — make yourself happy." 
 
 " JMy lord," she replied, " strange and unnatural as my conduct 
 may appear, you will find it consistent. You have lost the sway 
 you had once over me, and, for the reasons I have already given 
 you, I can never be yours." 
 
 " Oh, recal your words, Amabel," he cried in the most moving 
 torres he could command ; " if you have no regard for me — at 
 least have compassion. I will quit the court, if you desire it; will 
 abandon title, rank, wealth ; and live in the humblest station 
 with you. You know not what I am capable of when under the 
 dominion of passion. I am capable of the darkest crimes, or of 
 the brightest virtues. The woman who has a man's heart in her 
 power may mould it to her own purposes, be they good or ill. 
 Reject me, and you drive me to despair, and plunge me into 
 guilt. Accept me, and you may lead me into any course you 
 please." 
 
 " Were I assured of this * cried Amabel. 
 
 " Rest assured of it," returned the earl, passionately. " Oh, 
 yield to impulses of natural affection, and do not suffer a cold and 
 calculating creed to chill your better feelings. How many a 
 warm and loving heart has been so frozen ! Do not let yours be 
 one of them. Be mine ! be mine !" 
 
 Amabel looked at him earnestly for a moment! while he, as- 
 sured that he had gained his point, could not conceal a slightly 
 triumphant smile. 
 
 " Now, your answer 1" he cried. " My life hangs upon it." 
 
 " I am still unmoved," she replied, coldly, and firmly. 
 
 u Ah I" exclaimed the earl with a terrible imprecation, and 
 starting to his feet. "You refuse me. Be it so. But think 
 not that you shall escape me. No, you are in my power, and I 
 will use it. You shall be mine, and without the priest's inter- 
 ference. I will not degrade myself by an alliance with one so 
 lowly born. The strongest love is nearest allied to hatred, and 
 mine has become hatred — bitter hatred. You shall be mine, I 
 tell you, and when I am indifferent to you, I will cast you off. 
 Then, when you are neglected, despised, shunned, you will 
 regret — deeply but unavailingly, — your rejection of my pro- 
 posals." 
 
 " No, my lord, I shall never regret it," replied Amabel, u and 
 I cannot sufficiently rejoice that I did not yield to the momea* 
 
THE TRIALS OF AMAlJEL, 321 
 
 tary weakness that inclined me to accept them. I thank you for 
 the insight you have afforded me into your character." 
 
 u You have formed an erroneous opinion of me, Amabel," 
 cried the earl, seeing his error, and trying to correct it. " I am 
 well nigh distracted by conflicting emotions. " Oh, forgive my 
 violence ; — forget it." 
 
 " Readily," she replied ; "but think not I attach the least 
 credit to your professions." 
 
 "Away, then, with further disguise," returned the earl, re- 
 lapsing into his furious mood, " and recognise in me the person 
 I am, — or rather the person you would have me be. You say 
 you are immovable. So am I; nor will I further delay my 
 purpose." 
 
 Amabel, who had watched him uneasily during this speech, 
 retreated a step, and taking a small dagger from a handkerchief 
 in which she kept it concealed, placed its point against her 
 breast. 
 
 " I well know whom I have to deal with, my lord," she said, 
 " and am, therefore, provided against the last extremity. At- 
 tempt to touch me, and I plunge this dagger into my heart." 
 
 " Your sense of religion will not allow you to commit so des- 
 perate a deed," replied the earl, derisively. 
 
 " My blood be upon your head, my lord," she rejoined ; "for 
 it is your hand that strikes the blow, and not my own. My 
 honour is dearer to me than life, and I will unhesitatingly sacri- 
 fice the one to preserve the other. I have no fear but that the 
 action, wrongful though it be, will be forgiven me." 
 
 " Hold 1" exclaimed the earl, seeing from her determined look 
 and manner that she would unquestionably execute her pur- 
 pose. " I have no desire to drive you to destruction. Think 
 over what 1 have said to you — and we will renew the subject to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Renew it when you please, my lord, my answer will still be 
 the same," she replied. " I have but one refuge from you — the 
 grave, and thither, if need be, I will fly." 
 
 And as she spoke, she moved slowly towards the adjoining 
 chamber, the door of which she fastened after her. 
 
 "I thought I had some experience of her sex," said Rochester 
 to himself, " but I find I was mistaken. To-morrow's mood, 
 however, may be unlike to-day's. At all events, I must take my 
 measures differently." 
 
^22 old saint paul's. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 Unwilling to believe he had become an object of aversion to 
 Amabel, Rochester renewed his solicitations on the following 
 day, and calling into play his utmost fascination of manner, 
 endeavoured to remove any ill impression produced by his pre- 
 vious violence. She was proof, however, against his arts ; and 
 though he never lost his mastery over himself, he had some dif- 
 ficulty in concealing his chagrin at the result of the interview. 
 He now began to adopt a different course, and entering into long 
 discussions with Amabel, strove by every effort of wit and ridi- 
 cule to shake and subvert her moral and religious principles. 
 But here again he failed, and once more shifting his ground, 
 affected to be convinced by her arguments. He entirely altered 
 his demeanour, and though Amabel could not put much faith 
 in the change, it was a subject of real rejoicing to her. Though 
 scarcely conscious of it herself, he sensibly won upon her regards, 
 and she passed many hours of each day in his society without 
 finding it irksome. Seeing the advantage he had gained, and 
 well aware that he should lose it by the slightest indiscretion, 
 Rochester acted with the greatest caution. The more at ease 
 she felt with him, the more deferential did he become ; and 
 before she was conscious of her danger, the poor girl was once 
 more on the brink of the precipice. 
 
 It was about this time that Leonard Holt, as has been pre- 
 viously intimated, discovered her retreat, and contrived by clam- 
 bering up a pear-tree which was nailed against the wall of the 
 house, to reach her chamber window. Having received her as- 
 surance that she had resisted all Rochester's importunities, the 
 apprentice promised to return on the following night with means 
 to effect her liberation, and departed. Fully persuaded that she 
 could now repose confidence in the earl, Amabel acquainted him, 
 the next morning, with Leonard's visit, adding that he would 
 now have an opportunity of proving the sincerity of his profes- 
 sions by delivering her up to her friends. 
 
 " Since you desire it," replied the earl, who heard her with an 
 unmoved countenance, though internally torn with passion, u I 
 will convey you to your father myself. I had hoped," he added, 
 with a sigh, " that we should never part again." 
 
 *'I fear I have been mistaken in you, my lord," rejoined 
 Amabel, half repenting her frankness. 
 
 " Not so," he replied. " I will do anything you require, 
 except deliver you to this hateful apprentice. If it is your 
 pleasure, I repeat, I will take you back to your father." 
 
 " Promise me this, my lord, and I shall be quite easy," cried 
 Amabel, joyfully. 
 
THE MARRIAGE. 323 
 
 "I do promise it," he returned. " But oh ! why not stay with 
 me, and complete the good work you have begun T* 
 
 Amabel averted her head, and Rochester, sighing deeplv, 
 quitted the room. An attendant shortly afterwards came to 
 inform her that the earl intended to start for London without 
 delay, and begged her to prepare for the journey. In an hour's 
 time, a carriage drove to the door, and Rochester having placed 
 her and Prudence in it, mounted his horse, and set forth. Late 
 on the second day the}' arrived in London, and passing through 
 the silent and deserted streets, the aspect of which struck terror 
 into all the party, shaped their course towards the city. Presently 
 they reached Ludgate, but instead of proceeding to Wood-street, 
 the carriage turned off on the right, and traversing Thames- 
 street, crossed London-bridge. Amabel could obtain no expla- 
 nation of this change from Prudence, and her uneasiness was 
 not diminished when the vehicle, which was driven down a 
 narrow street on the left immediately after quitting the bridge, 
 stopped at the entrance of a large court-yard. Rochester, who 
 had already dismounted, assisted her to alight, and in answer to 
 her hasty inquiries why he had brought her thither, told her he 
 thought it better to defer taking her to her father till the morrow. 
 Obliged to be content with this excuse, she was led into the 
 house, severely reproaching herself for her indiscretion. Nothings 
 however, occurred to alarm her that night. The earl was even 
 more deferential than before, and assuring her he would fulfil 
 his promise in the morning, confided her to Prudence. 
 
 The house whither she had been brought was large and old- 
 fashioned. The rooms had once been magnificently fitted up, 
 but the hangings and furniture were much faded, and had a 
 gloomy and neglected air. This was especially observable in the 
 sleeping-chamber appointed for her reception. It was large and 
 lofty, panelled with black and shining oak, with a highly-polished 
 floor of the same material, and was filled with cumbrous chests 
 and cabinets, and antique high-backed chairs. But the most 
 noticeable object was a large state-bed, with a heavy square 
 canopy, covered with the richest damask, woven with gold, and 
 hung with curtains of the same stuff, though now decayed and 
 tarnished. A chill crept over Amabel as she gazed around. 
 
 "I cannot help thinking," she observed to Prudence, "that I 
 shall breathe my last in this room, and in that bed." 
 
 " I hope not, madam," returned the attendant, unable to 
 repress a shudder. 
 
 Nothing more was said, and Amabel retired to rest. But not 
 being able to sleep, and having vainly tried to compose herself, 
 she arose and opened the window. It was a serene and beautiful 
 night, and she could see the smooth river sparkling in the star- 
 light, and flowing at a hundred yards' distance at the foot of the 
 garden. Beyond, she could indistinctly perceive the outline of 
 
 y2 
 
324 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 the mighty city, while nearer, on the left, lay the bridge. Solemnly 
 across the water came the sound of innumerable bells, tolling for 
 those who had died of the plague, and were now being borne to 
 their last home. While listening to these sad sounds, another, 
 but more doleful and appalling noise, caught her ears. It was 
 the rumbling of cart-wheels in the adjoining street, accompanied 
 by the ringing of a hand-bell, while a hoarse voice cried, " Bring 
 out your dead ! bring out your dead I" On hearing this cry, she 
 closed the window and retired. Morning broke before sleep 
 visited her weary eyelids, and then, overcome by fatigue, she 
 dropped into a slumber, from which she did not awake until 
 the day was far advanced. She found Prudence sitting by her 
 Dedside, and alarmed by the expression of her countenance, 
 anxiously inquired what was the matter? 
 
 " Alas ! madam," replied the attendant, " the earl has been 
 taken suddenly ill. He set out for Wood-street the first thing 
 this morning, and has seen your father, who refuses to receive 
 you. On his return, he complained of a slight sickness, which 
 has gradually increased in violence, and there can be little doubt 
 it is the plague. Advice has been sent for. He prays you not 
 to disturb yourself on his account, but to consider yourself sole 
 mistress of this house, whatever may befal him." 
 
 Amabel passed a miserably anxious day. A fresh interest 
 had been awakened in her heart in behalf of the earl, and the 
 precarious state in which she conceived him placed, did not tend 
 to diminish it. She made many inquiries after him, and learned 
 that he was worse, while the fearful nature of the attack could 
 not be questioned. On the following day, Prudence reported 
 that the distemper had made such rapid and terrible progress, 
 that his recovery was considered almost hopeless. 
 
 " He raves continually of you, madam," said the attendant, 
 " and I have no doubt he will expire with your name on his 
 lips." 
 
 Amabel was moved to tears by the information, and with- 
 drawing into a corner of the room, prayed fervently for the 
 supposed sufferer. Prudence gazed at her earnestly and com- 
 passionately, and muttering something to herself, quitted the 
 room. The next day was the critical one (so it was said) for the 
 earl, and Amabel awaited, in tearful anxiety, the moment that 
 was to decide his fate. It came, and he was pronounced out of 
 danger. When the news was brought the anxious girl, she 
 fainted. 
 
 A week passed, and the earl continued to improve, and all 
 danger of infection — if any such existed — being at an end, he 
 sent a message to Amabel, beseeching her to grant him an inter- 
 view in his own room. She willingly assented, and, following 
 the attendant, found him stretched upon a couch. In spite of 
 his paleness and apparent debility, however, his good looks were 
 
THE MARRIAGE. 325 
 
 but little impaired, and his attire, though negligent, was studiously 
 arranged for effect. On Amabel's appearance, he made an effort 
 to rise, but she hastened to prevent him. After thanking her for 
 her kind inquiries, he entered into a long conversation with her, 
 in the course of which he displayed sentiments so exactly coin- 
 ciding with her own, that the good opinion she had already 
 begun to entertain for him was soon heightened into the liveliest 
 interest. They parted, to meet again on the following day — and 
 on the day following that. The bloom returned to the earl's 
 countenance, and he looked handsomer than ever. A week 
 thus passed, and at the end of it, he said — " To-morrow I shall 
 be well enough to venture forth again, and my first business 
 shall be to proceed to your father, and see whether he is now 
 able to receive you." 
 
 "The plague has not yet abated, my lord," she observed, 
 blushingly. 
 
 " True," he replied, looking passionately at her. " Oh, forgive 
 me, Amabel," he added, taking her hand, which she did not 
 attempt to withdraw. " Forgive me, if I am wrong. But I now 
 think your feelings are altered towards me, and that I may 
 venture to hope you will be mine ?" 
 
 Amabel's bosom heaved with emotion. She tried to speak, 
 but could not. Her head declined upon his shoulder, and her 
 tears flowed fast. 
 
 " I am answered," he cried, scarcely able to contain his rapture, 
 and straining her to his bosom. 
 
 "I know not whether I am doing rightl}','' she murmured, 
 gazing at him through her tears, " but I believe you mean me 
 truly. God forgive you if }'ou do not." 
 
 " Have no more doubts," cried the carl. " You have wrought 
 an entire change in me. Our union shall not be delayed an 
 hour. It shall take place in Saint Saviour's to-night." 
 
 "Not to-night," cried Amabel, trembling at his eagerness — 
 " to-morrow." 
 
 " To-night, to-night!" reiterated the earl, victoriously. And 
 he rushed out of the room. 
 
 Amabel was no sooner left to herself than she repented what 
 she had done. " I fear I have made a false step," she mused ; 
 " but it is now too late \o retreat, and I will hope for the best. 
 He cannot mean to deceive me." 
 
 Her meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Prudence, 
 who came towards her with a face full of glee. 
 
 "My lord has informed me of the good news," she said. 
 " You are to be wedded to him to-day. I have expected it all 
 along, but it is somewhat sudden at last. He is gone in search 
 of the priest, and in the meantime has ordered me to attire you 
 for the ceremony. I have several rich dresses for your ladyship 
 — for so I must now :all you — to choose from." 
 
S2G old saint paul's. 
 
 "The simplest will suit me best," replied Amabel, "and do 
 not call me ladyship till I have a right to that title." 
 
 " That will be so soon that I am sure there can be no harm in 
 using it now," returned Prudence. " But pray let me show you 
 the dresses." 
 
 Amabel suffered herself to be led into another room, where 
 she saw several sumptuous female habiliments, and selecting the 
 least showy of them, was soon arrayed in it by the officious 
 attendant. 
 
 More than two hours elapsed before Rochester returned, when 
 lie entered Amabel's chamber, accompanied by Sir George 
 Etherege and Pillichody. A feeling of misgiving crossed 
 Amabel, as she beheld his companions. 
 
 " I have had some difficulty in finding a clergyman," said the 
 earl, " for the rector of Saint Saviour's has fled from the plague. 
 His curate, however, will officiate for him, and is now in the 
 church." 
 
 Amabel fixed a searching look upon him. 
 
 " Why are these gentlemen here?" she asked. 
 
 " I have brought them with me," rejoined Rochester, " because, 
 as they were aware of the injury I once intended you, I wish 
 them to be present at its reparation." 
 
 " I am satisfied," she replied. 
 
 Taking her hand, the earl then led her to a carriage, which 
 conveyed thetn to Saint Saviour's. Just as they alighted, the 
 dead-cart passed, and several bodies were brought towards it. 
 Eager to withdraw her attention from the spectacle, Rochester 
 hurried her into the old and beautiful church. In another 
 moment, they were joined by Etherege and Pillichody, and they 
 proceeded to the altar, where the priest, a young man, was 
 standing. The ceremony was then performed, and the earl led 
 his bride back to the carriage. On their return, they had to 
 undergo another ill-omened interruption. The dead-cart was 
 stationed near the gateway, and some delay occurred before it 
 could be moved forward. 
 
 Amabel, however, suffered no further misgiving to take pos- 
 session of her. Deeming herself wedded to the earl, she put no 
 constraint on her affection for him, and her happiness, though 
 short-lived, was deep and full. 
 
 A month passed away like a dream of delight. Nothing 
 occmred in the slightest degree to mar her felicity. Rochester 
 seemed only to live for her — to think only of her. At the end 
 of this time, some indifference began to manifest itself in his 
 deportment to her, and he evinced a disposition to return to the 
 court and to its pleasures. 
 
 " I thought you had for ever abandoned them, my dear lord," 
 said Amabel, reproachfully. 
 
 *' For awhile 1 have," he replied, carelessly. 
 
THE MARRIAGE. 327 
 
 " You must leave me, if you return to them," she rejoined 
 
 " If I must, I must," said the earl. 
 
 " You cannot mean this, my lord," she cried, bursting into 
 tears. " You cannot be so changed."' 
 
 " 1 have never changed since you first knew me," replied 
 Rochester. 
 
 " Impossible !" she cried, in a tone of anguish, " you have not 
 the faults — the vices, you once had." 
 
 "I know not what you call faults and vices, madam," replied 
 the carl, sharply, " but I have the same qualities as heretofore." 
 
 " Am I to understand, then," cried Amabel, a fearful suspicion 
 of the truth breaking upon her, " that you never sincerely 
 repented your former actions?" 
 
 " You are to understand it," replied Rochester. 
 
 " And you deceived me when you affirmed the contrary ?" 
 
 " I deceived you," he replied. 
 
 " I begin to suspect," she cried, with a look of horror and 
 doubt, " that the attack of the plague was feigned." 
 
 " You are not far wide of the truth," was the reply. 
 
 " And our marriage ?" she cried, " our marriage ? Was that 
 feigned likewise ?" 
 
 " It was," replied Rochester, calmly. 
 
 Amabel looked at him lixedly for a few minutes, as if she 
 could not credit his assertion, and then receiving no contradic- 
 tion, uttered a wild scream, and rushed out of the room. 
 Rochester followed, and saw her dart with lightning swiftness 
 across the court-yard. On gaining the street, he perceived her 
 fiving figure already at some distance, and greatly alarmed, 
 started in pursuit. The unfortunate girl was not allowed to pro- 
 ceed far. Two pei'sons who were approaching, and who proved 
 to be Etherege and Pillichody, caught hold of her, and detained 
 her till Rochester came up. When the latter attempted to touch 
 her, she uttered such fearful shrieks, that Etherege entreated 
 him to desist. With some difficulty she was taken back to the 
 house. But it was evident that the shock had unsettled her 
 reason. She alternately uttered wild, piercing screams, or broke 
 into hysterical laughter. The earl's presence so much increased 
 her frenzy, that he gladly withdrew. 
 
 " This is a melancholy business, my lord," observed Etherege, 
 as they quitted the room together, "and I am sorry for my share 
 in it. We have both much to answer for." 
 
 "Do you think her life in danger?" rejoined Rochester. 
 
 u It would be well if it were so," returned the other ; " but I 
 fear she will live to be a perpetual memento to you of the crime 
 you have committed." 
 
 Amabel's delirium produced a high fever, which continued for 
 three days. Her screams were at times so dreadful, that her 
 betrayer shut himself up in the furthest part o. c tluj house, that 
 
S28 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 he might not hear them. When at last she sank into a sleep like 
 that of death, produced by powerful opiates, he stole into the 
 room, and gazed at her with feelings which those who watched 
 his countenance did «ot envy. It was hoped by the chirurgeon 
 in attendance, that when the violence of the fever abated, 
 Amabel's reason would be restored. But it was not so. Her 
 faculties were completely shaken, and the cause of her affliction 
 being effaced from her memory, she now spoke of the Earl of 
 Rochester with her former affection. 
 
 Her betrayer once ventured into her presence, but he did not 
 repeat the visit. Her looks and her tenderness were more than 
 even his firmness could bear, and he hurried away to hide his 
 emotion from the attendants. Several days passed on, and as 
 no improvement took place, the earl, who began to find the stings 
 of conscience too sharp for further endurance, resolved to try to 
 deaden the pangs by again plunging into the dissipation of the 
 court. Prudence had been seized by the plague, and removed 
 to the pest-house, and not knowing to whom to intrust Amabel, 
 it at last occurred to him that Judith Malmayns would be a 
 fitting person, and he accordingly sent for her from Saint Paul's, 
 and communicated his wishes to her, offering her a considerable 
 reward for the service. Judith readily undertook the office, and 
 the earl delayed his departure for two days, to see how all went 
 on, and finding the arrangements, to all appearances, answer 
 perfectly, he departed with Etherege and Pillichody. 
 
 Ever since the communication of the fatal truth had been 
 made to her by the earl, his unfortunate victim had occupied the 
 large oak-panelled chamber, on entering which so sad a presenti- 
 ment had seized her; and she had never quitted the bed where 
 she thought she would breathe her last. On the night of 
 Rochester's departure, she made many inquiries concerning him 
 from Judith Malmayns, who was seated in an old broad-cushioned, 
 velvet-covered chair beside her, and was told that the king 
 required his attendance at Oxford, but that he would soon 
 return. At this answer, the tears gathered thickly in Amabel's 
 'ark eyelashes, and she remained silent. By and by, she 
 resumed the conversation. 
 
 " Do you know, nurse," she said, with a look of extreme 
 anxiety, " I have forgotten my prayers. Repeat them to me, 
 and I will say them after you." 
 
 " My memory is as bad as your ladyship's," replied Judith, 
 contemptuously. " It is so long since I said mine, that I have 
 quite forgotten them." 
 
 " That is wrong in you," returned Amabel, " very wrong. 
 When I lived with my dear father, we had prayers morning and 
 evening, and I was never so happy as then. I feel it would do 
 me good if I could pray as I used to do." 
 
THE MARRIAGE. 329 
 
 " Well, well, all in good time," replied Judith. "As soon as 
 you are better, you shall go back to your father, and then you 
 can do as you please." 
 
 " No, no, I cannot go back to him," returned Amabel. " I 
 am the Earl of Rochester's wife — his wedded wife. Am I not 
 Countess of Rochester ?" 
 
 "To be sure you are," replied Judith. "To be sure." 
 
 "I sometimes think otherwise," rejoined Amabel, mournfully. 
 " And so my dear lord is gone to Oxford ?" 
 
 " He is," returned Judith, " but he will be back soon. And 
 now," she added, with some impatience, "you have talked quite 
 long enough. You must take your composing draught, and go 
 to sleep." 
 
 With this, she arose, and stepping to the table which stood by 
 the side of the bed, filled a wine-glass with the contents of a 
 silver flagon, and gave it to her. 
 
 Amabel drank the mixture, and complaining of its nauseous 
 taste, Judith handed her a plate of fruit from the table to remove 
 it. Soon after this, she dropt asleep, when the nurse arose, and 
 taking a light from the table, cautiously possessed herself of a 
 bunch of keys which were placed in a small pocket over Amabel's 
 head, and proceeded to unlock a large chest that stood near 
 the foot of the bed. She found it filled with valuables ; with 
 chains of gold, necklaces of precious stones, loops of pearl, 
 diamond crosses, and other ornaments. Besides these, there 
 were shawls and stuffs of the richest description. While con- 
 templating these treasures, and considering how she could carry 
 them off without alarming the household, she was startled by a 
 profound sigh, and looking towards the bed, perceived, to her 
 great alarm, that Amabel had opened her eyes, and was watch- 
 ing her. 
 
 " What are you doing there, nurse ?" she cried. 
 
 " Only looking at these pretty things, your ladyship," replied 
 Judith, in an embarrassed tone. 
 
 "I hope you are not going to steal them?" said Amabel. 
 
 " Steal them !" echoed Judith, alarmed. — " Oh, no ! What 
 should make your ladyship think so?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Amabel ; " but put them by, and bring 
 the keys to me." 
 
 Judith feigned compliance, but lc ng before she had restored 
 the things to the chest, Amabel had again fallen asleep. 
 Apprised by her tranquil breathing of this circumstance, Judith 
 arose, and shading the candle with her hand, crept noiselessly 
 towards the bed. Dark thoughts crossed her as she gazed at the 
 unfortunate sleeper, and moving with the utmost caution, she set 
 the light on the table behind the curtains, and had just grasped 
 the pillow, with the intention of plucking it from under Amabel's 
 
330 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 head, and of smothering her with it, when she felt herself 
 restrained by a powerful grasp, and turning in utmost alarm, 
 beheld the Earl of Rochester. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CERTIFICATE. 
 
 "Wretch!" cried the earl. "An instinctive dread that you 
 would do your poor charge some injury brought me back, and I 
 thank Heaven I have arrived in time to prevent your atrocious 
 purpose." 
 
 "Your lordship would have acted more discreetly in staying 
 away," replied Judith, recovering her resolution ; " and I would 
 recommend you not to meddle in the matter, but to leave it to 
 me. No suspicion shall alight on you, nor shall it even be 
 known that her end was hastened. Leave the house as secretly 
 as you came, and proceed on your journey with a light heart. 
 She will never trouble you further." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Rochester, who was struck dumb for the 
 moment by surprise and indignation, "do you imagine I would 
 listen to such a proposal? Do you think I would sanction her 
 murder ?" 
 
 "I am sure you would, if you knew as much as I do," replied 
 Judith, calmly. " Hear me, my lord," she continued, drawing 
 him to a little distance from the bed, and speaking in a deep 
 ow tone. "You cannot marry Mistress Mallet while this girl 
 lives." 
 
 Rochester looked sternly and inquiringly at her. 
 
 "You think your marriage was feigned," pursued Judith; 
 " that be was no priest who performed the ceremony ; and that 
 no other witnesses were present except Sir George Etherege 
 and Pillichody. But you are mistaken. I and Chowles were 
 present ; and he who officiated was a priest. The marriage was 
 a lawful one ; and yon sleeping girl, who, but for your ill-timed 
 interference, would, ere this, have breathed her last, is to all 
 intents and purposes Countess of Rochester." 
 
 " A lie !" cried the earl, furiously. 
 
 "I will soon prove it to be truth," rejoined Judith. "Your 
 retainer and unscrupulous agent, Major Pillichody, applied to 
 Chowles to find some one to personate a clergyman in a mock 
 marriage, which your lordship wished to have performed, and 
 promised a handsome reward for the service. Chowles men- 
 tioned the subject to me, and we speedily contrived a plan to 
 outwit your lordship, and turn the affair to our own advantage." 
 
 The earl uttered an ejaculation of rage. 
 
THE CERTIFICATE. 331 
 
 "Being acquainted with one of the minor canons of Saint 
 Paul's, a worthy and pious young man, named Vincent," pursued 
 Judith, utterly unmoved by Rochester's anger, "who resided 
 hard by the cathedral, we hastened to him, and acquainted him 
 with the design, representing ourselves as anxious to serve the 
 poor girl, and defeat your lordship's wicked design, — for such 
 we termed it. With a little persuasion, Mr. Vincent consented 
 to the scheme. Pillichody was easily duped by Chowles's state- 
 ment, and the ceremony was fully performed." 
 
 " The whole story is a fabrication," cried the earl, with affected 
 incredulity. 
 
 " I have a certificate of the marriage," replied Judith, "signed 
 by Mr. Vincent, and attested by Chowles and myself. If ever 
 woman was wedded to man, Amabel is wedded to your lordship." 
 
 " If this is the case, why seek to destroy her ?" demanded the 
 earl. " Her life must be of more consequence to you than her 
 removal." 
 
 " I will deal frankly with you," replied Judith. " She disco- 
 vered me in the act of emptying that chest, and an irresistible 
 impulse prompted me to make away with her. But } T our lord- 
 ship is in the right. Her life is valuable to me, and she shall 
 live. But, I repeat, you cannot marry the rich heiress, Mistress 
 Mallet." 
 
 " Temptress !" cried the earl, " you put frightful thoughts into 
 my head." 
 
 " Go your way?," 1 replied Judith, "and think no more about 
 aer. All shall be done that you require. I claim as my reward 
 .he contents of that chest." 
 
 "Your reward shall be the gallows," rejoined the earl, indig- 
 nantly. " I reject your proposal at once. Begone, wretch ! or 
 I shall forget you are a woman, and sacrifice you to my fury. 
 Begone !" 
 
 " As your lordship pleases," she replied ; " but first, the Coun- 
 ress of Rochester shall be made acquainted with her rights." So 
 saying, she broke from him, and rushed to the bed. 
 
 " What are you about to do ?" he cried. 
 
 " Waken her," rejoined Judith, slightly shaking the sleeper. 
 
 " Ah 1" exclaimed Amabel, opening her eyes, and gazing at 
 her with a terrified and bewildered look. 
 
 " His lordship is returned," said Judith. 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Amabel, raising herself in the bed. 
 " Where is he ? — Ah, I see him. — Come to me, my dear lord," 
 she added, stretching out her arms to him, " Come to me." 
 
 But evil thoughts kept Rochester motionless. 
 
 " Oh 1 come to me, my lord," cried Amabel, in a troubled tone, 
 " or I shall begin to think what I have dreamed is true, and that 
 I am not wedded to you." 
 
 " It was merely a dream, your ladyship," observed Judith. " I 
 
332 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 ■will bear witness you are wedded to his lordship, for T was present 
 at the ceremony." 
 
 " I did not see you," remarked Amabel. 
 
 " I was there, nevertheless," replied Judith. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," replied Amabel. 
 
 " Your ladyship would rejoice if you knew all," returned 
 Judith, significantly. 
 
 " Why so ?" inquired the other, curiously. 
 
 "Because the clergyman who married you is dead of the 
 plague," was the answer ; " and it may chance in these terrible 
 times that the two gentlemen who were present at the ceremony 
 may die of the same distemper, and then there will be no one 
 left but me and another person to prove that your marriage wa3 
 lawful." . 
 
 " But its lawfulness will never be questioned, my dear lord, 
 will it ?" asked Amabel, lookingly beseechingly at Rochester. 
 
 " Never," replied Judith, producing a small piece of parch- 
 ment, " while I hold this certificate." 
 
 " Give me that document," said the earl, in an undertone to 
 her. 
 
 Judith directed her eyes towards the chest. 
 
 " It is yours," said the earl, in the same tone as before. 
 
 " What are you whispering, my lord ?" inquired Amabel, 
 uneasily. 
 
 " I am merely telling her to remove that chest, sweetheart," 
 he replied. 
 
 " Do not send it away," cried Amabel. " It contains all the 
 ornaments and trinkets you have given me. Do you know," she 
 added in a whisper, " I caught her looking into it just now, and 
 I suspect she was about to steal something." 
 
 " Pshaw !" cried the earl, — " she acted by my directions. Take 
 the chest away," he added to Judith. 
 
 " Has your lordship no further orders ?" she rejoined, signi- 
 ficantly. 
 
 " None whatever," he replied with a frown. 
 
 " Before you go, give me the certificate," cried Amabel. " I 
 must have it." 
 
 Judith pretended not to hear her. 
 
 " Give it her," whispered the earl, " I will remove it when she 
 falls asleep." 
 
 Nodding acquiescence, Judith took the parchment from her 
 bosom, and returned wirh it to the bed. While this was passing, the 
 earl walked towards the chest, and cast his eye over such of its 
 contents as were scattered upon the floor. Judith watched him 
 carefully, and when his back was turned, drew a small lancet, and 
 affecting to arrange her dress, slightly punctured Amabel's neck. 
 The pain was trifling, but the poor girl uttered a cry. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" cried the earl, turning suddenly round. 
 
THE CERTIFICATE. 333 
 
 " Nothing — nothing," replied Judith ; " a pin in my sleeve 
 pricked her as I was fastening her cap, that was all. Her death 
 is certain," she added to herself, " she is inoculated with the 
 plague-venom." 
 
 She then went to the chest, and replacing everything within it, 
 removed it by the help of the Earl of Rochester into the adjoining 
 room. 
 
 " I will send for it at midnight," she said. 
 
 "It shall be delivered to your messenger," rejoined the earl; 
 "but you will answer for Chowles's secrecy?" 
 
 "I will," returned Judith, with a meaning smile. "But you 
 may take my word for it you will not be troubled long with your 
 wife. If I have any judgment respecting the plague, she is 
 already infected." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Rochester, — "then " but he checked him- 
 self, and added, " I do not believe it. Begone." 
 
 " He does believe it for all that," muttered Judith, as he slunk 
 away. 
 
 Rochester returned to Amabel, and sat by her until she fell 
 asleep, when he took the parchment from beneath the pillow 
 where she had placed it. Examining it, he found it, as Judith 
 had stated, a certificate of his marriage, signed by Mark Vincent, 
 the clergyman who had officiated, and duly attested. Having 
 carefully perused it, he held it towards the taper, with the inten- 
 tion of destroying it. 
 
 As he was about to perpetrate this unworthy action, he looked 
 towards the bed. The soft sweet smile that played upon the 
 sleeper's features turned him from his purpose. Placing the 
 parchment in his doublet, he left the room, and summoning a 
 female attendant, alleged some reason for his unexpected return, 
 and ordered her to watch by the bedside of her mistress. Giving 
 some further directions, he threw himself upon a couch and 
 sought a few hours' repose. 
 
 At daybreak, he repaired to Amabel's chamber, and finding 
 her wrapped in a peaceful slumber, he commended her to the 
 attendant, and departed. 
 
 On awaking, Amabel complained ot an uneasy sensation on 
 her neck, and the attendant examining the spot, found, to her 
 great alarm, a small red pustule. Without making a single 
 observation, she left the room, and despatched a messenger after 
 the Earl of Rochester to acquaint him that the countess was 
 attacked by the plague. Such was the terror inspired by this 
 dread disorder, that the moment it was known that Amabel was 
 attacked by it, the whole household, except an old woman, fled. 
 This old woman, whose name was Batley, and who acted as the 
 earl's housekeeper, took upon herself the office of nurse. Before 
 evening, the poor sufferer, who had endured great agony during 
 the whole of the day, became so much worse, that Mrs. Batley 
 
334 old saint Paul's. 
 
 ran out in seai'ch of assistance. She met with a watchman, who 
 told her that a famous apothecary, from Clerkenwell, named 
 Sibbald, who was celebrated for the cures he had effected, had 
 just entered a neighbouring house, and offered to await his 
 coming forth, and send him to her. Thanking him, Mrs. Bat- 
 ley returned to the house, and presently afterwards, Sibbald made 
 his appearance. His looks and person had become even more 
 repulsive than formerly. He desired to be led to the patient, 
 and on seeing her, shook his head. He examined the pustule, 
 which had greatly increased in size, and turning away, muttered, 
 " I can do nothing for her." 
 
 " At least make the attempt," implored Mrs. Batley. " She 
 is the Countess of Rochester. You shall be well rewarded — and 
 if you cure her, the earl will make your fortune." 
 
 " If his lordship would change stations with me, I could not 
 cure her," replied Sibbald. " Let me look at her again," he 
 added, examining the pustule. "There is a strange appearance 
 about this tumour. Has Judith Malmayns attended her?" 
 
 " She was here yesterday," replied Mrs. Batley. 
 
 a I thought so," he muttered. " I repeat, it is all over with 
 her." 
 
 And he turned to depart. 
 
 " Do not leave her thus, in pity do not," cried the old woman, 
 detaining him. " Make some effort to save her. My lord loves 
 her to distraction, and will abundantly reward you." 
 
 " All I can do is to give her something to allay the pain," re- 
 turned Sibbald. 
 
 And drawing a small phial from his doublet, he poured its 
 contents into a glass, and administered it to the patient. 
 
 " That will throw her into a slumber," he said, " and when she 
 wakes, she will be without pain. But her end will be not far off." 
 
 Mrs. Batley took a purse from a drawer in one of the cabinets, 
 and gave it to the apothecary, who bowed, and retired. As he 
 had foretold, Amabel fell into a heavy lethargy, which continued 
 during the whole of the night. Mrs. Batley, who had never left 
 her, noticed that an extraordinary and fearful change had taken 
 place in her countenance, and she could not doubt that the apo- 
 thecary's prediction would be realized. The tumour had in- 
 creased in size, and was surrounded by a dusky brown circle, 
 which she knew to be a bad sign. The sufferer's eyes, when she 
 opened them, and gazed around, had a dim and glazed look. 
 But she was perfectly calm and composed, and as had been 
 prognosticated, free from pain. She had, also, fully regained her 
 faculties, and seemed quite aware of her dangerous situation. 
 
 But the return of reason brought with it no solace. On the 
 contrary, the earl's treachery rushed upon her recollection, and 
 gave her infinitely more anguish than the bodily pain she had 
 recently endured. She bedewed the pillow with her tears, and 
 
THE CERTIFICATE. 335 
 
 fervently prayed for forgiveness for her involuntary fault. Mrs. 
 Batley was deeply moved by her affliction, and offered her every 
 consolation in her power. 
 
 " I would the plague had selected me for a victim instead of 
 your ladyship," she said. " It is hard to leave the world at your 
 age, possessed of beauty, honours, and wealth. At mine, it 
 would not signify." 
 
 " You mistake the cause of my grief," returned Amabel ; " I 
 do not lament that my hour is at hand, but " and her emo- 
 tion so overpowered her that she could not proceed. 
 
 " Do not disturb yourself further, dear lady," rejoined the old 
 woman. " Let the worst happen, I am sure you are well pre- 
 pared to meet your Maker." 
 
 " I once was," replied Amabel in a voice of despair, " but now 
 — Oh, Heaven forgive me 1" 
 
 " Shall I fetch some holy minister to pray beside you, my 
 lady ?" said Mrs. Batley ; " one to whom you can pour forth the 
 sorrows of your heart?" 
 
 " Do so ! oh, do 1" cried Amabel, " and do not call me lady. 
 I am not worthy to be placed in the same rank as yourself." 
 
 " Her wits are clean gone," muttered Mrs. Batley, looking at 
 her compassionately. 
 
 " Heed me not," cried Amabel ; " but if you have any pity for 
 the unfortunate, do as you have promised." 
 
 " I will, — I will," said Mrs. Batley, departing. 
 
 Half an hour, which scarcely seemed a moment to the poor 
 sufferer, who was employed in fervent prayer, elapsed before 
 Mrs. Batley returned. She was accompanied by a tall man, 
 whom Amabel recognised as Solomon Eagle. 
 
 " I have not been able to find a clergyman," said the old 
 woman, " but I have brought a devout man who is willing to 
 pray with you." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed the enthusiast, starting as he beheld Amabel. 
 " Can it be Mr. Bloundel's danghter ?" 
 
 " It is," returned Amabel, with a groan. u Leave us, my good 
 woman," she added to Mrs. Batley, " I have something to impart 
 to Solomon Eagle which is for his ear alone." 
 
 The old woman instantly retired, and Amabel briefly related 
 her hapless story to the enthusiast. 
 
 " May I hope for forgiveness ?" she inquired, as she concluded. 
 
 " Assuredly," replied Solomon Eagle, " assuredly ! You have 
 not erred wilfully, but through ignorance, and, therefore, have 
 committed no offence. You will be forgiven — but woe to your 
 deceiver, here and hereafter." 
 
 " Oh ! say not so," she cried. " May Heaven pardon him as I 
 do. While I have strength left, I will pray for him." 
 
 And she poured forth her supplications for the earl in terms so 
 earnest and pathetic, that the tears flowed down Solomon Eagle's 
 
336 old saint Paul's. 
 
 rough check. At this juncture, hasty steps were heard in the 
 adjoining passage, and the door opening, admitted the Earl of 
 Rochester, who rushed towards the bed. 
 
 "Back!" cried Solomon Eagle, pushing him forcibly aside. 
 « Back !" 
 
 " What do you here ?" cried Rochester, fiercely. 
 
 « I am watching over the death-bed of your victim," returned 
 Solomon Eagle. " Retire, my lord. You disturb her." 
 
 " Oh, no," returned Amabel, meekly. " Let him come near 
 me." And as Solomon Eagle drew a little aside, and allowed 
 the earl to approach, she added, " With my latest breath I 
 forgive you, my lord, for the wrong you have done me, and bless 
 you." 
 
 The earl tried to speak, but his voice was suffocated by 
 emotion. As soon as he could find words, he said, " Your good- 
 ness completely overpowers me, dearest Amabel. Heaven is my 
 wutness, that even now I would make you all the reparation in 
 my power, w T ere it needful. But it is not so. The wrong I 
 intended you was never committed. I myself was deceived. I 
 intended a feigned marriage, but it was rightfully performed. 
 Time will not allow me to enter into further particulars of the 
 unhappy transaction, but you may credit my assertion when I 
 tell you you are indeed my wife, and Countess of Rochester." 
 
 " If I thought so, I should die happy," replied Amabel. 
 
 " Behold this proof !" said Rochester, producing the certificate. 
 
 * I cannot read it," replied Amabel. " But you could not 
 have the heart to deceive me now." 
 
 " I will read it, and you well know i" would not deceive you,* 
 cried Solomon Eagle, casting his eye over it, — " His lordship has 
 avouched the truth," he continued. " It is a certificate of your 
 marriage with him, duly signed and attested." 
 
 " God be thanked," ejaculated Amabel, fervently. " God be 
 thanked ! You have been spared that guilt, and I shall die 
 content." 
 
 " I trust your life will long be spared," rejoined the earl. 
 
 Amabel shook her head. 
 
 "There is but one man in this city who could save her," 
 whispered Solomon Eagle, " and I doubt even his pow*er to do 
 80." 
 
 " Who do you mean ?" cried Rochester, eagerly. 
 
 " Doctor Hodges," replied the enthusiast. 
 
 " I know him well," cried the earl. " I will fly to him 
 instantly. Remain with her till I return*" 
 
 " My lord — my dear lord," interposed Amabel, faintly, "yoi 
 trouble yourself needlessly. I am past all human aid." 
 
 "Do not despair," replied the earl. " Many years of happiness 
 are, I trust, in store for us. Do not detain me. I go to save you. 
 Farewell for a short time." 
 
THE CERTIFICATE. 337 
 
 " Farewell, for ever, my lord," she said, gently pressing his 
 hand. " We shall not meet again. Your name will be coupled 
 with my latest breath." 
 
 " I shall be completely unmanned if I stay here a moment 
 longer," cried the earl, breaking from her, and rushing out of the 
 room. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Amabel addressed herself once more 
 to prayer with Solomon Eagle, and in this way an hour passed 
 by. The earl not returning at the end of that time, Solomon 
 Eagle became extremely uneasy, every moment being of the 
 utmost consequence, and summoning Mrs. Batley, committed 
 the patient to her care, and set off in search of Hodges. He 
 hastened to the doctor's house — he was absent — to Saint Paul's 
 — he was not there, but he learnt that a person answering to the 
 earl's description had been making similar inquiries after him. 
 At last, one of the chirurgeon's assistants told him that he thought 
 the doctor was gone towards Cornhill, and hoping accidentally 
 to meet with him, the enthusiast set off in that direction. While 
 passing near the Exchange, he encountered Leonard, as before 
 related, but did not think fit to acquaint him with more than 
 Amabel's dangerous situation ; and he had reason to regret 
 making the communication at all, on finding its effect upon the 
 poor youth. There was, however, no help for it, and placing 
 him in what appeared a situation of safety, he left him. 
 
 Rochester, meanwhile, had been equally unsuccessful in hi» 
 search for Hodges. Hurrying first in one direction and then in 
 another, at the suggestion of the chirurgeon's assistant, he at last 
 repaired to the doctor's residence, determined to await his return. 
 In half an hour he came, and received the earl, as the old 
 porter stated to Thirlby and Leonard, with angry astonishment. 
 As soon as they were alone, the earl told him all that had 
 occurred, and besought him to accompany him to the poor 
 6ufferer. 
 
 " I will go to her," said Hodges, who had listened to the recital 
 with mixed feelings of sorrow and indignation, " on one condition 
 — and one only — namely, that your lordship does not see hei 
 *gain without my permission." 
 
 " Why do you impose this restriction upon me, sir ?" demanded 
 Rochester. 
 
 " I do not think it necessary to give my reasons, my lord," 
 returned Hodges ; " but I will only go upon such terms." 
 
 " Then I must perforce submit," replied the earl ; " but 1 
 entreat you to set forth without a moment's delay, or you will be 
 too late." 
 
 "I will follow you instantly," rejoined Hodges. " Your lord- 
 ship can wait for me at the Southwark side of the bridge." He 
 then opened the door, reiterating the terms upon which alone h« 
 would attend, and the earl departed. 
 
 z 
 
838 OLD SAINT PAUl/S. 
 
 Shortly afterwards he set out, and making; the best of his way. 
 found Rochester at the appointed place. The latter conducted 
 him to the entrance of the habitation, and indicating a spot where 
 he would remain till his return, left him. 
 
 Hodges soon found his way to the chamber of the sufferer, and 
 at once perceived that all human aid was vain. She exhibited 
 much pleasure at seeing him, and looked round, as if in search of 
 the earl. Guessing her meaning, the physician, who now began 
 to regret the interdiction he had placed upon him, told her that 
 he was the cause of his absence. 
 
 " It is well," she murmured, — " well." 
 
 She then made some inquiries after her relatives, and receiving 
 a satisfactory answer, said, " I am glad you are come. You will be 
 able to tell my father how I died." 
 
 " It will be a great comfort to him to learn the tranquil frame 
 in which I have found you," replied Hodges. 
 
 " How long have I to live ?" asked Amabel, somewhat quickly. 
 " Do not deceive me." 
 
 c ' You had better make your preparations without delay," 
 returned Hodges. 
 
 " I understand," she replied. And joining her hands upon her 
 breast, she began to murmur a prayer. 
 
 Hodges, who up to this moment had had some difficulty in 
 repressing his emotion, withdrew to a short distance to hide his 
 fast-falling tears. He was roused shortly after, by a sudden and 
 startling cry from the old woman. 
 
 " Oh, sir, she is going ! she is going 1" ejaculated Mrs. Batley. 
 
 He found the exclamation true. The eyes of the dying girl were 
 closed. There was a slight quiver of the lips, as if she murmured 
 some name — probably Rochester's, — and then all was over. 
 
 Hodges gazed at her sorrowfully for some time. He then 
 roused himself, and giving some necessary directions to the old 
 woman respecting the body, quitted the house. Not finding the 
 earl at the place he had appointed to meet him, after waiting for 
 a short time, he proceeded towards his own house. On the way 
 he was met by Thirlby and Parravicin, as previously related 
 and conducted to the house in Nicholas-lane. It will not be 
 necessary to recapitulate what subsequently occurred. We shall, 
 therefore, proceed to the point of time when he quitted his new 
 patient, and entered the room where Thirlby and Leonard wen 
 waiting for him. Both, as has been stated, rushed towards him 
 and the former eagerly asked his opinion respecting his daughter. 
 
 " My opinion is positive," replied Hodges. " With care, she 
 will undoubtedly recover." 
 
 " Heaven be thanked !" cried Thirlb^y, dropping on his knees. 
 
 "And now, one word to me, sir," cried Leonard. " What of 
 Amabel?" 
 
 "Alas 1" exclaimed the doctor, " her troubles are ended." 
 
m 
 
 fs 
 
 © 
 
THE CERTIFICATE. 339 
 
 " Dead !" shrieked Leonard. 
 
 '• Ay, dead !" repeated the doctor. " She died of the plague 
 
 to-night." 
 
 lie then proceeded to detail briefly all that had occurred. 
 Leonard listened like one stupefied, till he brought his recital to 
 a close, and then asking where the house in which she had died 
 wa> situated, rushed out of the room, and made his way, he 
 knew not how, into the street. His brain seemed on fire, and 
 he ran so quickly that his feet appeared scarcely to touch the 
 ground. A few seconds brought him to London-bridge. He 
 crossed it, and turning down the street on the left, had nearly 
 reaehed the house to which he had been directed, when his 
 career was suddenly checked. The gate of the court-} r ard wag 
 opened, and two men, evident, from their apparel, buriers of the 
 dead, issued from it. They carried a long narrow board between 
 them, with a body wrapped in a white sheet placed upon it. A 
 freezing horror rooted Leonard to the spot where he stood. He 
 could neither move nor utter a cry. 
 
 The men proceeded with their burden towards the adjoining 
 habitation, which was marked with the fatal red cross and inscrip- 
 tion. Before it stood the dead-cart, partly filled with corpses. 
 The foremost burier carried a lantern, but he held it so low that 
 its light did not fall upon his burden. Leonard, however, did 
 not require to see the body to know whose it was. The moon 
 was at its full, and shed a ghastly light over the group, and a 
 large bat wheeled in narrow circles round the dead-cart. 
 
 On reaching the door of the house, the burier set down the 
 lantern near the bod} r of a young man which had just been thrust 
 forth. At the same moment, Chowles, with a lantern in his 
 hand, stepped out upon the threshold. 
 
 " Who have you got, Jonas ?" he asked. 
 
 " I know not," replied the hindmost burier. " We entered yon 
 large house, the door of which stood open, and in one of the rooms 
 found an old woman in a tainting state, and the body of this 
 young girl, wrapped in a sheet, and ready for the cart. So we 
 clapped it on the board, and brought it away with us. 
 
 " You did right," replied Chowles. " I wonder whose body 
 it is." 
 
 As he spoke, he held up his lantern, and unfastening it, threw 
 the light full upon the face. The features were pale as marble ; 
 calm in their expression, and like those of one wrapped in placid 
 slumber. The long fair hair hung over the side of the board. It 
 was a sad and touching sight. 
 
 "Why, as I am a living man, it is the grocer's daughter, 
 Amabel, — somewhile Countess of Rochester !" exclaimed Chowles. 
 
 " It is, it is !" cried the earl, suddenly rushing from behind a 
 building where he had hitherto remained concealed. " Whither 
 are you about to take her ? Set her down — set her down." 
 
 z2 
 
340 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Hinder them not, my lord," vociferated another person, also 
 appearing on the scene with equal suddenness. " Place her in 
 the cart," cried Solomon Eagle — for he it was — to the bearers. 
 " This is a just punishment upon you, my lord," he added to 
 Rochester, as his injunctions were obeyed — " oppose them not 
 in their duty." 
 
 It was not in the earl's power to do so. Like Leonard, he 
 was transfixed with horror. The other bodies were soon placed 
 in the cart, and it was put in motion. 
 
 At this juncture, the apprentice's suspended faculties were for 
 an instant — and an instant only — restored to him. He uttered a 
 piercing cry, and staggering forward, fell senseless on the ground 
 
 EKD OF THE FOUBTH BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE FIFTH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE, 
 
 More than two months must be passed over in silence. During 
 that time, the pestilence had so greatly abated as no longer 
 to occasion alarm to those who had escaped its ravages. It has 
 been mentioned that the distemper arrived at its height about 
 the 10th of September, and though for the two following weeks 
 the decline was scarcely perceptible, yet it had already com- 
 menced. On the last week in that fatal month, when all hope 
 had been abandoned, the Bills of Mortality suddenly decreased 
 in number to one thousand eight hundred and thirty-four. And 
 this fortunate change could not be attributed to the want of 
 materials to act upon, for the sick continued as numerous as 
 before, while the deaths were less frequent. In the next week 
 there was a further decrease of six hundred ; in the next after 
 that of six hundred ; and so on till the end of October, when the 
 cold weather setting in, the amount was reduced to nearly one 
 thousand. 
 
 At first, when the distemper began to lose somewhat of its 
 malignancy, a few scared individuals appeared in the streets, but 
 carefully shunned each other. In a few days, however, consider- 
 able numbers joined them, and for the first time for nearly three 
 months, there was something like life abroad. It is astonishing 
 how soon hope and confidence are revived. Now that it could 
 no longer be doubted that the plague was on the decline, it seemed 
 as if a miracle had been performed in favour of the city. Houses 
 were opened — shopkeepers resumed their business — and it was a 
 marvel to every one that so many persons were left alive. Dejec- 
 tion and despair of the darkest kind were succeeded by frenzied 
 delight, and no bound was put to the public satisfaction. 
 Strangers stopped each other in the streets, and conversed 
 together like old friends. The bells that had grown hoarse with 
 tolling funerals, were now cracked with joyous peals. The general 
 joy extended even to the sick, and many, buoyed up by hope, 
 recovered, when in the former season of despondency, they would 
 inevitably have perished. All fear of the plague seemed to 
 
342 old saint paul's. 
 
 vanish with the flying disorder. Those who were scarcely out of 
 danger joined in the throng, and it was no uncommon sight to 
 see men with bandages round their necks, or supported by staves 
 and crutches, shaking hands with their friends, and even embrac- 
 ing them. 
 
 The consequence of this incautious conduct may be easily 
 foreseen. The plague had received too severe a check to burst 
 forth anew, but it spread further than it otherwise would have 
 clone, and attacked many persons, who, but for their own impru- 
 dence, would have escaped. Amongst others, a barber in Saint 
 Martin's-le-Grand, who had fled into the country in August* 
 returned to his shop in the middle of October, and catching the 
 disorder from one of his customers, perished with the whole of 
 his family. 
 
 But these, and several other equally fatal instances, produced 
 no effect on the multitude. Fully persuaded that the virulence 
 of the disorder was exhausted, as, indeed, appeared to be the 
 case, they gave free scope to their satisfaction, which was greater 
 than was ever experienced by the inhabitants of a besieged city 
 reduced by famine to the last strait of despair, and suddenly 
 restored to freedom and plenty. The more pious part of the 
 community thronged to the churches, from which they had been 
 so long absent, and returned thanks for their unexpected deli- 
 verance. Others, who had been terrified into seriousness and 
 devotion, speedily forgot their former terrors, and resumed their 
 old habits. Profaneness and debauchery again prevailed, and 
 the taverns were as well filled as the churches. Solomon Eagle 
 continued his midnight courses through the streets, but he could 
 no longer find an audience as before. Those who listened to 
 him only laughed at his denunciations of a new judgment, and 
 told him his preachings and prophecyings were now completely 
 out of date. 
 
 By this time, numbers of those w r ho had quitted London 
 bavins; returned to it, the streets began to resume their wonted 
 appearance. The utmost care was taken by the authorities to 
 cleanse and purify the houses, in order to remove all chance of 
 keeping alive the infection. Every room in every habitation 
 where a person had died of the plague — and t'here were few that 
 had escaped the visitation — were ordered to be whitewashed, 
 and the strongest fumigations was employed to remove the 
 pestilential effluvia. Brimstone, resin, and pitch were burnt in 
 the houses of the poor: benjamin, myrrh, and other more expen- 
 sive perfumes in those of the rich; while vast quantities of powder 
 were consumed in creating blasts to carry off the foul air. Larg3 
 and constant fires *ere kept in all the houses, and several were 
 burnt down in consequence of the negligence of their owners. 
 
 All goods, clothes, and bedding capable of harbouring infec- 
 tion, were condemned to be publicly burned, and vast bonfires 
 
DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE. 343 
 
 were lighted in Finsbury-fields and elsewhere, into which many 
 hundred cartloads of such articles were thrown. The whole of 
 Chowles's hoard, except the plate, which he managed, with 
 Judith's aid, to carry off and conceal in certain hiding-places in 
 the vaults of Saint Faith's, were taken from the house in Nicholas- 
 iane and cast into the fire. 
 
 The cathedral was one of the first places ordered to be purified. 
 The pallets of the sick were removed and burned, and all the 
 stains and impurities with which its floor and columns were 
 polluted, were cleansed. Nothing was left untried to free it 
 from infection. It was washed throughout with vinegar, fumi- 
 gated with the strongest scents, and several large barrels of pitch 
 were set fire to in the aisles. 
 
 "It shall undergo another species of purification," said Solo- 
 mon Eagle, who was present during these proceedings; "one» 
 that shall search every nook within it — shall embrace all those 
 columns, and pierce every crack and crevice in those sculptured 
 ornaments, — and then, and not till then, will it be thoroughly 
 cleansed." 
 
 During all this time, the grocer had not opened his dwelling. 
 The wisdom of his plan was now made fully apparent. The 
 plague was declining fast, and not an inmate of his house had 
 been attacked by it. Soon after the melancholy occurrence, he 
 had been informed by Doctor Hodges of Amabel's death, but 
 the humane physician concealed from him the painful circum- 
 stances under which it occurred. It required all Mr. Bloundel's 
 fortitude to support him under the shock of this intelligence, 
 and he did not communicate the afflicting tidings to his wife 
 until he had prepared her for their reception. But she bore 
 them better than he had anticipated, and though she mourned 
 her daughter deeply and truly, she appeared completely resigned 
 to the loss. Sorrow pervaded the whole household for some 
 weeks, and the grocer, who never relaxed his system, shrouded 
 his sufferings under the appearance of additional austerity of 
 manner. It would have been a great consolation to him to see 
 Leonard Holt, but the apprentice had disappeared, and even 
 Doctor Hodges could give no account of him. 
 
 One night, in the middle of November, Mr. Bloundel signified 
 to his wife his intention of going forth early on the following 
 morning to satisfy himself that the plague was really abating. 
 Accordingly, after he had finished his devotions, and broken his 
 fast, he put his design into execution. His first act, after locking 
 the door behind him, which he did as a measure of precaution, 
 was to fall on his knees and offer up prayers to Heaven for his 
 signal preservation. He then arose, and stepping into the 
 middle of the street, gazed at the habitation which had formed 
 his prison and refuge for nearly six months. There it was, with 
 its shutters closed and barred — a secure asylum, with all alive 
 
344 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 within it, while every other dwelling in the street was deso- 
 late. 
 
 The grocer's sensations were novel and extraordinary. His 
 first impulse was to enjoy his newly-recovered freedom, and to 
 put himself into active motion. But he checked the feeling as 
 sinful, and proceeded along the street at a slow pace. He did 
 not meet a single person until he reached Cheapside, where he 
 found matters completely changed. Several shops were already 
 opened, and there were a few carts and other vehicles tracking 
 their way through the broad and yet grass-grown street. It was 
 a clear, frosty morning, and there was a healthful feel in the 
 bracing atmosphere that produced an exhilarating effect on the 
 spirits. The grocer pursued his course through the middle of 
 the street, carefully avoiding all contact with such persons as he 
 encountered, though he cordially returned their greetings, and 
 wandered on, scarcely knowing whither he was going, but deeply 
 interested in all he beheld. 
 
 The aspect of the city was indeed most curious. The houses 
 were for the most part unoccupied — the streets overgrown with 
 grass — while every object, animate and inanimate, bore some 
 marks of the recent visitation. Still, all looked hopeful, and the 
 grocer could not doubt that the worst was past. The different 
 demeanour of the various individuals he met struck him. Now 
 he passed a young man whistling cheerily, who saluted him, and 
 said — " I have lost my sweetheart by the plague, but I shall soon 
 get another." The next was a grave man, who muttered, " I have 
 lost all," and walked pensively on. Then came others in different 
 moods, but all concurred in thinking that the plague was at an 
 end ; and the grocer derived additional confirmation of the fact 
 from meeting numerous carts and other vehicles bringing families 
 back to their houses from the country. 
 
 After roaming about for several hours, and pondering on all he 
 saw, he found himself before the great western entrance of St. 
 Paul's. It chanced to be the morning on which the pallets and 
 bedding were brought forth, and he watched the proceeding at a 
 distance. All had been removed, and he was about to depart, 
 when he perceived a person seated on a block of stone, not far 
 from him, whom he instantly recognised. 
 
 " Leonard," he cried, " Leonard Holt, is it you ?" 
 
 Thus addressed, and in these familiar tones, the apprentice 
 looked up, and Mr. Bloundel started at the change that had taken 
 place in him. Profound grief w r as written in every line of his 
 thin and haggard countenance ; his eyes were hollow, and had 
 the most melancholy expression imaginable ; and his flesh was 
 wasted away from the bone. He looked the very image of hope- 
 less affliction. 
 
 " I am sorry to find you in this state, Leonard," said the grocer, 
 in a tone of deep commiseration; " but I am well aware of the 
 
DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE. 345 
 
 cause. I myself have suffered severely, but I deem it my duty 
 to control my affliction." 
 
 " I would control it, if it were possible, Mr. Bloundel," replied 
 Leonard. " But hope is dead in my breast. I shall never be 
 happy again." 
 
 " I trust otherwise," replied the grocer, kindly. " Your trials 
 have been very great, and so were those of the poor creature we 
 both of us deplore. But she is at peace, and therefore we need 
 not lament her." 
 
 " Alas !" exclaimed Leonard, mournfully, " I am now only 
 anxious to rejoin her." 
 
 " It is selfish, if not sinful, to grieve in this way," rejoined Mr. 
 Bloundel, somewhat sternly. " You must bear your sorrows like 
 a man. Come home with me. I will be a father to you. Nay, 
 do not hesitate. I will have no refusal." 
 
 So saying, he took Leonard's arm, and led him in the direction 
 of Wood-street. Nothing passed between them on the way, nor 
 did Leonard evince any further emotion until he entered the door 
 of the grocer's dwelling, when he uttered a deep groan. Mrs. 
 Bloundel was greatly affected at seeing him, as were the rest of 
 the family, and abundance of tears were shed by all, except Mr. 
 Bloundel, who maintained his customary stoical demeanour 
 throughout the meeting. 
 
 Satisfied that the pestilence had not declined sufficiently to 
 warrant him in opening his house, the grocer determined to await 
 the result of a few weeks. Indeed, that very night, he had reason 
 to think he had defeated his plans by precipitancy. While sitting 
 after prayers with his famiky, he was seized with a sudden shiver- 
 ing and sickness, which he could not doubt were the precursors 
 of the plague. lie was greatly alarmed, but did not lose his com- 
 mand over himself. 
 
 " I have been most imprudent," he said, " in thus exposing 
 myself to infection. I have symptoms of the plague about me, 
 and will instantly repair to one of the upper rooms which I have 
 laid aside as a hospital, in case of any emergency like the present. 
 None of you must attend me. Leonard will fetch Doctor Hodges 
 and a nurse. I shall then do very well. Farewell, dear wife and 
 children ! God bless you all, and watch over you. Remember 
 me in your prayers." 
 
 So saying, he arose and walked towards the door. His wife 
 and eldest son would have assisted him, but he motioned them 
 away. 
 
 " Let me go with you, sir ?" cried Leonard, who had arisen with 
 the others. " I will nurse you, my life is of little consequence ; 
 and I cannot be more satisfactorily employed." 
 
 The grocer reluctantly assented, and the apprentice a?sisted 
 him up-stairs, and helped to place him in bed. No plague-token 
 could be found about his person, but as the same alarming symp« 
 
846 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 toms still continued, Leonard administered such remedies as he 
 thought needful, and then went in search of Doctor Hodges. 
 
 On reaching Watling-street, he found Docter Hodges about to 
 retire to rest. The worthy physician was greatly distressed by 
 the apprentice's account of his master's illness; but was somewhat 
 reassured when the symptoms were more minutely described to 
 him. 
 
 While preparing certain medicines, and arming himself with his 
 surgical implements, he questioned Leonard as to the cause of his 
 long disappearance. 
 
 " Having seen nothing of you," he said, "since the fatal night 
 when our poor Amabel's sorrows were ended, I began to feel very 
 apprehensive on your account. Where have you been ?" 
 
 " You shall hear," replied Leonard, " though the relation will 
 be like opening my wounds afresh. On recovering from the 
 terrible shock I had received, I found myself stretched upon a 
 bed in a house whither I had been conveyed by Rainbird the 
 watchman, who had discovered me lying in a state of insensibility 
 in the street. For nearly a week I continued delirious, and 
 should probably have lost my senses altogether but for the atten- 
 tions of the watchman. As soon as I was able to move, I wan- 
 dered to the lesser plague-pit, in Finsbury-fields, you will gness 
 with what intent. My heart seemed breaking, and I thought I 
 should pour forth my very soul in grief, as I gazed into that 
 dreadful gulf, and thought she was there interred. Still my 
 tears were a relief. Every evening for a month, I went to that 
 sad spot, and remained there till daybreak admonished me to 
 return to Rainbird's dwelling. At last, he was seized by the 
 distemper; but though I nursed him, voluntarily exposing 
 myself to infection, and praying to be carried off, I remained 
 untouched. Poor Rainbird died; and having seen his body 
 thrown into the pit, I set off into Berkshire, and after three days' 
 toilsome travel on foot, reached Ashdown-park. It was a melan- 
 choly pleasure to behold the abode where she I had loved passed 
 her last few days of happiness, and where I had been near her. 
 Her aunt, good Mrs. Buscot, though overwhelmed by affliction 
 at the sad tidings I brought her, received me with the utmost 
 kindness, and tried to console me. My sorrow, however, was 
 too deeply seated to be removed. Wandering over the downs, 
 I visited Mrs. Compton at Kingston Lisle, from whose house 
 Amabel was carried off by the perfidious earl. She, also, re- 
 ceived me with kindness, and strove, like Mrs. Buscot, to comfort 
 me, and, like her, ineffectually. Finding my strength declining, 
 and persuaded that my days were drawing to a close, I retraced 
 my steps to London, hoping to find a final resting-place near her 
 I had loved." 
 
 " You are, indeed, faithful to the grave, Leonard," said the 
 physician, brushing away a tear ; " and I never heard or read of 
 
DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE 347 
 
 affection stronger than yours. Sorrow is a great purifier, and 
 you will come out all the better for your trial. You are yet 
 young, and though you never can love as you have loved a second 
 time, your heart is not utterty seared." 
 
 " Utterly, sir," echoed Leonard, " utterly." 
 
 " You think so now," rejoined the physician. " But you will 
 find it otherwise hereafter. I can tell you of one person who has 
 suffered almost as much from your absence as you have done for 
 the loss of Amabel. The Lady Isabella Argentine has made con- 
 stant inquiries after you ; and though I should be the last person 
 to try to rouse you from your present state of despondency, by 
 awakening hopes of alliance with the sister of a proud noble, yet 
 it may afford you consolation to know that she still cherishes the 
 warmest regard for you." 
 
 "I am grateful to her," replied Leonard, sadly, but without 
 exhibiting any other emotion. " She was dear to Amabel, and 
 therefore will be ever dear to me. I would fain know," he added, 
 his brow suddenly contracting, and his lip quivering, " what has 
 become of the Earl of Rochester ?" 
 
 " He has married a wealthy heiress, the fair Mistress Mallet," 
 replied Hodges. 
 
 " Married, and so soon !" cried Leonard. " And he has quite 
 forgotten his victim ?" 
 
 "Apparently so," replied the doctor, with an expression of 
 disgust. 
 
 " And it was for one who so lightly regarded her that she 
 sacrificed herself," groaned Leonard, his head dropping upon his 
 breast. 
 
 " Come," cried Hodges, taking his arm, and leading him out 
 of the room. " We must go and look after your master." 
 
 With this, they made the best of their way to Wood-street. 
 Arrived at the grocer's house, they went up-stairs, and Hodges 
 immediately pronounced Mr. Bloundel to be suffering from a 
 slight feverish attack, which a sudorific powder would remove. 
 Having administered the remedy, he descended to the lower 
 room to allay the fears of the family. Mrs. Bloundel received 
 the happy tidings with tears of joy, and the doctor remained a 
 short time to condole with her on the loss she had sustained. 
 The good dame wept bitterly on hearing the whole particulars, 
 with which she had been hitherto unacquainted, attending her 
 daughter's untimely death, but she soon regained her composure. 
 They then spoke of Leonard, who had remained above with his 
 master, — of his blighted hopes, and seemingly incurable affliction. 
 
 " His is true love, indeed, doctor," sighed Mrs. Bloundel. 
 * Pity it is that it could not be requited." 
 
 " I know not how it is," rejoined Hodges, "and will not ques- 
 tion the decrees of our All- Wise Ruler, but the strongest affec- 
 tion seldom, if ever, meets a return. Leonard himself was 
 
84S old saint Paul's. 
 
 insensible to the devotion of one, of whom I may say, without 
 disparagement to our poor Amabel, that she was in my opinion 
 her superior in beauty." 
 
 " And does this person love him still ?" inquired Mrs. Bloundel, 
 eagerly. " I ask, because I regard him as a son, and earnestly 
 desire to restore him to happiness." 
 
 " Alas I" exclaimed Hodges, " there are obstacles in the way 
 that cannot be removed. We must endeavour to cure him of his 
 grief in some other way." 
 
 The conversation then dropped, and Hodges took his leave, 
 promising to return on the morrow, and assuring Mrs. Bloundel 
 that she need be under no further apprehension about her 
 husband. 
 
 And so it proved. The powders removed all the grocer's 
 feverish symptoms, and when Doctor Hodges made his appear- 
 ance the next day, he found him dressed, and ready to go down 
 stairs. Having received the physician's congratulations on his 
 entire recovery, Mr. Bloundel inquired from him when he thought 
 he might with entire safety open his shop. Hodges considered 
 for a moment, and then replied, " I do not see any great risk in 
 doing so now, but I would advise you to defer the step for a 
 fortnight. I would, also, recommend you to take the whole of 
 your family for a short time into the country. Pure air and 
 change of scene are absolutely necessary after their long con- 
 finement." 
 
 " Farmer Wingfield, of Kensal-green, who sheltered us on our 
 way to Ashdown-park, will, I am sure, receive you," observed 
 Leonard. 
 
 "If so, you cannot go to a better place," rejoined the phy- 
 sician. 
 
 " I will think of it," returned Mr. Bloundel. And leading the 
 way down stairs, he was welcomed by his wife and children with 
 the warmest demonstrations of delight. 
 
 " My fears, you perceive, were groundless," he remarked to 
 Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " Heaven be praised they were so !" she rejoined. " But I 
 entreat you not to go forth again till all danger is at an end." 
 
 " Rest assured I will not," he answered. 
 
 Soon after this, Doctor Hodges took his leave, and had already 
 reached the street door, when he was arrested by Patience, who 
 inquired with much anxiety whether he knew anything of Blaize? 
 
 " Make yourself easy about him, child," replied the doctor, " 1 
 am pretty sure he is safe and sound. He has had the plague, 
 certainly ; but he left the hospital at Saint Paul's cured." 
 
 " O then I shall see him again," cried Patience, joyfully. 
 "Poor dear little fellow, it would break my heart to lose him." 
 
 "I will make inquiries about him," rejoined Hodges, "and if 
 I can find him, will send him home." 
 
DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE. 349 
 
 And without waiting to receive the kitchen-maid's thanks, he 
 departed. 
 
 For some days the grocer continued to pursue pretty nearly 
 the same line of conduct that he had adopted during the height 
 of the pestilence. But he did not neglect to make preparations 
 for resuming his business ; and here Leonard was of material as- 
 sistance to him. They often spoke of Amabel, and Mr. Bloundel 
 strove, by every argument he was master of, to remove the 
 
 eight of affliction under which his apprentice laboured. He so 
 far succeeded that Leonard's health improved, though he still 
 seemed a prey to secret sorrow. Things were in this state, when 
 one day a knock was heard at the street door, and the summons 
 being answered by the grocer's eldest son, Stephen, he returned 
 with the intelligence that a person w T as without who desired to 
 see Patience. After some consideration, Mr. Bloundel sum- 
 moned the kitchen-maid, and told her she might admit the 
 stranger into the passage, and hear what he had to say. Pa- 
 tience hastened with a beating heart to the door, expecting to 
 learn some tidings of Blaize, and opening it, admitted a man 
 wrapped in a large cloak, and having a broad-leaved hat pulled 
 over his brows. Stepping into the passage, he threw aside the 
 cloak and raised the hat, discovering the figure and features of 
 Pillichody. 
 
 "What brings you here, sir?" demanded Patience, in alarm, 
 and glancing over her shoulder to see whether any one observed 
 them. " What do you want ?" 
 
 " I have brought you news of Blaize," returned the bully. 
 " But how charmingly you look. By the coral lips of Venus I 
 your long confinement has added to your attractions." 
 
 '* Never mind my attractions, sir," rejoined Patience, impa- 
 tiently. •' Where is Blaize ? Why did he not come with 
 you?" 
 
 " Alas 1" replied Pillichody, shaking his head in a melancholy 
 manner, " he could not." 
 
 " Could not !" half screamed Patience. « Why not ?" 
 
 " Do not question me," replied Pillichody, feigning to brush 
 away a tear. " He was my friend, and I would rather banish 
 him from my memory. The sight of your beauty transports me 
 so, that, by the treasures of Croesus 1 I would rather have you 
 without a crown than the wealthiest widow in the country." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense to me in this way," sobbed Patience. 
 " I'm not in the humour for it." 
 
 " Nonsense 1" echoed Pillichody. " I swear to you I am in 
 earnest. By Cupid! I am ravished with your charms." And 
 he would have seized her hand, but Patience hastily withdrew 
 't ; and, provoked at his impertinence, dealt him a sound box on 
 .he ear. As she did this, she thought she heard a suppressed 
 laugh near her, and looked round, but could see no one. The 
 
S50 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 sound certainly did not proceed from Pillichody, for he looked 
 very red and very angry. 
 
 " Do not repeat this affront, mistress," he said to her. " I can 
 bear anything but a blow from your sex." 
 
 " Then tell me what has become of Blaize ?" she cried. 
 
 " I will no longer spare your feelings," he rejoined. " He is 
 defunct." 
 
 " Defunct I"' echoed Patience, with a scream. " Oh, dear me ! 
 —I shall never survive it, — I shall die." 
 
 " Not while I am left to supply his place," cried Pillichody, 
 catching her in his arms. 
 
 " You !" cried Patience, contemptuously; " I would not hars 
 you for the world. Where is he buried ?" 
 
 " In the plague-pit," replied Pillichody. " I attended him 
 during his illness. It was his second attack of the disorder. He 
 spoke of you." 
 
 " Did he ? — dear little fellow," she exclaimed. " Oh, what 
 did he say ?" 
 
 " ' Tell her,' he cried," rejoined Pillichody, " ' that my last 
 thoughts were of her.' " 
 
 "Ob, dear! oh, dearl" cried Patience, hysterically. 
 
 "'Tell her also,' he added," pursued Pillichody, "'that I 
 trust she will fulfil my last injunction.'" 
 
 " That I will," replied Patience. " Name it." 
 
 " He conjured you to marry me," replied Pillichody. "I am 
 sure you will not hesitate to comply with the request." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of this," cried Patience. " Blaize 
 was a great deal too jealous to bequeath me to another." 
 
 " Right, sweetheart, right," cried the individual in question, 
 pushing open the door. " This has all been done to try your 
 fidelity. I am now fully satisfied of your attachment ; and am 
 ready to marry you whenever you please." 
 
 " So this was all a trick," cried Patience, pettishly; "I wish I 
 had known it, I would have retaliated upon you nicely. You 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself Major Pillichody, to lend a 
 helping hand in such a ridiculous affair." 
 
 " I did it to oblige my friend Blaize," replied Pillichody. " It 
 was agreed between us that if you showed any inconstancy, you 
 were to be mine." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Patience. u I would not advise you to 
 repeat the experiment, Mr. Blaize." 
 
 " I never intend to do so, my angel," replied the porter. " I 
 esteem myself the happiest and most fortunate of men." 
 
 " You have great reason to do so," observed Pillichody. " I 
 do not despair of supplanting him yet," he muttered to himself. 
 " And, now, farewell !" he added, aloud, " I am only in the way, 
 and, besides, I have no particular desire to encounter Mr 
 Bloundel or his apprentice." And winking his solitary orb 
 
DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE. 351 
 
 significantly at Patience, he strutted away. It was well he took 
 that opportunity of departing, for the lovers' raptures were 
 instantly afterwards interrupted by the appearance of Mr. 
 Bloundel, who was greatly delighted to see the porter, and gave 
 him a hearty welcome. 
 
 " Ah, sir, I have had a narrow escape," cried Blaize, " and 
 never more expected to see you, or my mother, or Patience. I 
 have had the plague, sir, and a terrible disorder it is." 
 
 " I heard of your seizure from Leonard Holt," replied Mr. 
 Bloundel. " But where have you been since you left the 
 hospital at Saint Paul's ?" 
 
 "In the country, sir," rejoined Blaize; "sometimes at one 
 /arm-house, and sometimes at another. I only i-eturned to London 
 yesterday, and met an old friend, whom I begged to go before 
 me, and see that all was right before I ventured in." 
 
 " We have all been providentially spared," observed Mr. 
 Bloundel, " and you will find your mother as well as when you 
 last quitted her. You had better go to her." 
 
 Blaize obeyed, and was received by old Josyna with a scream 
 of delight. Having embraced him, and sobbed over him, she 
 ran for a bottle of sack, and poured its contents down his throat 
 so hastily as nearly to choke him. She then spread abundance 
 of eatables before him, and after he had eaten and drank his full, 
 offered him as a treat a little of the plague-medicine, which she 
 had in reserve. 
 
 " No, thank you, mother," replied Blaize. " I have had 
 enough of that. But if there should be a box of rufuses amongst 
 the store, you can bring it, as I think a couple might do me good. 
 
 Three days after this event, the apprentice was sent forth to 
 ascertain the precise state of the city, as, if all proved favourable, 
 the grocer proposed to open his house on the following day. 
 Leonard set out betimes, and was speedily convinced that all 
 danger was at an end. A severe frost had set in, and had com- 
 pletely purified the air. For the last few days, there had been 
 no deaths of the plague, and but little mortality of any kind. 
 Leonard traversed several of the main streets, and some narrow 
 thoroughfares, and found evidences of restored health and confi- 
 dence everywhere. It is true there were many houses in which 
 w ole families had been swept off still left untenanted. But 
 these were only memorials of the past calamity, and could not 
 be referred to any existing danger. Before returning to Wood- 
 street, an irresistible impulse led him to Finsbury-fields. He 
 passed through the postern east of Cripplegate, and shaped his 
 way towards the lesser plague-pit. The sun, which had been 
 bright all the morning, was now partially obscured; the air had 
 grown thick, and a little snow fell. The ground was blackened 
 and bound by the hard frost, and the stiffened grass felt crisp 
 beneath his feet. Insensible to all external circumstances, he 
 
352 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 hurried forward, taking the most direct course, and leaping every 
 impediment in his path. Having crossed several fields, he at 
 length stood before a swollen heap of clay, round which a wooden 
 railing was placed. Springing over the enclosure, and uttering 
 a wild cry that evinced the uncontrollable anguish of his breast, 
 he flung himself upon the mound. He remained for some time 
 in the deepest affliction, and was at last roused by a hand laid 
 upon his shoulder, and raising himself, beheld Thirlby. 
 
 "I thought it must be you," said the new comer, in accents of 
 the deepest commiseration. " I have been visiting yonder plague- 
 pit for the same melancholy purpose as yourself, — to mourn over 
 my lost child. I have been in search of you, and have much to 
 say to you. Will you meet me in this place at midnight to- 
 morrow ?" 
 
 Leonard signified his assent. 
 
 " I am in danger," pursued Thirlby, " for, by some means, the 
 secret of my existence has been made known, and the officers of 
 justice are in pursuit of me. I suspect that Judith Malmayns 
 is my betrayer. You will not fail me ?" 
 
 " I will not," returned Leonard. 
 
 Upon this, Thirlby hurried away, and leaping a hedge, 
 disappeared from view. 
 
 Leonard slowly and sorrowfully returned to Wood-street. On 
 arriving there, he assured his master that he might with entire 
 safety open his house, as he proposed, on the morrow ; and 
 Doctor Hodges, who visited the grocer the same evening, con- 
 firmed the opinion. Early, therefore, the next morning, Mr. 
 Bloundel summoned his family to prayers; and after pouring 
 forth his supplications with peculiar fervour and solemnity, he 
 went, accompanied by them all, and threw open the street door. 
 Again kneeling down at the threshold, he prayed fervently, as 
 before. He then proceeded to remove the bars and shutters from 
 the windows. The transition from gloom and darkness to bright 
 daylight was almost overpowering. For the first time for six 
 months, the imprisoned family looked forth on the external 
 world, and were dazzled and bewildered by the sight. The 
 grocer himself, despite his sober judgment, could scarcely believe 
 he had not been in a trance during the whole period. The shop 
 was scarcely opened before it was filled with customers, and 
 Leonard and Stephen were instantly employed. But the grocer 
 would sell nothing. To those who asked for any article he 
 possessed, he presented them with it, but would receive no 
 payment. 
 
 He next despatched Blaize to bring together all the poor he 
 could find ; and distributed among them the remainder of his 
 store, — his casks of flour, his salted meat, his cheeses, his biscuits, 
 his wine, — in short, all that was left. 
 
 " This I give," he said, " as a thanksgiving to the Lord, and as 
 a humble testimony of gratitude for my signal deliverance." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 TIIE 31 ID NIGHT MEETING. 
 
 The first day of his deliverance being spent by the grocer in the 
 praiseworthy manner before related, he laid his head upon his 
 pillow with a feeling of satisfaction such as he had not for months 
 experienced. A very remarkable dream occurred to him that 
 night, and its recollection afterwards afforded him the greatest 
 consolation. While thinking of Amabel, and of the delight her 
 presence would have afforded him, slumber stole upon him, and 
 his dreams were naturally influenced by his previous meditations. 
 It appeared to him that he was alone within his house, and 
 while visiting one of the upper rooms, which had formerly been 
 appropriated to his lost daughter, he noticed a small door in the 
 wall that had never before attracted his attention. He immedi- 
 ately pushed against it, and, yielding to the touch, it admitted 
 him to an apartment with which he seemed acquainted, though 
 he could not recal the time when he had seen it. It was large 
 and gloomy, panelled with dark and lustrous oak, and filled 
 with rich but decayed furniture. At the further end stood a 
 large antique bed, hung round with tarnished brocade curtains. 
 The grocer shuddered at the sight, for he remembered to have 
 heard Doctor Hodges assert, that in such a bed, and in such a 
 room as this, his daughter had breathed her last. Some one 
 appeared to be within the bed, and rushing forward with a 
 throbbing heart, and a foreboding of what was to follow, he 
 beheld the form of Amabel. Yes, there she was, with features 
 like those she wore on earth, but clothed with such celestial 
 beauty, and bearing the impress of such serene happiness, that 
 the grocer felt awe-struck as he gazed at her ! 
 
 " Approach, my father," said the visionary form, in a voice so 
 musical that it thrilled through his frame— "approach, and let 
 what you now hear be for ever graven upon your heart. Da 
 not lament me more, but rather rejoice that I am removed from 
 trouble, and in the enjoyment of supreme felicity. Such a state 
 you will yourself attain. You have run the good race, and will 
 assuredly reap your reward. Comfort my dear mother, my 
 brothers, my little sister, with the assurance of what I tell you, 
 and bid them dry their tears. I can now read the secrets of all 
 hearts, and know how true was Leonard Holt's love for me, and 
 how deep and sincere is his present sorrow. But I am not 
 permitted to appear to him as I now appear to you. Often have 
 I heard him invoke me in accents of the wildest despair, and 
 have floated past him on the midnight breeze, but could neither 
 impart consolation to him nor make him sensible of my presence, 
 because his grief was sinful. Bid him be comforted. Bid hira 
 
 A A 
 
354 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 put a due control upon his feelings. Bid him open his heart 
 anew, and he shall yet be happy, yet love again, and have hi3 
 love requited. Farewell, dear father !" 
 
 And with these words, the curtains of the bed closed. The 
 grocer stretched out his arm to draw them aside, and in the effort 
 awoke. He slept no more that night, but dwelt with unutterable 
 delight on the words he had heard. On rising, his first object 
 was to seek out Leonard, and to relate his vision to him. The 
 apprentice listened in speechless wonder, and remained for some 
 time lost in reflection. 
 
 " From any other person than yourself, sir," he said, at length, 
 " I might have doubted this singular story, but coming from you, 
 I attach implicit credence to it. I will o*bey your sainted 
 daughter's injunctions. I will struggle against the grief that 
 overwhelms me, and will try to hope that her words may be 
 fulfilled." 
 
 " You will do wisely," rejoined Mr. Bloundel. "After break- 
 fast, we will walk together to the farmhouse }'ou spoke of at 
 Kensal-green, and if its owner should prove willing to receive 
 my family for a few weeks, I will remove them thither at once." 
 
 Leonard applauded his master's resolution, expressing his firm 
 conviction that Farmer Wingfield would readily accede to the 
 proposal, and the rest of the family having by this time assembled, 
 they sat down to breakfast. As soon as the meal was over, Mr. 
 Bloundel intrusted the care of the shop to Stephen and Blaize, and 
 accompanied by Leonard, set forth. On the way to the west end 
 of the town, the grocer met one or two of his old friends, and 
 they welcomed each other like men risen from the grave. Their 
 course took them through Saint Giles's, where the plague had 
 raged with the greatest severity, and where many houses were 
 still without tenants. 
 
 " If all had acted as I have done," sighed the grocer, as he 
 gazed at these desolate habitations, "how many lives, under 
 God's providence, would have been saved !" 
 
 " In my opinion, sir," replied Leonard, " you owe your preser- 
 vation as much to your piety as to your prudence." 
 
 " I have placed my trust on high," rejoined the grocer, " and 
 have not been forsaken. And yet many evil-doers have escaped. 
 Amongst others — " 
 
 ••' I know whom you mean, sir," interrupted Leonard, with 
 some fierceness, " but a day of retribution will arrive for him." 
 
 " No more of this," rejoined the grocer, severely. " Remember 
 the solemn injunction you have received." 
 
 At this moment they observed a horseman, richly attired, and 
 followed by a couple of attendants, riding rapidly towards them. 
 Both instantly recognised him. The apprentice's cheek and brow 
 flushed with anger, and Mr. Bloundel had much ado to control his 
 emotion. It was the Earl of Rochester, and on seeing them he 
 
THE MIDNIGHT MEETING. 35=; 
 
 instantly dismounted, and flinging his bridle to one of the 
 attendants, advanced towards them. Noticing the fury that 
 gleamed in Leonard's eyes, and apprehending some violence 01; 
 his part, the grocer laid his hand upon his arm, and sternly 
 enjoined him to calm himself. 
 
 By this time, the earl had reached them. "Mr. Bloundel," 
 he said, in a tone of much emotion, and with a look that seemed 
 to bespeak contrition, " I heard that you had opened your house 
 yesterday, and was about to call upon you. I have a few words 
 to say to you on a subject painful to both of us, but doubly pain- 
 ful to me — your daughter." 
 
 " I must decline to hear them, my lord," replied the grocer, 
 coldly ; " nor shall you ever cross my threshold again with my 
 consent. My poor child is now at peace. You can do her no 
 further injury, and must settle your own account with your 
 Maker." 
 
 "Do not refuse me your forgiveness," implored the earl. " I 
 will make every reparation in my power." 
 
 " You can make none," replied the grocer, repelling him; " and 
 as to my forgiveness, I neither refuse it nor accord it. I pray 
 your lordship to let me pass. The sole favour I ask of you is to 
 come near me no more." 
 
 " I obey you," replied the earl. " Stay," he added to Leonard, 
 who stood by, regarding him with a look of deadly animosity, 
 "I would give you a piece of caution. Your life is in danger." 
 
 " I can easily guess from whom," replied the apprentice, scorn- 
 
 full 3\ 
 
 " You mistake," rejoined Rochester; "you have nothing \.o 
 
 apprehend from me. You have promised to meet some one 
 to-night," he added, in so low a tone as to be inaudible to the 
 grocer. " Do not go." 
 
 " Your lordship's warning will not deter me," rejoined the 
 apprentice. 
 
 " As you will," rejoined Rochester, turning away. 
 
 And springing upon his horse, and striking his spurs into his 
 side, he dashed off, while Leonard and the grocer took the oppo- 
 site direction. In less than half an hour, they reached the little 
 village of Paddington, then consisting of a few houses., but now 
 one of the most populous and important parishes of the metro- 
 polis, and speedily gained the open country. Even at this dreary- 
 season, the country had charms, which Mr. Bloundel, after his 
 long confinement, could fully appreciate. His eye roamed ovei 
 the wide prospect ; and the leafless trees, the bare hedges, and 
 the frost-bound fields seemed pleasant in his sight. 
 
 He quickened his pace, and being wholly indifferent to the 
 cold, greatly enjoyed the exercise. Leonard pointed out to him 
 the spots where the fugitives from the plague had pitched their 
 
 A. A2 
 
OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 tents, and also the pest-house near Westbourne-green, where he 
 himself had been received during his second attack of the dis- 
 temper, and which was now altogether abandoned. 
 
 Soon after this, they mounted the hill beyond Kensal-green, 
 and approached the farm-house. Leonard descried Wingfield 
 near one of the barns, and hailing him, he immediately came for- 
 ward. On being informed of Mr. Bloundel's desire, he at once 
 assented, and taking them into the house, mentioned the matter 
 to his dame, who was quite of the same opinion as himself. 
 
 " The only difference between us," he said to Mr. Bloundel, 
 " is as to the payment you propose. Now I will take none — 
 not a farthing. Come when you please, bring whom you please, 
 and stay as long as you please. But don't offer me anything if 
 you would not offend me. Recollect," he added, the moisture 
 forcing itself into his eyes, and his strong clear voice becoming 
 husky witfc emotion, "that I loved your daughter for her 
 resemblance to my poor child. She, too, is gone. I do this for 
 her sake." 
 
 Mr. Bloundel shook the worthy man warmly by the hand, but 
 he made no further objection, resolved in his own mind to find 
 some other means of requiting his hospitalit} 7 . It was then agreed 
 that the grocer should bring his family on the following day, and 
 remain there for a month, and every other arrangement being 
 made, and a hearty meal partaken of, he cordially thanked his 
 host, and returned with Leonard to Wood-street. 
 
 In spite of his efforts to resist the impression produced by the 
 carl's warning, Leonard could not banish it from his mind ; 
 and though he did not for a moment think of abandoning his 
 purpose, he resolved to attend the meeting armed. He told Mr. 
 Bloundel he should go out that night, but did not state his 
 object, and the grocer did not inquire it. Blaize sat up with 
 him, and displayed much anxiety to know whither he was going, 
 but, as may be supposed, his curiosity was not gratified. As the 
 clock struck eleven, Leonard thrust a sword into his girdle, and 
 arming himself furthermore with his staff, proceeded towards the 
 door, and bade Blaize lock it after him. 
 
 " I shall probably be back in a couple of hours," he said, as he 
 went forth. " You must sit up for me." 
 
 " I wonder where he is going 1" thought Blaize. " From his 
 gloomy looks, and the weapon he has taken with him, I should 
 judge he is about to murder some one — perhaps the Earl of 
 Rochester. It must be prevented." 
 
 With this view, though perhaps rather more influenced by 
 curiosity than any better feeling, the porter waited a few seconds 
 to allow the apprentice to get out of sight, and then locking the 
 door outside, put the key in his pocket, and followed him. The 
 night was profoundly dark, but he had noticed the direction 
 taken by Leonard, and running noiselessly along thj? street, soon 
 
THE MIDNIGHT MEETING. 35? 
 
 perceived him a little in advance. Regulating his pace by that of 
 the apprentice, and keeping about fifty yards behind him, he 
 tracked his course along several streets, until he saw him pass 
 through the second postern in the city wall, near Moorgate. 
 Here he debated with himself whether to proceed further or turn 
 back ; but at length, curiosity got the best of his fears, and he 
 went on. A few steps brought him into the open fields, and 
 fancying he saw Leonard at a little distance before him, he hur- 
 ried on in that direction. But he soon found he had been 
 deceived by the stump of a tree, and began to fear he must have 
 taken the wrong course. He looked around in vain for some 
 object to guide him. The darkness was so profound that he could 
 see nothing, and he set off again at random, and not without 
 much self-reproach and misgiving. At last, he reached a hedge, 
 and continued to skirt it, until he perceived through the bushes 
 the light of a lantern in the adjoining field. He immediately 
 called out, but at the cry the light disappeared. This did no«. 
 prevent him from making towards the spot where he had seen it ; 
 but he had not proceeded far when he was forcibly seized by some 
 unseen person, thrown on the ground, and a drawn sword — for 
 he felt the point — placed at his throat. 
 
 " Utter a cry, and it is your last," cried a stern voice. " Where 
 is he ?" 
 
 u Who — who?" demanded Blaize, half dead with terror. 
 
 "He whom you appointed to meet," replied the unknowh. 
 
 " I appointed to meet no one," rejoined Blaize. 
 
 " Liar !" exclaimed the other ; " if you do not instantly lead 
 me to him, I will cut your throat." 
 
 " I will lead you wherever you please, if you will only let mt 
 get up," rejoined Blaize, with difficulty repressing a cry. 
 
 " By the daughters of Nox and Acheron 1" exclaimed a voice 
 which sounded like music in the porter's ears, " I think you are 
 mistaken in your man, my lord. It does not sound like the 
 apprentice's voice." 
 
 "It is not the apprentice's voice, good Major Pillichody,' 
 rejoined the porter. "It is mine, your friend — Blaize's." 
 
 " Blaize !" exclaimed Pillichody, unmasking a dark lantern, 
 and revealing the terror-stricken countenance of the porter; " so 
 it is. In the devil's name, what are you doing here ?" 
 
 " The devil himself, who put it into my head to come, only 
 knows," replied Blaize ; " but I followed Leonard Holt." 
 
 " Which way did he take ?" asked the person who had assailed 
 him. 
 
 " I cannot exactly say," replied Blaize, " but he seemed to go 
 straight into the fields." 
 
 He is no doubt gone to the plague-pit," replied the other. 
 " You are now at liberty," he added to Blaize, " and I counsel 
 you to make the best of your way home. Say nothing to your 
 
358 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 master of what has occurred. The city walls lie in that 
 direction." 
 
 Overjoyed to be released, Blaize ran off as fast as his legs could 
 carry him, and never stopped till he reached Moorgate. 
 
 Meanwhile, Leonard had reached the place of meeting. As 
 he stood by the rail surrounding the plague-pit, he thought of 
 Mr. Bloundel's singular dream, and almost hoping to be similarly 
 favoured, flung himself on his knees, and besought Amabel, if it 
 were possible, to appear to him. But his entreaties produced no 
 result. The chill blast whistled past him, and mindful of what 
 had been told him, he was fain to interpret this into an answer 
 to his request. The night was bitterly cold, and Leonard, whose 
 limbs were almost stiffened by long kneeling, walked round and 
 round the enclosure at a quick pace to put his blood into cir- 
 culation. As the hour of midnight was tolled forth by the neigh- 
 bouring churches, he heard footsteps, and could just detect a 
 figure advancing; towards him. 
 
 CO 
 
 " Are you there ?" was asked in the voice of Thirlby. 
 
 Leonard replied in the affirmative, and the other instantly 
 joined him. 
 
 "Have you mentioned our meeting to any one?" inquired 
 Leonard. " I ask because I was warned by the Earl of Rochester 
 not to attend it." 
 
 " Strange !" exclaimed Thirlby, musingly. " However, do not 
 let us waste time. I am about to leave London, perhaps this 
 country, — for ever. But I could not depart without an inter- 
 view with you. You are aware of my strong attachment to my 
 poor lost child. My daughter Isabella now supplies her place in 
 my heart. She is the only being I love on earth, for my son has 
 alienated himself from my affections. All I desire is to see her 
 happy. This I find can only be accomplished in one way." 
 
 Here he paused for a moment, but as Leonard made no remark, 
 he proceeded. 
 
 " Why should I hesitate to declare it," he said, "since it was 
 for that object I brought you hither. She loves you — devotedly 
 loves you, and if her wishes were opposed, I should tremble for 
 the consequences. Now, listen to me. Situated as you are, you 
 never can wed her. I will, however, point out a means by which 
 3 r ou can raise yourself to distinction in a short time, and so 
 entitle yourself to claim her hand. I will supply you with 
 money — more than you can require — will place you at court — 
 near the king's person — and if you act under my direction, your 
 rise is certain. I have extorted a promise to this effect from my 
 own son. I told him my object, and that if he did not make 
 your fortune, I could ruin him by revealing myself. I may, 
 perhaps, pay the penalt} T of my crime on the scaffold ; but I may 
 also escape. In the latter case, my re-appearance would be fatal 
 
THE MIDNIGHT MEETING. 359 
 
 to him. He has consented to co-operate with me — to watch over 
 your fortunes — and, as soon as you have attained sufficient 
 eminence, to bestow his sister upon you. Now do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " I do," replied Leonard ; " and I understand also against 
 whom the Earl of Rochester warned me." 
 
 " And you consent ?" demanded Thirlby. 
 
 Leonard was about to answer, when he felt a light and trem- 
 bling hand placed upon his own. 
 
 " Do not answer inconsiderately, Leonard," said a low, sweet 
 voice, which he recognised as that of the Lady Isabella; "I am 
 here to receive your determination." 
 
 " I am glad of it," replied the apprentice. " The deep devo- 
 tion you have displayed towards me deserves to be requited. I 
 will strive to render myself worthy of you, and I feel that by so 
 doing I shall best fulfil the injunctions of her who lies beside us. 
 Henceforth, Lady Isabella, I wholly devote myself to you." 
 
 A murmur of delight escaped her. 
 
 " My blessings on you both !" exclaimed her father. " Give 
 me your hand, Isabella," he added, taking it and placing it in 
 that of the apprentice. " Here, beside the grave of her whom 
 you both loved, I affiance you. Pursue the course I point out 
 to you, Leonard, and she will soon be yours." 
 
 As he spoke, the light of a lantern was suddenly thrown upon 
 them, disclosing two persons who had noiselessly approached. 
 They were Lord Argentine and Pillichody. 
 
 " You affirm more than you have warrant for, my lord," said 
 the former. "I will never consent to this ill-assorted and dis- 
 honourable union ; and so far from permitting it, will oppose 
 it to the utmost of my power. If this presumptuous apprentice 
 dares to raise his views towards my sister, let him look to him- 
 self. Your safety lies in instant flight. The officers are in search 
 of you." 
 
 "They shall find me," replied Thirlby, sternly. 
 
 "As you please," rejoined Argentine. " Come with me, Isa- 
 bella," he added to his sister. 
 
 But she flew with a cry towards Leonard. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed her brother, drawing his sword. " Do you 
 dare to detain her? Deliver her to me, villain, instantly !" 
 
 "Not when thus menaced, my lord," rejoined Leonard, like- 
 wise drawing his sword, and standing upon the defensive. 
 
 " Then look to yourself," replied Argentine, assaulting him. 
 
 Isabella uttered a wild shriek, and Thirlby tried to rush between 
 them. But before they could be separated, Lord Argentine's 
 fury had exposed him to his adversary, whose sword passed 
 through his body. He fell to the ground, weltering in his blood. 
 
 While Leonard stood stupificd and confounded at what had 
 
360 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 occurred, and Isabella, uttering a loud cry, threw herself upon the 
 body and tried to stanch the wound, — two men, with halberts 
 in their hands, rushed forward, and seizing Thirlby, cried, " We 
 arrest you as a murderer !" 
 
 Thirlby, who seemed utterly overcome by surprise and horror, 
 offered no resistance. 
 
 At this juncture Leonard felt his arm seized by a by-stander— 
 he did not know whom — and scarcely conscious of what was 
 taking place, suffered himself to be dragged from the scene. 
 
 END OF THE FIFTH BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE SIXTH 
 
 SEPTEMBER, 1666. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 TnE FIRE-BALL. 
 
 About nine o'clock on the night of Saturday, the second of 
 September, 1666 — and rather more than nine months after the 
 incidents last related, — three men took their way from Smithfield 
 to Islington. They proceeded at a swift pace and in silence, 
 until, having mounted the steep hill on which the suburb in 
 question is situated, they halted at a short distance from the 
 high walls surrounding the great water-works, formed by the 
 New River-head. The night was dark, but free from cloud, in 
 consequence of a strong easterly wind which prevailed at the 
 time. 
 
 " It is dark in London now," observed one of the three persons 
 to his companions as he cast his eye in the direction of the great 
 city, that lay buried in gloom beneath them ; but there will be 
 light enough soon." 
 
 " A second dawn, and brighter than the first, shall arise upon 
 it," replied one of his companions, a tall, gaunt man, whose sole 
 covering was a sheepskin, girded round his loins. " Such a 
 flame shall be kindled within it, as hath not been seen since 
 showers of brimstone and fire descended upon the sinful cities of 
 the plain. ' Tne Lord shall come with flames of fire,' " he 
 added, pointing his long staff towards the city. '"He shall 
 make them like a fiery oven, in the time of his wrath. They 
 shall be utterly consumed."" 
 
 " Amen !" exclaimed the third person, who stood near him, in 
 a deep voice, and with something of a foreign accent. 
 
 " Not so loud, friends," rejoined the first speaker. " Let us 
 set about the task. I will ascertain that no one is on the watch." 
 
 With this he moved towards the water-works, and skirting the 
 circular walls, to satisfy himself that all was secure, he returned 
 to his companions, and they proceeded to the principal entrance 
 to the place. Noiselessly unlocking the gates, the leader of the 
 party admitted the others into an open space of some extent, in 
 
§62 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 the midst of which was a large reservoir of water. He then gave 
 each of them a small key, and bidding them use despatch, they 
 began to turn the cocks of the leaden pipes connected with the 
 reservoir, while he hastened to the further end of the enclosure, 
 and employed himself in a similar manner. In this way, and in 
 less than a quarter of an hour, the whole of the cocks were 
 stopped. 
 
 " And now give me the keys," said the leader. 
 
 Taking them as they were offered, he added his own to the 
 number, and flung them as far as he could into the reservoii, 
 laughing slightly as the noise of the splash occasioned by their 
 fall into the water reached the ears. 
 
 " They will not be found till this pool is drained," he observed 
 to his companions. " And now let us go. Our business here is 
 done.* 
 
 " Stay yet a moment," cried Solomon Eagle, who was standing 
 at the brink of the reservoir, with his eyes fixed upon it. 
 " Stay !" he cried, arresting him. " A vision rises before me. I 
 see in this watery mirror a representation of the burning city, 
 And what are those fearful forms that feed the flames? Fiends, 
 in our likeness — fiends ! And see how wide and far the confla- 
 gration spreads. The whole city is swallowed up by an earth- 
 quake. It sinks to the bottomless pit — down — down !" 
 
 " No more of this," cried the leader, impatiently. " Come 
 along." 
 
 And followed by the others, he rushed to the gates, and lock- 
 ing them after him, flung the key away. 
 
 "A hundred pounds were paid to the servant of the chief 
 officer of the works to bring those keys to me," he said, " and he 
 executed his commission faithfully and well. Water will be 
 vainly sought for to quench the conflagration." 
 
 "I like not the vision I have just beheld," said Solomon 
 Eagle, in a troubled tone. " It seems to portend mischief." 
 
 " Think of it no more," rejoined the leader, " or regard it as 
 it was, — a phantom created by your overheated imagination. 
 Yon city has sinned so deeply, that it is the will of Heaven it 
 should be destroyed ; and it has been put into our hearts by the 
 Supreme Power to undertake the terrible task. We are the 
 chosen instruments of the divine displeasure. Everything 
 favours the design, — the long-continued dry weather, — the strong 
 easterly wind, which will bear the flames into the heart of the 
 city, — the want of water, occasioned by the stopping of these 
 pipes, the emptying of the various aqueducts, and the destruc- 
 tion of the Thames water-tower, which we have accomplished. 
 Everything favours it, I say, and proves that the hand of Heaven 
 directs us. Yes, London shall fall. We have received our corn- 
 mission from on high, and must execute it, regardless of the 
 consequences. For my own part, I feel as little compunction to 
 
THE FIRE-BALL. S6*S 
 
 the task, as the thunder-bolt launched from on high does for the 
 tree it shivers." 
 
 " Philip Grant has uttered my sentiments exactly," said the 
 man, who it has been mentioned spoke with a slight foreign 
 accent. " I have neither misgiving nor compunction. You 
 appear to have forgotten your own denunciations, brother." 
 
 " Not so, Brother Hubert," rejoined the enthusiast, " and I 
 now recognise in the vision a delusion of the Evil One to turn 
 me from my holy purpose. But it has failed. The impious and 
 impenitent city is doomed, and nothing can save it. And yet I 
 would fain see it once more as I beheld it this morn when day 
 arose upon it for the last time, from the summit of Saint Paul's. 
 It looked so beautiful that my heart smote me, and tears started 
 to my eyes, to think that those goodly habitations, those towers, 
 temples, halls, and palaces, should so soon be levelled with the 
 dust." 
 
 " Hear what the prophet saith," rejoined Hubert. " ' Thou 
 hast defiled thy sanctuaries by the multitude of thine iniquities, 
 by the iniquity of thy traffic. Therefore will I bring forth a fire 
 from the midst of thee, and will bring thee to ashes upon the 
 earth, in the sight of all those that behold thee.' " 
 
 Solomon Eagle flung himself upon his knees, and his example 
 was imitated by the others. Having recited a prayer in a low 
 deep tone, he arose, and stretching out his arms, solemnly 
 denounced the city. As he pronounced the words, a red and 
 fiery star shot from the dark vault of the sky, and seemed to fall 
 in the midst of the city. 
 
 " Did you not see that sign ?" cried Grant, eagerly. " It 
 heralds us to our task." 
 
 So saying, he ran swiftly down the hill, and, followed by the 
 others, did not slacken his pace till they reached the city. They 
 then shaped their course more slowly towards Saint Paul's, and 
 having gained the precincts of the cathedral, Solomon Eagle, 
 who now assumed the place of leader, conducted them to a small 
 door on the left of the great northern entrance, and unlocking it, 
 ushered them into a narrow passage behind the rich carved work 
 of the choir. Traversing it, they crossed the mid aisle, and soon 
 reached the steps leading to Saint Faith's. It was profoundly 
 dark, but they were all well acquainted with the road, and did 
 not miss their footing. It required, however, some caution to 
 thread the ranks of the mighty pillars filling the subterranean 
 church. But at last this was accomplished, and they entered 
 the vault beyond the charnel, where they found Chowles and 
 Judith Malmayns. The former was wrapped in a long black 
 cloak, and was pacing to and fro within the narrow chamber. 
 When Solomon Eagle appeared, he sprang towards him, and 
 regarding him inquiringly, cried, " Have you done it ? — have 
 vou done it ?" 
 
S64 old saint Paul's. 
 
 The enthusiast replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " Heaven be praised !" exclaimed Chowles. And he skipped 
 about with the wildest expressions of delight. A gleam of satis- 
 faction, too, darted from Judith's savage eyes. She had neither 
 risen nor altered her position on the arrival of the party, but she 
 now got up, and addressed the enthusiast. A small iron lamp, 
 suspended by a chain from the vaulted roof, lighted the chamber. 
 The most noticeable figure amidst the group was that of Solomon 
 Eagle, who, with his blazing eyes, long jet-black locks, giant 
 frame, and tawny skin, looked like a supernatural being. Near 
 him stood the person designated as Robert Hubert. He was a 
 young man, and appeared to have lived a life of great austerity. 
 His features were thin ; his large black eyes set in deep caverns; 
 his limbs seemed almost destitute of flesh ; and his looks wild and 
 uncertain, like those of an insane person. His tattered and 
 threadbare garb resembled that of a French ecclesiastic. The 
 third person, who went by the name of Philip Grant, had a 
 powerful frame, though somewhat bent, and a haughty deport- 
 ment and look, greatly at variance with his miserable attire and 
 haggard looks. His beard was long and grizzled, and his 
 features, though sharpened by care, retained some traces of a 
 noble expression. A few minutes having passed in conversation, 
 Grant observed to the enthusiast, " I must now leave you for a 
 short time. Give me the key that I may let myself out." 
 
 " You are not going to betray us?" cried Chowles, suspiciously. 
 
 "Why should I betray you?" rejoined Grant, sternly. "I 
 am too anxious for the event to disclose it." 
 
 " True, true," replied Chowles. 
 
 "I do not distrust you, brother," observed Solomon Eagle, 
 giving him the key. 
 
 " I know whither you are going," observed Judith Malmayns. 
 "You are about to warn Mr. Bloundel and his partner, — appren- 
 tice no longer, — Leonard Holt, of the approaching conflagration. 
 But your care will be thrown away." 
 
 "Does she speak the truth, brother?" demanded Hubert,. 
 raising his eyes from the Bible which he was reading in the 
 corner of the vault. 
 
 "I will do nothing to endanger the design," rejoined Grant. 
 " Of that rest assured." 
 
 With this, he strode forth, traversed Saint Faith's, and, not- 
 withstanding the gloom, reached, without difficulty, the little 
 door by which he had entered the cathedral. Issuing from it,, 
 he took the way, as Judith had surmised, to Wood-street, and 
 pausing before the grocer's door, knocked against it. 
 
 The summons was presently answered by Blaize; and ta 
 Grant's inquiries whether his master was within, he replied* 
 ** Which of my masters do you mean ? I have two." 
 
 " The younger," replied Grant, — " Leonard Holt," 
 
THE FIRE-BALL. 365 
 
 '•'So far you are fortunate," rejoined Blaize. "Mr. Bloundel 
 has retired to rest, but Mr. Holt is still down stairs. Pray what 
 may be your business with hitn at this hour? It should be 
 important." 
 
 "It is important," rejoined Grant, "and does not admit of a 
 moment's dcla}\ Tell him so." 
 
 Eyeing the stranger with a look of suspicion, the porter was 
 about to enter into a parley with him, when Leonard himself 
 cut it short, and learning the nature of the application, desired 
 Grant to follow him into the adjoining room. The nine months 
 which had passed over Leonard's head since he was last brought 
 under notice, had wrought a material change in his appearance. 
 He had a grave and thoughtful air, somewhat inclining to melan- 
 choly, but in other respects he was greatly improved. His health 
 was completely restored, and the thoughtful expression added 
 character to his handsome physiognomy, and harmonized well 
 with his manly and determined bearing. He was habited plainly, 
 but with some degree of taste. As Judith Malmayns had inti- 
 mated, he was now Mr. Blounders partner, and his whole appear- 
 ance denoted his improved circumstances. The alteration did 
 not escape the notice of the stranger, who regarded him with 
 much curiosity, and closed the door behind him as he entered 
 the room. 
 
 " You are looking much better than when we last met, Leonard 
 Holt," he said, in tones that made his hearer start, "and I am 
 glad to perceive it. Prosperity seems to attend your path, and 
 you deserve it; whereas, misery and every other ill — and I 
 deserve them — dog mine." 
 
 "I did not recognise you at first, Mr. Thirlby," replied 
 Leonard; "for, in truth, you are much changed. But you 
 desire to speak with me on a matter of importance. Can I aid 
 you ? You may need money. Here is my purse." 
 
 " I do not want it," replied the other, scornfully rejecting the 
 offer. " I have a proposal to make to you." 
 
 " I shall be glad to hear it," replied Leonard. " But first tell 
 me how you effected your escape after your arrest on that disas- 
 trous night when, in self-defence, and unintentionally, I wounded 
 your son, Lord Argentine." 
 
 "Would you had killed him !" cried the other, fiercely. "I 
 have lost all feelings of a father for him. He it was who con- 
 trived my arrest, and he would have gladly seen me borne to the 
 scaffold, certain it would have freed him from me for ever. I 
 was hurried away by the officers from the scene of strife, and 
 conveyed to the Tun at Cornhill, which you know has been 
 converted into a round-house, and where I was locked up for 
 the night. But while I was lying on the floor of my prison, 
 driven well-nigh frantic by what had occurred, there were two 
 persons without labouring to effect my deliverance, — nor did 
 
oGG OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 they labour in vain. These were Chowles and Judith, my 
 foster-sister, and whom, you may remember, I suspected, — and 
 most unfairly, — of intending my betrayal. By means of a heavy 
 bribe, they prevailed on one of the officers to connive at my 
 escape. An iron bar was removed from the window of my 
 prison, and I got through the aperture. Judith concealed me 
 for some days in the vaults of Saint Faith's, after which I fled 
 into the country, where I wandered about for several months, 
 under the name of Philip Grant. Having learnt that my son, 
 though severely hurt by you, had recovered from his wound, and 
 that his sister, the Lady Isabella, had accompanied him to his 
 seat in Staffordshire, I proceeded thither, and saw her, unknown 
 to him. I found her heart still true to you. She told me you 
 had disappeared immediately after the termination of the conflict, 
 and had not been heard of till her brother was out of danger, 
 when you returned to Wood-street." 
 
 " The information was correct," replied Leonard. " I was 
 dragged away by a person whom I did not recognise at the time, 
 but who proved to be the Earl of Rochester. He conducted me 
 to a place of safety, thrust a purse into my hand, and left me. 
 As soon as I could do so with safety, I returned to my master's 
 house. But how long have you been in London ?" 
 
 " Nearly a month," replied Grant. " And now, let me ask you 
 one question. Do you ever think of Isabella ?" 
 
 " Often, very often," replied Leonard. " But as I dare not 
 indulge the hope of a union with her, I have striven to banish her 
 image from my mind." 
 
 " She cannot forget you, Leonard," rejoined Grant. " And 
 now to my proposal. I have another plan for your aggrandisement 
 that cannot fail. I am in possession of a monstrous design, the 
 revelation of which will procure you whatever you desire. Ask a 
 title from the king, and he will give it ; and when in possession of 
 that title, demand the hand of the Lady Isabella, and her proud 
 brother will not refuse you. Call in your porter — seize me. I 
 will offer a feigned resistance. Convey me before the king. 
 Make your own terms with him. He will accede to them. 
 Will you doit?" 
 
 " No," replied Leonard, " I will not purchase the daughter at 
 the price of the father's life." 
 
 " Heed me not," replied Grant, supplicatingly, " I am wholly 
 indifferent to life. And what matters it whether I am dragged 
 to the scaffold for one crime or another?" 
 
 " You plead in vain," returned Leonard, firmly. 
 
 " Reflect," cried Grant, in an agonized tone. " A word from 
 you will not only win you Isabella, but save the city from 
 destruction." 
 
 " Save the city !" exclaimed Leonard. " What mean you ?" 
 
THE FIRE-BALL. 367 
 
 " Swear to comply with my request, and you shall know. 
 But not otherwise," replied Grant. 
 
 " I cannot — I cannot," rejoined Leonard ; " and unfortunately 
 you have said too much for your own safety. I must, though 
 most reluctantly, detain you." 
 
 " Hear me, Leonard, and consider well what you do," cried 
 Grant, planting himself before the door. "I love you next to 
 my daughter, and chiefly because she loves you. I have told yon 
 I have a design to discover, to which I am a party, — a hellish, 
 horrible design, — which threatens this whole city with destruc- 
 tion. It is your duty, having told you thus much, to arrest me, 
 and I will offer no resistance. Will you not turn this to your 
 advantage? Will you not make a bargain with the king ?" 
 
 " I have said I will not," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 " Then be warned by me," rejoined Grant. " Arouse your 
 partner. Pack up all your goods and make preparations for 
 instant flight, for the danger will invade you before you are aware 
 of it." 
 
 " Is it fire ?" demanded Leonard, upon whose mind the denun- 
 ciations of Solomon Eagle now rushed. 
 
 "You will see," replied Grant, with a terrible laugh. "You 
 will repent your determination when it is too late. Farewell." 
 
 " Hold I" cried Leonard, advancing towards him, and trying to 
 lay hands upon him, "I arrest you in the king's name.*' 
 
 " Oil '!" exclaimed Grant, dashing him forcibly backwards. 
 
 And striking down Blaize, who tried to stop him in the passage, 
 he threw open the street door, and disappeared. 
 
 Fearful of pursuit, Grant took a circuitous route to Saint 
 Paul's and it was full half an hour after the interview above 
 related, before he reached the cathedral. Just as he passed 
 through the small door, the clock tolled forth the hour of mid- 
 night, and when he gained the mid aisle, he heard footsteps 
 approaching, and encountered his friends. 
 
 " We had given you up," said Chowlcs, " and fearing you 
 intended us some treachery, were about to do the job without 
 you." 
 
 " I have been unavoidably detained," replied Grant. " Let us 
 about it at once." 
 
 " I have got the fire-balls with me," observed Hubert. 
 
 " It is well," returned Grant. 
 
 Quitting the cathedral, they proceeded to Thames-street, and 
 tracking it to Fish-street-hill, struck off on the right into an alley 
 that brought them to Pudding- lane. 
 
 " This is the house," said Chowles, halting before a two-storied 
 wooden habitation, over the door of which was suspended the sign 
 of the Wheat Sheaf, with the name Thomas Farryner, Baker, 
 inscribed beneath it. 
 
368 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " And here," said Hubert, " shall begin the Great Fire of 
 London." 
 
 As he said this, he gave a fire-ball to Solomon Eagle, who 
 lighted the fuze at Chowles's lantern. The enthusiast then 
 approached a window of the baker's shop, and breaking a small 
 pane of glass within it, threw the fire-ball into the room. It 
 alighted upon a heap of chips and fagots lying near a large 
 stack of wood used for the oven, and in a few minutes the whole 
 pile had caught and burst into a flame, which, quickly mounting 
 to the ceiling, set fire to the old, dry, half-decayed timber that 
 composed it. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Having seen the stack of wood kindled, and the flames attack 
 the building in such a manner as to leave no doubt they would 
 destroy it, the incendiaries separated, previously agreeing to meet 
 together in half an hour at the foot of London-bridge; and while 
 the others started off in different directions, Chowles and 
 Judith retreated to a neighbouring alley commanding a view of 
 the burning habitation. 
 
 "At last the great design is executed," observed Chowles, 
 rubbing his hands gleefully. " The fire burns right merrily, and 
 will not soon be extinguished. Who would have thought we 
 should have found such famous assistants as the two madmen, 
 Solomon Eagle and Robert Hubert — and your scarcely less mad 
 foster-brother, Philip Grant? I can understand the motives 
 that influenced the two first to the deed, but not those of the 
 other." 
 
 " Nor I," replied Judith, " unless he wishes in some way or 
 other to benefit Leonard Holt by it. For my part, I shall enjoy 
 this fire quite as much on its own account as for the plunder it 
 will bring us. I should like to see every house in this great city 
 destroyed." 
 
 "You are in a fair way of obtaining your wish," replied 
 Chowles, — "but provided I have the sacking of them, I don't 
 care how many are saved. Not but that such a fire will be a 
 grand sight, which I should be sorry to miss. You forget, too, 
 that if St. Paul's should be burnt down, we shall lose our hoards. 
 However, there's no chance of that." 
 
 " Not much," replied Judith, interrupting him. " But see I 
 the baker has at last discovered that his dwelling is on fire. He 
 bursts open the window, and, as I live, is about to throw himself 
 out of it." 
 
 As she spoke, one of the upper windows in the burning 
 
THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE. 369 
 
 habitation was burst open, and a poor terrified wretch appeared 
 at it in his night-dress, vociferating in tones of the wildest alarm, 
 " Fire ! fire !— help, help !" 
 
 " Shall we go forward ?" said Chowles. 
 
 Judith hesitated for a moment, and then assenting, they hurried 
 towards the spot. 
 
 " Can we give you any help, friend ?" cried Chowles. 
 
 "Take care of this," rejoined the baker, flinging a bag of 
 money to the ground, "and I will endeavour to let down my 
 wife and children. The staircase is on fire, and we are almost 
 stifled with smoke. God help us 1" 
 
 And the exclamation was followed by fearful shrieks from 
 within, followed by the appearance of a woman, holding two 
 little children in her arms, at the window. 
 
 " This must be money," said Judith, utterly heedless of the 
 fearful scene occurring above, and taking up the bag aiid 
 chinking it. " Silver, by the sound. Shall we make off with 
 it?" 
 
 "No, no," replied Chowles, "we must not run any risk for 
 such a paltry booty. Let us bide our time." 
 
 At this juncture, the baker, who had disappeared for a few 
 seconds from the window, again presented himself at it, and, 
 with some difficulty, forced a feather bed through it, which was 
 instantly placed by Chowles in such a position beneath, as to 
 break the fall of the descending parties. Tying a couple of 
 sheets together, and fastening one end round his wife's waist, the 
 baker lowered her and the children to the ground. They 
 alighted in safety; but just as he was about to follow their 
 example, the floor of the room gave way, and though he suc- 
 ceeded in springing through the window, he missed the feather 
 bed, and broke his leg in the fall. He was picked up by Chowles 
 and Judith, and placed upon the bed in a state of insensibility, 
 and was soon afterwards conveyed with his family to the house 
 of a neighbour. 
 
 Meanwhile, the fire had spread to the houses on either side of 
 the unfortunate man's habitation, and both of them being built 
 entirely of wood, they were almost instantly in flames. The alarm, 
 too, had become general, — the inhabitants of the adjoining houses 
 were filled with indescribable terror, and the narrow street was 
 speedily crowded with persons of both sexes, who had rushed from 
 their beds to ascertain the extent of the danger. All was terror 
 and confusion. The fire-bells of Saint Margaret's, Saint George's, 
 and Saint Andrew's, in Botolph-lane, began to tol., and shouts 
 were heard on every side, proving that the whole neighbourhood 
 was roused. 
 
 To add to the general distress, a report was raised that a house 
 in Fish-street-hill was on fire, and it was soon found to be true, 
 as an immense volume of flames burst forth in that quarter. 
 
 BB 
 
370 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 While the rest of the spectators, distracted by this calamity, and 
 hardly knowing what to do, hurried in the direction of the new 
 fire, Chowles and Judith eyed each other askance, and the former 
 whispered to his companion, " This is another piece of Hubert's 
 handiwork." 
 
 The two wretches now thought it time to bestir themselves. 
 So much confusion prevailed, that they were wholly unobserved, 
 and under the plea of rendering assistance, they entered houses 
 and carried off whatever excited their cupidity, or was sufficiently 
 po.rtable. No wealthy house had been attacked as yet, and there- 
 fore their spoil was but trifling. The poor baker seemed to be 
 the bearer of ill-luck, for he had not been many minutes in his 
 new asylum before it likewise caught fire. Another house, too, 
 in Fish-street-hill, and lower down than the first, was observed to 
 be burning, and as this was out of the current of the wind, and 
 consequently could not have been occasioned by the showers of 
 sparks that marked its course, a cry was instantly raised that 
 incendiaries were abroad, and several suspicious looking persons 
 were seized in consequence. 
 
 Meantime no efforts had been made to stop the progress of the 
 original conflagration in Pudding-lane, which continued to rage 
 with the greatest fury, spreading from house to house with 
 astonishing rapidity. All the buildings in this neighbourhood 
 being old, and of wood, which was as dry as tinder, a spark 
 alighting upon them would have sufficed to set them on fire. It 
 may be conceived, therefore, what must have been the effect of 
 a vast volume of flame, fanned by a powerful wind. House 
 after house caught, as if constructed of touchwood, and the fire 
 roared and raged to such a degree, that those who stood by were 
 too much terrified to render any effectual assistance. Indeed, 
 the sole thought that now seemed to influence all was the pre- 
 servation of a portion of their property. No one regarded his 
 neighbour, or the safety of the city. The narrow street was 
 instantly filled with goods and furniture of all kinds, thrown out 
 of the windows or pushed out of the doors, but such was the 
 fierceness of the fire, and the extraordinary rapidity with which 
 it advanced, that the very articles attempted to be saved were 
 seized by it, and thus formed a means of conveying it to the 
 opposite houses. 
 
 In this way a number of persons were inclosed for a short time 
 between two fires, and seemed in imminent danger of being 
 burned to death. The perilous nature of their situation was, 
 moreover, increased by a sudden and violent gust of wind, which, 
 blowing the flames right across the street, seemed to envelop all 
 within them. The shrieks that burst from the poor creatures 
 thus involved were most appalling. Fortunately, they sustained 
 no greater damage than was occasioned by the fright and a slight 
 scorching, for the next moment the wind shifted, and, sweeping 
 
THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE. S71 
 
 back the flames, the} 7 were enabled to effect their retreat. 
 Chowles and Judith were among the sufferers, and in the alarm 
 of the moment lost all the booty they had obtained. 
 
 Soon after this the whole street was on fire. All idea of pre- 
 serving their property was therefore abandoned by the inha- 
 bitants, and they thought only of saving themselves. Hundreds 
 of half-naked persons of both sexes rushed towards Thames- 
 street in search of a place of refuge. The scene was wholly 
 without parallel for terror. Many fires had occurred in London, 
 but none that raged with such fierceness as the present con- 
 flagration, or promised to be so generally destructive. It gathered 
 strength and Fury each moment, now rising high into the air in 
 a towering sheet of flame, now shooting; forward like an enormous 
 dragon vomiting streams of fire upon its foes. 
 
 All at once the flames changed colour, and were partially 
 obscured by a thick black smoke. A large warehouse filled with 
 resin, tar, and other combustible matters, had caught fire, and the 
 dense vapour proceeded from the burning pitch. But it cleared 
 off in a few minutes, and the flames burnt more brightly and 
 fiercely than ever. 
 
 Up to this time, none of the civic authorities having arrived, 
 several persons set off to give information of the calamity to the 
 Lord Mayor (Sir Thomas Bludworth), and the other magistrates. 
 A small party of the watch were on the spot, but they were unable 
 to render any effectual assistance. As the conflagration advanced, 
 those occupying houses in its track quitted them, and left their 
 goods a prey to the numerous plunderers, who were now gathered 
 together pursuing their vocation like unhallowed beings amid the 
 raging element. The whole presented a scene of the wildest 
 alarm, contusion, and licence. Vociferations, oaths, shrieks, and 
 outcries of every description stunned the ear. Night was turned 
 into day. The awful roaring of the flames was ever and anon 
 broken by the thundering fall of some heavy roof. Flakes of 
 fire were scattered far and wide by the driving wind, carrying 
 destruction wherever they alighted, and spreading the con- 
 flagration on all sides, till it seemed like a vast wedge of fire 
 driven into the heart of the city. And thus it went on, swallow- 
 ing up all before it, like an insatiate monster, and roaring for 
 very joy. ... , 
 
 Meanwhile, the incendiaries had met, as concerted, near the 
 foot of the bridge, and all except Philip Grant seemed to rejoice 
 in the progress of the conflagration. Chowles made some 
 comment upon his moody looks and silence, and whispered in 
 his ear, "You have now an opportunity of retrieving your 
 fortune, and may make yourself richer than your son. Take my 
 advice, and do not let it pass." 
 
 " Away, tempter !" cried Grant — " I have lighted a fire withia 
 my breast which never will be quenched." 
 
 BB 2 
 
372 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Poh, poh !" rejoined Judith — " Dc not turn faint-hearted 
 now." 
 
 " The fire rages fiercely," cried Solomon Eagle, gazing at the 
 vast sheet of flame overtopping the buildings near them, " but 
 we must keep it alive. Take the remainder of the fire-balls, 
 Hubert, and cast them into some of the old houses in Crooked- 
 lane." 
 
 Hubert prepared to obey. 
 
 " I will go with you, and point out the best spots," said 
 Chowles. " Our next place of rendezvous must be the vaults- 
 beneath Saint Faith's." 
 
 " Agreed !" exclaimed the others. And they again separated, 
 — Hubert and Chowles to kindle fresh fires, and Grant to watch- 
 the conflagration at a distance. As to Solomon Eagle, he rushed 
 towards the scene of destruction, and forcing himself into the 
 midst of the crowd, mounted a post, crying in a loud voice — 
 
 " I told you a second judgment would come upon you on 
 account of your iniquities, and you now find that I avouched the 
 truth. The Lord himself hath come to preach to you, as he did 
 in the fiery mount of Sinai, and a terrible exhortation it shall be,, 
 and one ye shall n.ot easily forget. This fire shall not be 
 quenched till the whole city is laid prostrate. Ye doubted my 
 words when I told you of the plague ; ye laughed at me and 
 scoffed me ; but ye became believers in the end, and now con- 
 viction is forced upon you a second time. You will vainly 
 attempt to save your dwellings. It is the Lord's will they should 
 be destroyed, and man's efforts to avert the judgment will be 
 ineffectual !" 
 
 While the majority listened to him with fear and trembling* 
 and regarded him as a prophet, a few took the opposite view of 
 the question, and coupling his appearance with the sudden out- 
 break of the fire, were disposed to regard him as an incendiary. 
 They therefore cried out — " He has set fire to our houses. 
 Down with him ! down with him I" 
 
 Other voices joined in the outcry, and an attempt was made to> 
 carry the menace into effect ; but a strong party rallied round the 
 enthusiast, who derided the attempts of his opponents. Planting 
 himself on the steps of Saint Margaret's church, he continued to- 
 pour forth exhortations to the crowd, until he was driven into 
 the interior of the pile by the fast-approaching flames. The whole 
 body of the church was filled with poor wretches who had sought 
 refuge within it, having brought with them such of their goods as 
 they were able to carry off. But it soon became evident that the 
 |:icred structure would be destroyed, and their screams and cries 
 $11 quitting it were truly heart-rending. Solomon Eagle was the 
 .ast to go forth, and he delayed his departure till the flames 
 burst through the windows. Another great storehouse of oil, tar, 
 cordage, hemp, flax, and other highly inflammable articles, 
 
THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE. 373 
 
 adjoining the church, had caught fire, and the flames speedily 
 reached the sacred fabric. The glass within the windows was 
 shivered ; the stone bars split asunder ; and the seats and other 
 wood-work withinside catching fire, the flames ascended to the 
 roof, and kindled its massive rafters. 
 
 Great efforts were now made to check the fire. A few of the 
 cumbrous and unmanageable engines of the day were brought to 
 the spot, but no water could be obtained. All the aqueducts, 
 pipes, and sluices were dry, and the Thames Water Tower was 
 found to be out of order, and the pipes connected with it empty. 
 To add to the calamity, the tide was out, and it was not only 
 difficult, but dangerous, to obtain water from the river. The 
 scanty supply served rather to increase than check the flames. 
 
 All sorts of rumours prevailed among the crowd. It could no 
 longer be doubted that the fire, which kept continually breaking 
 out in fresh places, was the work of incendiaries, and it was now 
 supposed that it must have been caused by the French or the 
 Dutch, with both of which nations the country was then at war, 
 and the m»st fearful anticipations that it was only the prelude of 
 a sudden invasion were entertained. Some conjectured it might 
 be the work of the Papists ; and it chancing that a professor of that 
 religion was discovered among the mob, he was with difficulty 
 rescued from their fury by the watch, and conveyed to Newgate. 
 Other persons, who were likewise suspected of being incendiaries, 
 were conveyed with him. 
 
 This, though it satisfied the multitude, did not check the pro- 
 gress of the fire, nor put a stop to the terror and tumult that 
 prevailed. Every moment a fresh family were turned into the 
 street, and by their cries added to the confusion. The plunderers 
 had formed themselves into bands, pillaging everything they 
 could lay hands on — carrying off boxes, goods, and coffers, 
 breaking into cellars, broaching casks of spirits and ale, and 
 emptying flasks of wine. Hundreds of persons who did not 
 join in the pillage made free with the contents of the cellars, 
 and a large portion of the concourse was soon in a state of 
 intoxication. 
 
 Thus, wild laughter and exclamations of frenzied mirth were 
 heard amid the wailings of women and the piteous cries of 
 children. It was indeed dreadful to see old and bed-ridden 
 forced into the street to seek a home where they could ; nor yet 
 less dreadful to behold others roused from a bed of sickness at 
 dead of night, and by such a fearful summons. Still, fanned by 
 the wind, and fed by a thousand combustible matters, the fire 
 pressed fearfully on, devouring all before it, and increasing in 
 fury and power each instant; while the drunken mob laughed, 
 roared, shouted, and rejoiced, beside it, as if in emulation of the 
 raging flames. 
 
 To proceed for a moment to Wood-street. When Philip Gran* - 
 
374 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 quitted Leonard in the manner before related, the latter followed 
 him to the door, and saw him disappear in the gloom. But he 
 did not attempt pursuit, because he could not persuade himself 
 that any danger was really to be apprehended. He thought it, 
 however, advisable to consult with Mr. Bloundel on the subject, 
 and accordingly proceeded to his room and roused him. 
 
 After hearing what had occurred, the grocer looked very grave, 
 and said, " I am not disposed to treat this matter so lightly as you 
 do, Leonard. I fear this unhappy man has some desperate design 
 in view. What li, is I cannot— dare not — conjecture. But I 
 confess I am full of apprehension. I shall not retire to rest 
 to-night, but shall hold myself in readiness to act in whatever 
 way may be necessary. You had better go forth, and if any- 
 thinf occurs, give notice to the proper authorities. We have not 
 now such a lord mayor as we had during the season of the 
 plague. The firm and courageous Sir John Lawrence is but ill 
 succeeded by the weak and vacillating Sir Thomas Bludworth. 
 Still, the latter may be equal to this emergency, and if anything 
 happens, you must apply to him." 
 
 w I will follow your advice implicitly," rejoined Leonard. "At 
 the same time, I think there is nothing to apprehend." 
 
 " It is better to err on the safe side," observed the grocer. 
 " You cannot then reproach yourself with want of caution." 
 
 Shortly after this, Leonard sallied forth, and having determined 
 what course to pursue in the first instance, proceeded to Saint 
 Paul's. He found every door in the sacred structure fast closed. 
 Not satisfied with this, he knocked at the great northern entrance 
 till the summons was answered by a verger, and stating his object,, 
 demanded to be admitted, and to search the cathedral, as well as 
 Saint Faith's. The verger offered no objection, and having 
 examined the old building throughout, without discovering any 
 traces of the person he was in quest of, Leonard quitted it. 
 
 More than ever convinced that he was right in his supposition, 
 and that no danger was to be apprehended, he was about to return 
 home, when the idea occurred to him that he might perhaps find 
 Grant at the plague-pit in Finsbury-fields, and he accordingly- 
 shaped his course thither. A long period had elapsed since he 
 had last visited the melancholy spot, and it was not without much 
 painful emotion that he drew near the vast mound covering the 
 victims of the pestilence. But Grant was not there, and though 
 he paced round and round the dreary enclosure for some time, no 
 one came. He then proceeded to the lesser plague-pit, and kneel- 
 ing beside the grave of Amabel, bedewed it with his tears. 
 
 As he arose, with the intention of returning to Wood-street, 
 he observed an extraordinary light in the sky a little to the left, 
 evidently produced by the reflection of a great fire in that direc- 
 tion. On beholding this light, he said to himself, " Mr. Bloundel 
 
PROGRESS OF THE FIRE. 375 
 
 was right- This is the danger with which the city is threatened. 
 It is now too late to avert it." 
 
 Determined, however, to ascertain the extent of the calamity 
 without an instant's loss of time, he set off at a swift pace, and in 
 less than half an hour reached Fish-street-hill, and stood beside 
 the conflagration. It was then nearly three o'clock, and a vast 
 chasm of blackening ruins proclaimed the devastation that had 
 been committed. Just as he arrived, the roof of Saint Margaret's 
 fell in with a tremendous crash, and for a few minutes the fire was 
 subdued. It then arose with greater fury than ever; burst out 
 on both sides of the sacred structure, and caught the line of houses 
 leading towards London-bridge. The first house was that of a 
 vintner; and the lower part of the premises — the cellars and vaults 
 — were filled with wine and spirits. These instantly blazed up, 
 and burnt with such intensity that the adjoining habitation was 
 presently in flames. 
 
 "I know who hath done all this!" exclaimed Leonard, half 
 involuntarily, as he gazed on the work of destruction. 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed a bystander, gazing at him. " Who is 
 it ? — the Dutchman or the Frenchman ?" 
 
 " Neither," replied Leonard, who at that moment discovered 
 Grant among the group opposite him. "Yonder stands the 
 incendiary 1" 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PROGRESS OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Instantly surrounded and seized by the mob, Grant offered 
 no resistance, but demanded to be led with his accuser before a 
 magistrate. Almost as the words were uttered, a cry was raised 
 that the lord mayor and the sheriffs were coming along East- 
 cheap, and the prisoner and Leonard were immediately hurried 
 off in that direction. They met the civic authorities at the corner 
 of Saint Clement's-lane ; but instead of paying any attention to 
 them, the lord mayor, who appeared to be in a state of great 
 agitation and excitement, ordered the javelin-men, by whom he 
 was attended, to push the mob aside. 
 
 " I will not delay your worship an instant," cried Leonard— 
 " but this dreadful fire is the work of incendiaries, of whom 
 that man," pointing to Grant, " is the principal. I pray your 
 worship to question him. He may have important revelations to 
 make." 
 
 " Eh, what?" cried the lord mayor, addressing Grant. "Is it 
 true you are an incendiary ? Who are your accomplices ? Where 
 are tiiey ?" 
 
376 old saint Paul's. 
 
 "I have none," replied Grant, boldly, — "I deny the charge 
 altogether. Let my accuser prove it if he can." 
 
 " You hear what he says, young man," said the mayor. " Did 
 you see him set fire to any house ? Did you find any fireballs 
 on his person ?" 
 
 " I did not," replied Leonard. 
 
 " I searched him, your worship," cried Chowles, who was 
 among the bystanders, " the moment he was seized, and found 
 nothing upon him. It is a false and malicious charge." 
 
 " It looks like it, I must say," replied the mayor. " On what 
 grounds do you accuse him ?" he added, angrily, to Leonard. 
 
 " On these," replied Leonard. " He came to me three hours 
 ago, and confessed that he had a desperate design against the 
 safety of the city, and made certain proposals to me, to which I 
 would not listen. This is not the season for a full explanation of 
 the matter. But I pray your worship, as you value the welfare 
 of the city, to have him secured." 
 
 " There can be no harm in that," replied the lord mayor. " His 
 appearance is decidedly against him. Let him be taken care of 
 till the morrow, when I will examine further into the matter. 
 Your name and place of abode, young man?" 
 
 " I am called Leonard Holt, and my business is that of a grocer, 
 in Wood-street," was the reply, 
 
 " Enough," rejoined the mayor. " Take away the prisoner. I 
 will hear nothing further now. Lord ! Lord ! how the fire rages, 
 to be sure. We shall have the whole city burnt down, if we do 
 not take care." 
 
 " That we shall, indeed," replied Sir Robert Viner, one of the 
 sheriffs, " unless the most prompt and decisive measures are 
 immediately adopted." 
 
 " What would you recommend ?" cried the lord mayor, 
 despairingly. 
 
 Sir Robert looked perplexed by the question. 
 
 " If I might offer an opinion," interposed Leonard, " I would 
 advise your worship to pull down all the houses in the way of 
 the fire, as the only means of checking it." 
 
 " Pull down the houses i" cried the lord mayor. " Who ever 
 heard of such an idea ? W T hy, that would be worse than the fire. 
 No, no ; that will never do." 
 
 " The young man is in the right," observed Sir Joseph Sheldon, 
 the other sheriff. 
 
 " Well, well — we shall see," replied the mayor. " But we are 
 losing time here. Forward ! forward !" 
 
 And while Grant was borne off to Newgate by a guard of 
 javelin-men, the lord mayor and his company proceeded to Fish- 
 street-hill, where the whole conflagration burst upon them. The 
 moment the lord mayor appeared, he was beset on all sides by 
 hundreds of families soliciting his protection. Others came to 
 
PROGRESS OF THE FIRE, 377 
 
 give him the alarming intelligence that a very scanty supply of 
 water only could be obtained, and that already two engines had 
 been destroyed, while the firemen who worked them had narrowly 
 escaped with life. Others again pressed him for instructions how 
 to act, — some suggesting one plan, — some another, — and being of 
 a weak and irresolute character, and utterly unequal to a fearful 
 emergency like the present, he was completely bewildered. 
 Bidding the houseless families take refuge in the churches, he 
 ordered certain officers to attend them, and affecting to doubt 
 the statement of those who affirmed there was no water, advised 
 them to go to the river, where they would find plenty. In vain 
 they assured him the tide was out, the Thames Water Tower 
 empty, the pipes and conduits dry. He would not believe any- 
 thing of the sort, but, upbraiding his informants with neglect, 
 bade them try again. As to instructions, he could give none. 
 
 At last, a reluctant assent being wrung from him by Sir Joseph 
 Sheldon, that a house should be pulled down, as suggested by 
 Leonard, preparations were instantly made for putting the design 
 into execution. The house selected was about four doors from the 
 top of Fish-street-hill, and belonged to a birdcage-maker. But 
 they encountered an unexpected opposition. Having ascertained 
 their purpose, the owner fastened his doors, and refused to admit 
 them. He harangued the mob from one of the upper windows, 
 and producing a pistol, threatened to fire upon them if they 
 attempted to gain a forcible entrance. The officers, however, 
 having received their orders, were not to be intimidated, and 
 commenced breaking down the door. The birdcage-maker then 
 fired, but without effect; and before he had time to reload, the 
 door had yielded to the combined efforts of the multitude, who 
 were greatly enraged at his strange conduct. The) 7 rushed up- 
 stairs, but finding he had locked himself in the room, left him 
 there, supposing him secure, and commenced the work of demo- 
 lition. Afore than a hundred men were engaged in the task, but 
 though they used the utmost exertion, they had little more than 
 unroofed the building, when a cry was raised by those in tha 
 street that the house was on fire. Alarmed by the shout, the) 
 descended, and found the report true. Flames were issuing from 
 the room lately occupied by the birdcage-maker. The wretch 
 had set fire to his dwelling, and then made his escape with his 
 family by a back staircase. Thus defeated, the workmen, with 
 bitter imprecations on the fugitive, withdrew, and Leonard, who 
 had lent his best assistance to the task, repaired to the lord 
 mayor. He found him in greater consternation than ever. 
 
 " We must go further off, if we would do any good," said 
 Leonard; "and as the present plan is evidently too slow, we 
 must have recourse to gunpowder." 
 
 " Gunpowder !" exclaimed the lord mayor. " Would you 
 blow up the city, like a second Guy Fawkes ? I begin to suspect 
 
S78 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 you are one of the incendiaries yourself, young man. Lord, 
 Lord ! what will become of us ?" 
 
 " If your worship disapproves of my suggestion, at least give 
 orders what is to be done," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 " I have done all I can," replied the mayor. " Who are you 
 that talk to me thus ?" 
 
 " I have told your worship I am a simple tradesman," replied 
 Leonard. " But I have the welfare of the city at heart, and I 
 cannot stand by and see it burnt to the ground without an 
 effort to save it." 
 
 "■ Well, well, I dare say you mean very well, young man," 
 rejoined the lord mayor, somewhat pacified. " But don't you 
 perceive it's impossible to stop such a fire as this without water, 
 or engines. I'm sure I would willingly lay down my life to 
 preserve the city. But what can I do ? — what can any man 
 do?' 
 
 " Much may be done if there is resolution to attempt it," 
 returned Leonard. " I would recommend your worship to 
 proceed, in the first place, to the wharfs on the banks of the 
 Thames, and cause the removal of the wood, coal, and other 
 combustible matter, with which they are crowded." 
 
 " Well thought of," cried the lord mayor. " I will go thither 
 at once. Do you stay here. Your advice will be useful. I will 
 examine you touching the incendiary to-morrow — that is, if we 
 are any of us left alive, which I don't expect. Lord, Lord t 
 what will become of us ?" 
 
 And with many similar ejaculations, he hurried off with the 
 sheriffs, and the greater part of his attendants, and taking his way 
 down Saint Michael's-lane, soon reached the river side. 
 
 By this time, the fire had approached the summit of Fish-street- 
 hill, and here the overhanging stories of the houses coming so 
 close together as almost to meet at the top, the flames speedily 
 caught the other side, and spread the conflagration in that 
 direction. Two other houses were likewise discovered to be on 
 fire in Crooked-lane, and in an incredibly short space the whole 
 dense mass of habitations lying at the west side of Fish-street- 
 hill, and between Crooked-lane and Eastcheap, were in flames, 
 and threatening the venerable church of Saint Michael, which 
 stood in the midst of them, with instant destruction. To the 
 astonishment of all who witnessed it, the conflagration seemed 
 to proceed as rapidly against the wind as with it, and to be 
 approaching Thames-street, both by Pudding-lane and Saint 
 Michael's-lane. A large stable, filled with straw and hay, at the 
 back of the Star Inn, in Little Eastcheap, caught fire, and 
 carrying the conflagration eastward, had already conveyed it as 
 far as Botolph-lane. 
 
 It chanced that a poor Catholic priest, travelling from Douay 
 h England, had landed that night, and taken up his quarters at 
 
PROGRESS OF THE FIRE. S79 
 
 the hotel above mentioned. The landlord, who had been roused 
 by the cries of fire, and alarmed by the rumours of incendiaries, 
 immediately called to mind his guest, and dragging him from his 
 room, thrust him, half-naked, into the street. Announcing his 
 conviction that the poor priest was an incendiary to the mob 
 without, they seized him, and in spite of his protestations and 
 explanations, which, being uttered in a foreign tongue, they could 
 not comprehend, they were about to exercise summary punish- 
 ment upon him, by hanging him to the sign-post before the 
 landlord's door, when they were diverted from their dreadful 
 purpose by Solomon Eagle, who prevailed upon them to carry 
 him to Newgate. 
 
 The conflagration had now assumed so terrific a character that 
 it appalled even the stoutest spectator. It has been mentioned 
 that for many weeks previous to the direful calamity, the weather 
 had been remarkably dry and warm, a circumstance which had 
 prepared the old wooden houses, abounding in this part of the 
 city, for almost instantaneous ignition. Added to this, if the 
 incendiaries themselves had deposited combustible materials at 
 certain spots to extend the conflagration, they could not have 
 selected better places than accident had arranged. All sorts of 
 inflammable goods were contained in the shops and warehouses, 
 oil, hemp, flax, pitch, tar, cordage, sugar, wine, and spirits: and 
 when any magazine of this sort caught fire it spread the conflagra- 
 tion with tenfold rapidity. 
 
 The heat of the flames had now become almost insufferable, nnd 
 the sparks and flakes of fire fell so fast and thick, that the specta- 
 tors were compelled to retreat to a considerable distance from the 
 burninc:; buildings. The noise occasioned by the cracking of the 
 timbers, and the falling of walls and roofs, was awful in the 
 extreme. All the avenues and thoroughfares near the fire were now 
 choked up by carts, coaches, and other vehicles, which had been 
 Hastily brought thither to remove the goods of the inhabitants, and 
 the hurry of the poor people to save a wreck of their property, and 
 the attempts made by the gangs of plunderers to deprive them 
 of it, constituted a scene of unparalleled tumult and confusion. 
 As yet, no troops had appeared to maintain order, and seeing that 
 as much mischief was almost done by the plunderers as by the fire, 
 Leonard determined to go in search of the lord mayor, and 
 acquaint him with the mischief that was occurring. Having heard 
 that the fire had already reached London-bridge, he resolved to 
 ascertain whether the report was true. As he proceeded down 
 Saint Michael's-lane, he found the venerable church from which 
 it was designated on fire, and with some difficulty forcing his way 
 through the crowd, reached Thames-street, where he discovered 
 that the conflagration had even made more fearful progress than he 
 had anticipated. Fishmongers'-hall, a large square structure, was 
 on fire, and burning swiftly, — the flames encircling its high roof. 
 
380 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 and the turret by which it was surmounted. Streams of fire, too, 
 had darted down the numerous narrow alleys leading to the river 
 side, and reaching the wharves, had kindled the heaps of wood and 
 coal with which they were filled. The party under the command 
 of the lord mayor had used their utmost exertions to get rid of 
 these combustible materials by flinging them into the Thames; but 
 they came too late, and were driven away by the approach of the 
 fire. Most of the barges and heavy craft were aground, and they, 
 too, caught fire, and were burned, with their contents. 
 
 Finding he could neither render any assistance, nor obtain 
 speech with the lord mayor, and anxious to behold the terrible, 
 yet sublime spectacle from the river, Leonard hastened to Old 
 Swan-stairs, and springing into a boat, ordered the waterman to 
 row into the middle of the Thames. He could then discern the 
 full extent of the conflagration, and trace the progress it was 
 making. All the houses between Fishmongers'-hall and the 
 bridge were on fire, and behind them rose a vast sheet of name. 
 Saint Magnus' Church, at the foot of the bridge, was next seized 
 by the flame, and Leonard watched its destruction. An ancient 
 gateway followed, and soon afterwards a large stack of houses 
 erected upon the bridge burst into flames. 
 
 The inhabitants of the houses on the bridge, having now become 
 thoroughly alarmed, flung bedding, boxes, and articles of furni- 
 ture, out of their windows into the river. A crowd of boats 
 surrounded the starlings, and the terrified occupants of the struc- 
 tures above descending to them by the staircases in the interior of 
 the piers, embarked with every article they could carry off. The 
 river presented a most extraordinary scene. Lighted by the red 
 and fierce reflection of the fire, and covered with boats, filled with 
 families who had just quitted their habitations either on the bridge 
 or in some other street adjoining it, its whole surface was speckled 
 with pieces of furniture, or goods, that had been cast into it, and 
 which were now floating up with the tide. Great crowds were 
 collected on the Southwark shore to watch the conflagration, while 
 on the opposite side the wharves and quays were thronged with 
 persons removing their goods, and embarking them in boats. One 
 circumstance, noted by Pepys, and which also struck Leonard, was 
 the singular attachment displayed by the pigeons, kept by the 
 owners of several houses on the bridge, to the spots they had 
 been accustomed to. Even when the flames attacked the build- 
 ings to which the dovecots were attached, the birds wheeled 
 round and round them, until, their pinions being scorched by the 
 fire, they dropped into the water. 
 
 Leonard remained on the river nearly two hours. He could 
 not, in fact, tear himself away from the spectacle, which possessed 
 a strange fascination in his eyes. He began to think that all the 
 efforts of men were unavailing to arrest the progress of destruction, 
 *nd he was for a while content to regard it as a mere spectacle. 
 
PROGRESS OF THE FIRE. SSI 
 
 And never had ho beheld a more impressive — a more terrible 
 sight. There lay the vast and populous city before him, which 
 he had once before known to be invaded by an invisible, but 
 exterminating foe, now attacked by a furious and far seen enemy. 
 The fire seemed to form a vast arch — many-coloured as a rain- 
 bow, — reflected in the sky, and re-reflected in all its horrible 
 splendour in the river. 
 
 Nor was the aspect of the city less striking. The innumerable 
 towers and spires of the churches rose tall and dark through the 
 wavering sheet of flame, and every now and then one of them 
 would topple down or disappear, as if swallowed up by the 
 devouring element. For a short space, the fire seemed to observe 
 a regular progressive movement, but when it fell upon better 
 material, it reared its blazing crest aloft, changed its hues, and 
 burnt with redoubled intensity. Leonard watched it thread nar- 
 row alleys, and firing ever)' lesser habitation in its course, kindle 
 some great hall or other structure, whose remoteness seemed to 
 secure it from immediate danger. At this distance, the roaring 
 of the flames resembled that of a thousand furnaces. Ever and 
 anon, it was broken by a sound like thunder, occasioned by the 
 fall of some mighty edifice. Then there would come a quick 
 succession of reports like the discharge of artillery, followed by a 
 shower of fiery flakes and sparks blown aloft, like the explosion 
 of some stupendous firework. Mixed with the roaring of the 
 flames, the thunder of falling roofs, the cracking of timber, was a 
 wild hubbub of human voices, that sounded afar off like a dismal 
 wail. In spite of its terror, the appearance of the fire was at 
 that time beautiful beyond description. Its varying colours — 
 its fanciful forms — now shooting out in a hundred different 
 directions, like lightning flashes, — now drawing itself up, as it 
 were, and soaring aloft, — now splitting into a million tongues of 
 flame, — these aspects so rivetted the attention of Leonard, that 
 he almost forgot in the sight the dreadful devastation going 
 forward. His eyes ached with gazing at the fiery spectacle, and 
 he was glad to rest them on the black masses of building that 
 stood in stern relief against it, and which there could be little 
 doubt would soon become its prey. 
 
 It was now broad daylight, except for the mighty cloud of 
 smoke, which o'er-canopied the city 7 , creating an artificial gloom. 
 Leonard's troubled gaze wandered from the scene of destruction 
 to Saint Paul's — an edifice, which, from the many events con- 
 nected with his fortunes that had occurred there, had always 
 a singular interest in his eyes. Calling to mind the denun- 
 ciations poured forth by Solomon Eagle against this fane, he 
 could not help fearing they would now be fulfilled. What added 
 to his misgivings was, that it was now almost entirely surrounded 
 by poles and scaffolding. Ever since the cessation of the plague, 
 the repairs, suspended during that awful season, had been recom' 
 
382 old saint Paul's. 
 
 menced under the superintendence of Doctor Christopher Wren, 
 and were now proceeding with renewed activity. The whole of 
 the building was under repair, and a vast number of masons were 
 employed upon it, and it was their scaffolding that impressed 
 Leonard with a dread of what afterwards actually occurred. 
 Accustomed to connect the figure of Solomon Eagle with tb'2 
 sacred structure, he could not help fancying that he discovered a 
 speck resembling a human figure on the central tower. If it 
 were the enthusiast, what must his feelings be at finding his 
 predictions so fatally fulfilled ? Little did Leonard think how 
 the prophecy had been accomplished! 
 
 But iiis attention was speedily called to the progress of the 
 conflagration. From the increased tumult in the city, it was 
 evident the inhabitants were now thoroughly roused, and actively 
 bestirring themselves to save their property. This was apparent, 
 even on the river, from the multitude of boats deeply laden with 
 goods of all kinds, which were now seen shaping their course 
 towards Westminster. The fire, also, had made rapid progress 
 on all sides. The vast pile of habitations at the north side of 
 the bridge was now entirely in flames. The effect of this w T as 
 awfully fine. Not only did the flames mount to a greater 
 height, and appear singularly conspicuous from the situation of 
 the houses, but every instant some blazing fragment fell with a 
 tremendous splash into the water, were it hissed for a moment, 
 and then was for ever quenched, floating a black mass upon the 
 surface. From the foot of the bridge to Coal Harbour-stairs, 
 extended what Dryden finely calls " a quay of fire." All the 
 wharves and warehouses were in flames, and burning with asto- 
 nishing rapidity, while this part of Thames-street, " the lodge of 
 all combustibles," had likewise become a prey to the devouring 
 element. The fire, too, had spread in an easterly direction, and 
 consuming three churches, namely, Saint Andrew's, in Botolph- 
 lane, Saint Mary's, in Love-lane, and Saint Dunstan's in the 
 East, had invaded Tower-street, and seemed fast approaching the 
 ancient fortress. 
 
 So fascinated was Leonard with the sight, that he could have 
 been well content to remain all day gazing at it, but he now 
 -ecollected that he had other duties to perform, and directing 
 the waterman to land him at Queenhithe, ascended Bread-street 
 hill, and betook himself to Wood-street, 
 
SS3 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Leonard's interview with the king. 
 
 Some rumours of the conflagration, as will be supposed, had Cie 
 this readied Mr. Bloundcl, but he had no idea of the extent of 
 the direful calamity, and when informed of it by Leonard, lifted 
 up his hands despairingly, exclaiming, in accents of the deepest 
 affliction — " Another judgment, then, has fallen upon this sinful 
 city, — another judgment yet more terrible than the first. Man 
 may have kindled this great fire, but the hand of God is appa- 
 rent in it. ' Alas ! alas ! for thee, thou great city, Babylon ! Alas 
 for thee, thou mighty city ! for in one hour is thy judgment 
 come. The kings of the earth shall bewail thee, and lament 
 for thee, when they see the smoke of thy burning.'" 
 
 " Your dwelling was spared in the last visitation, sir," ob- 
 served Leonard, after a pause, " and you were able to shut your- 
 self up, as in a strong castle, against the all-exterminating foe. 
 But I fear you will not be able to ward off the assaults of the 
 present enemy, and recommend you to remove your family and 
 goods without delay to some place of security far from this 
 doomed city." 
 
 " This is the Lord's-day, Leonard, and must be kept holy," 
 replied the grocer. " To-morrow, if I am spared so long, I will 
 endeavour to find some place of shelter." 
 
 " If the conflagration continues to spread as rapidly as it is 
 now doing, to-morrow will be too late," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 " It may be so," returned the grocer, " but I will not violate 
 the Sabbath. If the safety of my family is threatened, that is 
 another matter, but I will not attempt to preserve my goods. 
 Do not, however, let me influence you. Take such portion of 
 our stock as belongs to you, and you know that a third of the 
 whole is yours, and convey it where you please." 
 
 " On no account, sir," interrupted Leonard. " I should never 
 think of acting in opposition to your wishes. This will be a sad 
 Sunday for London." 
 
 " The saddest she has ever seen," replied the grocer ; " for 
 though the voice of prayer was silenced in her churches during 
 the awful season of the plague, yet then men's minds had been 
 gradually prepared for the calamity, and though filled with 
 terror, they were not taken by surprise, as must now be the case. 
 But let us to prayers, and may our earnest supplications avail in 
 turning aside the Divine displeasure." 
 
 And summoning his family and household, all of whom were 
 by this time stirring, and in the utmost consternation at what 
 they had heard of the fire, he commenced a prayer adapted to 
 the occasion in a strain d' the utmost fervour ; and as Leonard 
 
384 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 gazed at his austere countenance, now lighted up with holy zeal, 
 and listened to his earnest intercessions in behalf of the devoted 
 city, he was reminded of the prophet Jeremiah weeping for 
 Jerusalem before the throne of grace. 
 
 Prayers over, the whole parly sat down to their morning 
 repast, after which, the grocer and his eldest son, accompanied 
 by Leonard and Blaize, mounted to the roof of the house, and 
 gazing in the direction of the conflagration, they could plainly 
 distinguish the vast cloud of yellow smoke commingled with 
 flame, that marked the scene of its ravages. As the wind blew 
 from this quarter, charged, as has been stated, with a cloud of 
 sparks, many of the fire-drops were dashed in their faces, and 
 compelled them to shade their eyes. The same awful roar which 
 Leonard had heard on the river, likewise broke upon their ears, 
 while from all the adjoining streets arose a wild clamour of 
 human voices, the burden of whose cries was "Fire! Fire 1" 
 The church bells, which should have been tolling to early devo- 
 tion, were now loudly ringing the alarm, while their towers were 
 crowded, as were the roofs of most of the houses, with persons 
 gazing towards the scene of devastation. Nothing could be 
 more opposite to the stillness and quiet of a Sabbath morn, and 
 as the grocer listened to the noise and tumult prevailing around 
 him, he could not repress a groan. 
 
 "I never thought my ears would be so much offended on this 
 day," he said. "Let us go down. I have seen, and heard 
 enough." 
 
 They then descended, and Stephen Bloundel, who was greatly 
 alarmed by what he had just witnessed, strongly urged his father 
 to remove immediately. 
 
 " There are seasons," said the young man, " when even our 
 duty to Heaven becomes a secondary consideration, and I should 
 be sorry if the fruit of your industry were sacrificed to your 
 religious scruples." 
 
 " There are no such seasons," replied the grocer, severely, 
 " and I grieve that a son of mine should think so. If the inha- 
 bitants of this sinful city had not broken the Sabbath, and 
 neglected God's commandments, this heavy judgment would not 
 have fallen upon them. I shall neglect no precaution for the 
 personal safety of my family, but I place my worldly goods in 
 the hands of Him from whom I derived them, and to whom I 
 am ready to restore them, whenever it shall please Him to take 
 them." 
 
 "I am rebuked, father," replied Stephen, humbly; "and 
 entreat your pardon for having ventured to differ with you. I 
 am now fully sensible of the propriety of your conduct." 
 
 " And I have ever acquiesced in your wishes, be they what 
 they may," said Mrs. Bloundel to her husband, " but I confess I 
 am dreadfully frightened. I hope you will remove the first thing 
 to-morrow." 
 
LEONARD'S INTERVIEW WITH THE KING. 385 
 
 " When midnight has struck, and the Sabbath is past, I shall 
 commence my preparations," replied the grocer. " You must 
 rest content till then." 
 
 Mrs. Bloundel heaved a sigh, but said no more, and the 
 grocer, retiring to a side table, opened the Bible, and sat down 
 calmly to its perusal. But though no further remonstrances 
 reached his ears, there was great murmuring in the kitchen on 
 the part 01 Blaize and Patience. 
 
 " Goodness knows what will become of us J" cried the latter. 
 " I expect we shall all be burnt alive, owing to our master's 
 obstinacy. What harm can there be in moving on a Sunday, I 
 should like to know ? I'm sure I'm too much hurried and 
 flurried to say my prayers as I ought to do." 
 
 "And so am J," replied Blaize. "Mr. Bloundel is a great 
 deal too particular. What a dreadful thing it would be if the 
 house should he burnt down, and all my mother's savings, which 
 were to lorm a provision for our marriage, lost." 
 
 " That would be terrible, indeed," cried Patience, with a look 
 of dismay. " I think the wedding had better take place as soon 
 as the fire is over. It can't last many days if it goes on at this 
 rate." 
 
 " You are right," returned Blaize. " I have no objection. I'll 
 speak to my mother at once." And stepping into the scullery, 
 where old Josyna was washing some dishes, he addressed her — 
 " Mother, I'm sadly afraid this great fire will reach us before our 
 master will allow us to move. Hadn't you better let me take 
 care ot the money you intended giving me on my marriage with 
 Patience." 
 
 " No, no, myn goed zoon," replied Josyna, shaking her head — 
 *' I musd zee you married virsd." 
 
 " But I can't be married to-day," cried Blaize — " and there's 
 no time to lose. The fire will be upon us directly." 
 
 " I cand help dat," returned his mother. " We musd place 
 our drusd in God." 
 
 "There I quite agree with you, mother," replied Blaize — 
 "but we must also take care of ourselves. If you wont give me 
 the money, at least put it in a box to carry off at a moment's 
 notice." 
 
 " Don't be afraid, myn zoon," replied Josyna. " I wond 
 forged id." 
 
 " I'm sadly afraid you will though," muttered Blaize, as he 
 walked away. " There's no doing any good with her," he added 
 to Patience. " She's as obstinate as Mr. Bloundel. I should 
 like to see the fire of all things, but I suppose I inusn't leave the 
 house." 
 
 " Of course not," replied Patience, pettishly ; " at such a time 
 it would be highly improper. I forbid that." 
 
 cc 
 
386 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Then I must need submit," groaned Blaize, — "I can't even 
 have my own way before marriage." 
 
 When the proper time arrived, the grocer, accompanied by all 
 his family and household, except old Josyna, who was left in 
 charge of the house, repaired to the neighbouring church of 
 Saint Alban's, but finding the doors closed, and that no service 
 was to be performed, he returned home with a sorrowful heart." 
 
 Soon after this, Leonard took Mr. Bloundel apart, and ob- 
 served to him, " I have a strong conviction that I could be 
 useful in arresting the progress of the conflagration, and as I can- 
 not attend church service, I will, with your permission, devote 
 myself to that object. It is my intention to proceed to White- 
 hall, and if possible, obtain an audience of the king, and if I suc- 
 ceed in doing so, to lay a plan before him, which I think would 
 prove efficacious." 
 
 " I will not ask what the plan is," rejoined the grocer, " because 
 I doubt its success. Neither will I oppose your design, which is 
 praiseworthy. Go, and may it prosper. Return in the evening, 
 for I may need your assistance, — perhaps, protection." 
 
 Leonard then prepared to set forth. Blaize begged hard to 
 accompany him, but was refused. Forcing his way through the 
 host of carts, coaches, drays, and other vehicles thronging the 
 streets, Leonard made the best of his way to Whitehall, where he 
 speedily arrived. A large body of mounted troopers were sta- 
 tioned before the gates of the palace, and a regiment of the foot- 
 guards were drawn up in the court. Drums were beating to 
 arms, and other martial sounds were heard, showing the alarm 
 that was felt. Leonard was stopped at the gate by a sentinel, 
 and refused admittance, and he would in all probability have 
 been turned back, if at that moment the Lords Argentine and 
 Rochester had not come up. On seeing him, the former frowned, 
 and passed quickly on, but the latter halted. 
 
 " You seem to be in some difficulty," remarked Rochester. 
 "Can I help you?" 
 
 Leonard was about to turn away, but he checked himself. 
 
 " I will not suffer my resentful feelings to operate injuriously 
 to others," he muttered. " I desire to see the king, my lord," he 
 added, to the earl. " I have a proposal to make to him, which 
 I think would be a means of checking the conflagration." 
 
 " Say you so ?" cried Rochester." " Come along then. 
 Heaven grant your plan may prove successful, in which case, I 
 promise you, you shall be nobly rewarded." 
 
 "I seek no reward, my lord," replied Leonard. "All I 
 desire is to save the city." 
 
 " Well, well," rejoined Rochester, " it will be time enough to 
 refuse his majesty's bounty when offered." 
 
 Upon this, he ordered the sentinel to withdraw, and Leonard 
 followed him into the palace They found the entrance-hall 
 
Leonard's interview with the king. S87 
 
 filled with groups of officers and attendants, all conversing 
 together, it was evident from their looks and manner, on the one 
 engrossing topic, — the conflagration. 
 
 Ascending a magnificent staircase, and traversing part of a 
 grand gallery, they entered an ante-room, in which a number of 
 courtiers and pages — amongst the latter of whom was Chiffinch — 
 were assembled. At the door of the inner chamber stood a 
 couple of ushers, and as the earl approached, it was instantly 
 thrown open. As Leonard, however, who followed close behind 
 his leader, passed Chiffinch, the latter caught hold of his arm 
 and detained him. Hearing the movement, Rochester turned, 
 and said quickly to the page, " Let him pass, he is going with 
 me." 
 
 " Old Rowley is in no humour for a jest to-day, my lord," re- 
 plied Chiffinch, familiarly. " He is more serious than I have 
 ever before seen him, and takes this terrible fire sadly to heart, 
 as well he may. Mr. Secretary Pepys, of the Admiralty, is with 
 him, and is detailing all particulars of the calamity to him, I 
 believe." 
 
 " It is in reference to the fire that I have brought this young 
 man with me," returned the earl. " Let him pass, I say. State 
 your plan boldly," he added, as they entered the audience- 
 chamber. 
 
 At the further end of the long apartment, on a chair of state, 
 and beneath a canopy, sat Charles. He was evidently much dis- 
 turbed, and looked eagerly at the new comers, especially at 
 Leonard, expecting to find him the bearer of some important 
 intelligence. On the right of the king, and near an open win- 
 dow, which, looking towards the river, commanded a view of the 
 fire on the bridge, as well as of part of the burning city, stood 
 the Duke of York. The duke did not appear much concerned 
 at the calamity, but was laughing with Lord Argentine, who 
 stood close beside him. The smile fled from the lips of the 
 latter as he beheld Leonard, and he looked angrily at Rochester, 
 who did not, however, appear to notice his displeasure. On the 
 left of the royal chair was Mr. Pepys, engaged, as Chiffinch had 
 intimated, in detailing to the king the progress of the conflagra- 
 tion ; and next to the secretary stood the Earl of Craven, — a 
 handsome, commanding, and martial-looking personage, though 
 somewhat stricken in years. Three other noblemen — namely, 
 the Lords Hollis, Arlington, and Ashley, — were likewise present. 
 
 " Who have you with you, Rochester?" demanded Charles, as 
 the earl and his companion approached him. 
 
 " A young man, my liege, who desires to make known to you 
 a plan for checking this conflagration," replied the earl. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed the king. " Let him accomplish that for 
 us, and he shall ask what he will in return," 
 
 " I ventured to promise him as much," observed Rochester 
 
 CC2 
 
358 old saint Paul's. 
 
 " Mine is a very simple and a very obvious plan, sire," said 
 Leonard, " but I will engage, on the peril of ray life, if you will 
 give me sufficient authority, and means to work withal, to stop 
 the further progress of this fire." 
 
 " In what way ?" asked Charles, impatiently. " In what 
 
 wav 
 
 V" 
 
 K By demolishing the houses around the conflagration with 
 gunpowder, so as to form a wide gap between those left and the 
 flames," replied Leonard. 
 
 "A short and summary process, truly," replied the king. 
 " But it would occasion great waste of property, and might be 
 attended with other serious consequences." 
 
 " Not half so much property will be destroyed as if the slower 
 and seemingly safer course of pulling down the houses is pur- 
 sued," rejoined Leonard. " That experiment has been tried and 
 failed." 
 
 " I am of the young man's opinion," observed the Earl of 
 Craven. 
 
 " And I," added Pepys. " Better lose half the city than the 
 whole. As it is, your majesty is not safe in your palace." 
 
 " Why, you do not think it can reach Whitehall ?" cried the 
 king, rising, and walking to the window. " How say you, 
 brother ?" he added, to the Duke of York — " shall we act upon 
 this young man's suggestion, and order the wholesale demolition 
 of the houses which he recommends ?" 
 
 " I would not advise your majesty to do so, — at least, not 
 without consideration," answered the duke. " This is a terrible 
 fire, no doubt, but the danger may be greatly exaggerated, and 
 if any ill consequences should result from the proposed scheme, 
 the blame will be entirely laid upon your majesty." 
 
 " I care not for that," replied the king, " provided I feel 
 assured it is for the best." 
 
 " The plan would do incalculably more mischief than the fire 
 itself," observed Lord Argentine, " and would be met by the 
 most determined opposition on the part of the owners of the 
 habitations condemned to destruction. Whole streets will have 
 to be blown up, and your majesty will easily comprehend the con- 
 fusion and damage that will ensue." 
 
 " Lord Argentine has expressed my sentiments exactly," said 
 the Duke of York. 
 
 " There is nothing for it, then, but for your majesty to call for 
 a fiddle, and amuse yourself like Nero, while your city is burn- 
 ing," remarked Rochester, sarcastically. 
 
 " Another such jest, my lord," rejoined the king, sternly, " and 
 it shall cost you your liberty. I will go upon the river instantly, 
 Hnd view the fire myself, and then decide what course shall be 
 adopted." 
 
 " There are rumours that incendiaries are abroad, your ma- 
 
Leonard's interview with the kino. 389 
 
 jcsty," remarked Argentine, glancing maliciously at Leonard, — 
 u it is not unlikely that he who lighted the fire should know how 
 to extinguish it." 
 
 " His lordship says truly," rejoined Leonard. " There are 
 incendiaries abroad, and the chief of them was taken by my 
 hand, and lodged in Newgate, where he lies for examination.'* 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed the king, eagerly. " Did you catch the 
 miscreant in the fact 9 " 
 
 " No, my liege," replied Leonard; "but he came to me a few 
 hours before the outbreak of the fire, intimating that ho was in 
 possession of a plot against the city, — a design so monstrous, that 
 your majesty would give any reward to the discloscr of it. He 
 proposed to reveal this plot to me on certain terms." 
 
 " And you accepted them ?" cried the king. 
 
 " No, my liege," replied Leonard. " I refused them, and 
 would have secured him, but he escaped me at that lime. I 
 afterwards discovered him among the spectators near the fire, 
 and caused his arrest." 
 
 " And who is this villain ?" cried the king. 
 
 " I must refer your majesty to Lord Argentine," replied 
 Leonard. 
 
 " Do you know anything of the transaction, my lord ?" said 
 Charles, appealing to him. 
 
 " Not I, your majesty," said Argentine, vainly endeavouring 
 to conceal his anger and confusion. " The knave has spoken 
 falsely." 
 
 " He shall rue it, if he has done so," rejoined the monarch 
 " What has the man you speak of to do with Lord Argentine ?' 
 he added, to Leonard. 
 
 " He is his father," was the reply. 
 
 Charles looked at Lord Argentine, and became convinced from 
 the altered expression of his countenance that the truth had been 
 spoken. He, therefore, arose, and motioning him to follow him, 
 led him into the recess of a window, where they remained in 
 conversation for some minutes. While this was passing, the 
 Earl of Rochester observed, in an under tone, to Leonard, 
 " You have made a mortal foe of Lord Argentine, but I will 
 protect you." 
 
 " I require no other protection than I can afford myself, my 
 lord," rejoined Leonard, coldly. 
 
 Shortly after this, Charles stepped forward with a graver aspect 
 than before, and said, " Before proceeding to view this conflagra- 
 tion, I must give some directions in reference to it. To you, my 
 Lord Craven, whose intrepidity I well know, I intrust the most 
 important post. You will station 3'ourself at the east of the con- 
 flagration, and if you find it making its way to the Tower, as I 
 hear is the case, check it at all hazards. The old fortress must 
 De preserved at any risk. But do not resort to gunpowder unless 
 
390 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 you receive an order from me accompanied by my signet ring. 
 My Lords Hollis and Ashley, you will have the care of the north- 
 west of the city. Station yourselves near Newgate-market. 
 Rochester and Arlington, your posts will be at Saint Paul's. 
 Watch over the august cathedral. I would not have it injured 
 for half my kingdom. Brother," he added to the Duke of 
 York, "you will accompany me in my barge, — and you, Mr. 
 Pep3 T s. You, young man," to Leonard, "can follow in my 
 train." 
 
 " Has your majesty no post for me ?" asked Argentine. 
 
 " No," replied Charles, turning coldly from him. 
 
 " Had not your majesty better let him have the custody of 
 your gaol of Newgate?" remarked Rochester, sarcastically; "he 
 has an interest in its safe keeping." 
 
 Lord Argentine turned deadly pale, but he made no answer. 
 
 Attended by the Duke of York and Mr. Pepys, and followed 
 at a respectful distance by Leonard, the king then passed through 
 the ante-room, and, descending the grand staircase, traversed a 
 variety of passages, until he reached the private stairs communi- 
 cating with the river. At the foot lay the royal barge, in which 
 he embarked with his train. 
 
 Charles appeared greatly moved by the sight of the thousands 
 of his houseless subjects, whom he encountered in his passage 
 down the Thames, and whenever a feeble shout was raised for 
 him, he returned it with a blessing. When nearly opposite 
 Queenhithe, he commanded the rowers to pause. The con- 
 flagration had made formidable progress since Leonard beheld it 
 a few hours back, and had advanced nearly as far as the Still- 
 yard on the river side, while it was burning upwards through 
 thick ranks of houses, almost as far as Cannon-street. The 
 roaring of the flames was louder than ever — and the crash of 
 falling habitations, and the tumult and cries of the affrighted 
 populace, yet more terrific. 
 
 Charles gazed at the appalling spectacle like one who could 
 not believe his senses, and it was some time before the over- 
 whelming truth could force itself upon him. Tears then started 
 to his eyes, and uttering an ejaculation of despair, he com- 
 manded the rowers to make instantly for the shore. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOW LEONARD SAVED THE KING'S LIFE. 
 
 The royal barge landed at Queenhithe, and Charles instantly 
 disembarking, proceeded on foot, and at a pace that compelled his 
 attendants to move quickly to keep up with him, to Thames- 
 
1E0NARD SAVED THE KING. 391 
 
 street. Here, however, the confusion was so great, owing to the 
 rush of people, and the number of vehicles employed in the 
 removal of goods, that he was obliged to come to a halt. For- 
 tunately, at this moment, a company of the train-bands rode up, 
 and their leader dismounting, oifered his horse to the king, who 
 instantly sprang into the saddle, and scarcely waiting till the Duke 
 of York could be similarly accommodated, forced his way through 
 the crowd as far as Brewer-lane, where his progress was stopped 
 by the intense heat. A little more than a hundred yards from 
 this point, the whole street was on fire, and the flames bursting 
 from the windows and roofs of the houses, with a roar like that 
 which might be supposed to be produced by the forges of the 
 Cyclops, united in a vast blazing arch overhead. It chanced, too, 
 that in some places cellars filled with combustible materials 
 extended under the street, and here the ground would crack and 
 jets of fire shoot forth like the eruption of a volcano. The walls 
 and timbers of the houses at some distance from the conflagration 
 were scorched and blistered with the heat, and completely pre- 
 pared for ignition. Overhead being a vast and momentarily 
 increasing cloud of flame-coloured smoke, which spread all over 
 the city, filling it as with a thick mist, while the glowing vault 
 above looked, as Evelyn expresses it, "like the top of a burning 
 oven." 
 
 Two churches, namely, Allhallows the Great and Allhallows 
 the Less, were burnt down in the king's sight, and the lofty 
 spire of a third, Saint Lawrence Poultcney, had just caught fire, 
 and looked like a flame-tipped spear. After contemplating this 
 spectacle for some time, Charles roused himself from the state 
 of stupefaction into which he was thrown, and determined, it 
 possible, to arrest the further progress of the devouring element 
 ulong the river side, commanded all the houses on the west of 
 Dovvgate Dock to be instantly demolished. A large body of 
 men were, therefore, set upon this difficult and dangerous, and 
 <»s it proved, futile task. Another party were ordered to the 
 same duty on Dowgate-hill ; and the crash of tumbling walls 
 and beams was soon added to the general uproar, while clouds of 
 dust darkened the air. It was with some difficulty that a 
 sufficient space could be kept clear for carrying these operations 
 into effect ; and long before they were half completed, Charles 
 had the mortification of finding the fire gaining ground so 
 rapidly, that they must prove ineffectual. Word was brought at 
 this juncture that a fresh fire had broken out in Elbow-lane, and 
 while the monarch w T as listening to this dreary intelligence, a 
 fearful cry was heard near the river, followed, the next moment, 
 by a tumultuous rush of persons from that quarter. The fire, ad 
 if in scorn, had leapt across Dowgate Dock, and seizing upon 
 the half-demolished houses, instantly made them its prey. The 
 rapidity with which the conflagration proceeded was astounding^ 
 
392 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 and completely baffled all attempts to check it. The wind con- 
 tinued blowing as furiously as ever, nor was there the slightest 
 prospect of its abatement. All the king's better qualities were 
 called into play by the present terrible crisis. With a courage 
 and devotion that he seldom displayed, he exposed himself to the 
 greatest risk, personally assisting at all the operations he com- 
 manded; while his humane attention to the sufferers by the 
 calamity almost reconciled them to their deplorable situation. 
 His movements were almost as rapid as those of the fire itself. 
 Riding up Cannon-street, and from thence by Sweeting's-lane to 
 Lombard-street, and so on by Fenchurch-street to Tower-street, 
 he issued directions all the way, checking every disturbance, and 
 causing a band of depredators, who had broken into the house 
 of a wealthy goldsmith, to be carried off to Newgate. Arrived 
 in Tower-street, he found the Earl of Craven and his party 
 stationed a little beyond Saint Dunstan's in the East. 
 
 All immediate apprehensions in this quarter appeared at an end. 
 The church had been destroyed, as before mentioned, but several 
 houses in its vicinity having been demolished, the fire had not 
 extended eastward. Satisfied that the Tower was in no immediate 
 danger, the king retraced his course, and encountering the lord 
 mayor in Lombard-street, sharply reproved him for his want oi 
 zeal and discretion. 
 
 " I do not deserve your majesty's reproaches," replied the lora 
 mayor. " Ever since the fire broke out I have not rested an 
 instant, and am almost worn to death with anxiety and fatigue. 
 I am just returned from Guildhall, where a vast quantity of plate 
 belonging to the city companies has been deposited. Lord ! 
 Lord ! what a fire this is !" 
 
 "You are chiefly to blame for its getting so much ahead," 
 replied the king, angrily. " Had you adopted vigorous measures 
 at the outset, it might have easily been got under. I hear no water 
 was to be obtained. How was that?" 
 
 " It is a damnable plot, your majesty, designed by the Papists, 
 or the Dutch, or the French, — I don't know which — perhaps all 
 three," rejoined the lord mayor ; " and it appears that the cocks 
 of all the pipes at the waterworks at Islington were turned, while 
 the pipes and conduits in the city were empty. This is no 
 accidental fire, your majesty." 
 
 " So I find," replied the king ; "but it will be time enough to 
 inquire into its origin hereafter. Meantime, we must act, and 
 energetically, or we shall be equally as much to blame as the 
 incendiaries. Let a proclamation be made, enjoining all those 
 persons who have been driven from their homes by the fire ta 
 proceed with such effects as the} 7 have preserved, to Moorfields,, 
 where their wants shall be cared for." 
 
 " It shall be made instantly, your majesty," replied the lord 
 mayor. 
 
LEONARD SAVED THE KING. 393 
 
 "Your next business will be to see to the removal of all the 
 wealth from the goldsmiths' houses in this street, and in Grace- 
 church-street, to some places of security, — Guildhall, or the Royal 
 Exchange, for instance," continued the king. 
 
 " Your majesty's directions shall be implicitly obeyed," replied 
 the lord mayor. 
 
 "You will then pull down all the houses to the east of the 
 fire," pursued the king. "Get all the men you can muster — 
 and never relax your exertions till you have made a wide and 
 clear breach between the flames and their prey." 
 
 " I will — I will, your majesty," groaned the lord mayor. 
 
 " About it, then," rejoined the king. And striking spurs into 
 his horse, he rode off with his train. 
 
 He now penetrated one of the narrow alleys leading to the 
 Three Cranes in the Vintry, where he ascended to the roof of 
 the habitation that he might view the fire. He saw that it was 
 making such rapid advances towards him that it must very soon 
 reach the building on which he stood, and, half suffocated with 
 the smoke, and scorched with the fire-drops, he descended. 
 
 Not long after this, Waterman's Hall was discovered to be on 
 fire, and stirred by the sight, Charles made fresh efforts to check 
 the progress of the conflagration, by demolishing more houses. 
 So eagerly did he occupy himself in the task, that his life had 
 well nigh fallen a sacrifice to his zeal. He was standing below a. 
 building which the workmen were unroofing, when all at once 
 the whole of the upper part of the wall gave wpv, dragging 
 several heavy beams with it, and would have infallibly crushed 
 him, if Leonard, who was stationed behind him, had not noticed 
 the circumstance, and rushing forward with the greatest prompti- 
 tude, dragged him out of harm's way. An engineer, with whom 
 the kinq; was conversing; at the time of the accident, was buried 
 in the ruins, and when taken out was found fearfully mutilated, 
 and quite dead. Both Charles and his preserver were covered 
 with dust and rubbish, and Leonard received a severe blow on 
 the shoulder from a falling brick. 
 
 On recovering from the shock which for some moments deprived 
 him of the power of speech, Charles inquired for his deliverer, 
 and on being shown him, said, with a look of surprise and 
 pleasure : " What, is it you, young man ? I am glad of it. 
 Depend upon it, I shall not forget the important service you have 
 rendered me." 
 
 " If he remembers it, it will be the first time he has ever so 
 exercised his memory," observed Chiffinch, in a loud whisper, to 
 Leonard. "I advise you, as a friend, not to let his gratitude 
 cool. - ' 
 
 Undeterred by this late narrow escape, Charles ordered fresh 
 houses to be demolished, and stimulated the workmen to exertion 
 by his personal superintendence of their operations. Hp com- 
 
394 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 manded Leonard to keep constantly near him, laughingly ob- 
 serving, " I shall feel safe while you are by. You have a better 
 eye for a falling house than any of ray attendants." 
 
 Worn out, at length, with fatigue, Charles proceeded with the 
 Duke of York and his immediate attendants to Painters' Hall, in 
 Little Trinity-lane, in quest of refreshment, where a repast was 
 hastily prepared for him, and he sat down to it with an appetite 
 such as the most magnificent banquet could not, under other cir- 
 cumstances, have provoked. His hunger satisfied, he despatched 
 messengers to command the immediate attendance of the lord 
 mayor, the sheriffs, and aldermen, and when they arrived, he 
 thus addressed them, — "My lord mayor and gentlemen, it has 
 been recommended to me by this young man," pointing to 
 Leonard, " that the sole way of checking the further progress of 
 this disastrous conflagration, which threatens the total destruction 
 of our city, will be by blowing up the houses with gunpowder, 
 so as to form a wide gap between the flames and the habitations 
 yet remaining unseized. This plan will necessarily involve great 
 destruction of property, and may, notwithstanding all the care 
 that can be adopted, be attended with some loss of life, but I 
 conceive it will be effectual. Before ordering it, however, to be 
 put into execution, I desire to learn your opinion of it. How 
 say you, my lord mayor and gentlemen ? Does the plan meet 
 with your approbation ?" 
 
 "I pray your majesty to allow me to confer for a moment 
 with my brethren," replied the lord mayor, cautiously, " before 
 I return an answer. It is too serious a matter to decide upon at 
 once." 
 
 " Be it so," replied the king. 
 
 And the civic authorities withdrew with the king. Leonard 
 heard, though he did not dare to remark upon it, that the Duke 
 of York leaned forward as the lord mayor passed him, and whis- 
 pered in his ear, " Take heed what you do. He only desires to 
 shift the responsibility of the act from his own shoulders to yours.'* 
 
 " If they assent," said the king to Leonard, " I will place you 
 at the head of a party of engineers." 
 
 "I beseech your majesty neither to regard me nor them," 
 replied Leonard. " Use the authority it has pleased Heaven to 
 bestow upon you for the preservation of the city, and think and 
 act for yourself, or you will assuredly regret your want of decision. 
 It has been my fortune, with the assistance of God, to be the 
 humble instrument of accomplishing your majesty's deliverance 
 from peril, and I have your royal word that you will not forget it.'* 
 
 " Nor will I," cried the king, hastily. 
 
 " Then suffer the petition I now make to you to prevail," cried 
 Leonard, falling on his knees. " Be not influenced by the opinion 
 of the lord mayor and his brethren, whose own interests may lead 
 them to oppose the plan, but if you think well of it, instantly 
 adopt it." 
 
 
LEONARD SAVED 1HE KINO. 895 
 
 Charles looked irresolute, but might have yielded, if the Duke 
 i>f York had not stepped forward. 
 
 "Your majesty had better not act too precipitately," said the 
 duke. "Listen to the counsels of your prudent advisers. A 
 fake step in such a case will be irretrievable." 
 
 "Nay, brother," rejoined the king, "I see no particular risk 
 in it, after all, and I incline towards the young man's opinion." 
 
 " At least hear what they have got to say," rejoined the duke. 
 " And here they come. They have not been long in deliberation.''' 
 
 "The result of it may be easily predicted," said Leonard, 
 rising. 
 
 As Leonard had foreseen, the civic authorities were adverse 
 to the plan. The lord mayor, in the name of himself and his 
 brethren, earnestly solicited the king to postpone the execution 
 of his order till all other means of checking the progress of the 
 conflagration had been tried, and till such time, at least, as the 
 property of the owners of the houses to be destroyed could be 
 removed. He further added, that it was the unanimous opinion 
 of himself and his brethren, that the plan was fraught with great 
 peril to the safety of the citizens, and that they could not bring 
 themselves to assent to it. If, therefore, his majesty chose to 
 adopt it, they must leave the responsibility with him. 
 
 " I told your majesty how it would be," observed the Duke of 
 York, triumphantly. 
 
 "I am sorry to find you are right, brother," replied the king, 
 frowning. " We are overruled, you see, friend," he added to 
 Leonard. 
 
 " Your majesty has signed the doom of your city," rejoined 
 Leonard, mournfully. 
 
 " I trust not — I trust not," replied Charles, hastily, and with 
 an uneasy shrug of the shoulder. " Fail not to remind me when 
 all is over of the obligation I am under to you." 
 
 " Your majesty has refused the sole boon I desired to have 
 granted," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 "And do you not see the reason, friend?" returned the king. 
 "These worthy and wealthy citizens desire to remove their 
 property. Their arguments are unanswerable. I must give 
 them time to do it. But we waste time here," he added, rising. 
 " Remember," to Leonard, "my debt is not discharged. And I 
 command you, on pain of my sovereign displeasure, not to omit 
 to claim its payment." 
 
 "I will enter it in my memorandum-book, and will put your 
 "majesty in mind of it at the fitting season," observed Chiffinch, 
 who had taken a great fancy to Leonard. 
 
 The king smiled good-humouredly, and quitting the hall with 
 his attendants, proceeded to superintend the further demolition 
 of houses. He next visited all the posts, saw that the different 
 noblemen were at their appointed stations, and by his unre- 
 
396 old saint Paul's. 
 
 mitting exertions contrived to restore something like order to 
 the tumultuous streets. Thousands of men were now employed 
 in different quarters in pulling down houses, and the most 
 powerful engines of war were employed iu the work. The con- 
 fusion that attended these proceedings is indescribable. The 
 engineers and workmen wrought in clouds of dust and smoke, 
 and the crash of falling timber and walls was deafening. In a 
 short time, the upper part of Cornhill was rendered wholly 
 impassable, owing to the heaps of rubbish, and directions were 
 given to the engineers to proceed to the Poultry, and demolish 
 the houses as far as the Conduit in Cheapside, by which means 
 it was hoped that the Royal Exchange would be saved. 
 
 Meanwhile, all the wealthy goldsmiths and merchants in Lom- 
 bard-street and Gracechurch-street had been actively employed 
 in removing all their money, plate, and goods to places of security. 
 A vast quantity was conveyed to Guildhall, as has been stated, 
 and the rest to different churches and halls remote from the 
 scene of conflagration. But in spite of all their caution, much 
 property was carried off by the depredators, and amongst others 
 by Chowles and Judith, who contrived to secure a mass of plate, 
 gold, and jewels, that satisfied even their rapacious souls. 
 
 While this was passing in the heart of the burning city, vast 
 crowds were streaming out of its gates, and encamping them- 
 selves, in pursuance of the royal injunction, in Finsbury-fields 
 and Spital-fields. Others crossed the water to Southwark, and 
 took refuge in Saint George's-fields — and it was a sad and 
 touching sight to see all these families collected without shelter 
 or food, most of whom a few hours before were in possession of 
 all the comforts of life, but were now reduced to the condition of 
 beggars. 
 
 To return to the conflagration. While one party continued 
 to labour incessantly at the work of demolition, and ineffectually 
 sought to quench the flames, by bringing a few engines to play 
 upon them, — a scanty supply of water having now been obtained, 
 — the fire, disdaining such puny opposition, and determined to 
 show its giant strength, leaped over all the breaches, drove the 
 water-carriers back, compelled them to relinquish their buckets, 
 and to abandon their engines, which it made its prey, and seizing 
 upon the heaps of timber and other fragments occasioned by the 
 demolition, consumed them, and marched onwards with furious 
 exultation. 
 
 It was now proceeding up Gracechurch-street, Saint Clement's- 
 lane, Nicholas-lane, and Abchurch-lane at the same time, de- 
 stroying all in its course. The whole of Lombard-street was 
 choked up with the ruins and rubbish of demolished houses, 
 through which thousands of persons were toiling to carry off 
 goods, either for the purpose of assistance or of plunder. The 
 king was at the west end of the street, near the church of Saint 
 
LEONARD SAVED THE KING. 397 
 
 Mary Woolnoth, and the fearful havoc and destruction going 
 forward drew tears from his eyes. A scene of greater confusion 
 cannot be imagined. Leonard was in the midst of it, and care- 
 less of his own safety, toiled amid the tumbling fragments of the 
 houses to rescue some article of value for its unfortunate owner. 
 While he was thus employed, he observed a man leap out of a 
 window of a partly-demolished house, disclosing in the action 
 that he had a casket concealed under his cloak. 
 
 A second glance showed him that this individual was Pilli- 
 chody, and satisfied that he had been plundering the house, he 
 instantly seized him. The bully struggled violently, but at last, 
 dropping the casket, made his escape, vowing to be revenged. 
 Leonard laughed at his threats, and the next moment had the 
 satisfaction of restoring the casket to its rightful owner, an old 
 merchant who issued from the house, and who, after thanking 
 him, told him it contained jewels of immense value. 
 
 Not half an hour after this, the flames poured upon Lombard- 
 street from the four avenues before-mentioned, and the whole 
 neighbourhood was on fire. With inconceivable rapidity, they 
 then ran up Birchin-lane, and reaching Cornhill, spread to the 
 
 right and left in that great thoroughfare. The conflagration had 
 
 © © © © 
 
 now reached the highest point of the city, and presented the 
 grandest and most terrific aspect it had yet assumed from the 
 river. Thus viewed, it appeared, as Pepys describes it, " as an 
 entire arch of fire from the Three Cranes to the other side of the 
 bridge, and in a bow up the hill, for an arch of above a mile long; 
 it made me iceep to see it." Vincent also likens its appearance at 
 this juncture to that of a bow. " A dreadful bow it was," writes 
 this eloquent nonconformist preacher, such as mine eyes have 
 never before seen ; a bow which had God's arrow in it with a 
 flaming point ; a shining bow, not like that in the cloud which 
 brings water with it, and withal signifieth God's covenant not to 
 destroy the world any more with water, but a bow having fire 
 in it, and signifying God's anger, and his intention to destroy 
 London with fire." 
 
 As the day drew to a close, and it became darker, the spec- 
 tacle increased in terror and sublimity. The tall black towers of 
 the churches assumed ghastly forms, and to some eyes appeared 
 like infernal spirits plunging in a lake of flame, while even to 
 the most reckless the conflagration seemed to present a picture 
 of the terrors of the Last Day. 
 
 Never before had such a night as that which ensued fallen 
 upon London. None of its inhabitants thought of retiring to 
 rest, or if they sought repose after the excessive fatigue they had 
 undergone, it was only in such manner as would best enable 
 them to rise and renew their exertions to check the flames, 
 which were continued throughout the night, but wholly without 
 success. The couilagration appeared to proceed at the same 
 
398 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 appalling rapidity. Halls, towers, churches, public and private 
 buildings, were burning to the number of more than ten thou- 
 sand, while clouds of smoke covered the vast expanse of more 
 than fifty miles. Travellers approaching London from the 
 north-east were enveloped in it ten miles off, and the fiery reflec- 
 tion in the sky could be discerned at an equal distance. The 
 u hideous storm," as Evelyn terms the fearful and astounding 
 noise produced by the roaring of the flames and the falling or* 
 the numerous fabrics, continued without intermission during 
 the whole of that fatal night. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOW THE GROCER'S HOUSE WAS BURNT. 
 
 It was full ten o'clock before Leonard could obtain permission 
 to quit the king's party, and he immediately hurried to Wood- 
 street. He had scarcely entered it, when the cry of "fire" smote 
 his ears, and rushing forward in an agony of apprehension, he 
 beheld Mr. Bloundel's dwelling in flames. A large crowd was 
 collected before the burning habitation, keeping guard over a 
 vast heap of goods and furniture that had been removed from it. 
 
 So much beloved was Mr. Bloundei, and in such high estima- 
 tion was his character held, that all his neighbours, on learning 
 that his house was on fire, flew to his assistance, and bestirred 
 themselves so actively, that in an extraordinary short space of 
 time they had emptied the house of every article of value, and 
 placed it out of danger in the street. In vain the grocer urged 
 them to desist: his entreaties were disregarded by his zealous 
 friends ; and when he told them they were profaning the Sabbath, 
 they replied that the responsibility of their conduct would rest 
 entirely on themselves, and they hoped they might never have 
 anything worse to answer for. In spite of his disapproval of 
 what was done, the grocer could not but be sensibly touched by 
 their devotion, and as to his wife, she said, with tears in her eyes, 
 that " it was almost worth while having a fire to prove what good 
 friends they had." 
 
 It was at this juncture that Leonard arrived. Way was 
 instantly made for him, and leaping over the piles of chests and 
 goods that blocked up the thoroughfare, he flew to Mr. Bloundei, 
 who was standing in front of his flaming habitation with as calm 
 and unmoved an expression of countenance as if nothing was 
 happening, and presently ascertained from him in what mannef 
 the fire had originated. 
 
 It appeared that while the whole of the family were assembled 
 at prayers, in the room ordinarily used for that purpose, they were 
 
THE GROCER'S HOUSE BURNT. 89.9 
 
 alarmed at supper by a strong smell of smoke, which seemed to 
 arise from the lower part of the house, and that as soon as their 
 devotions were ended, for Mr. Bloundel would not allow them to 
 stir before, Stephen and Blaize had proceeded to ascertain the 
 cause, and on going down to the kitchen, found a dense smoke 
 issuing from the adjoining cellar, the door of which stood ajar. 
 Hearing a noise in the yard, they darted up the back steps, com- 
 municating with the cellar, and discovered a man trying to make 
 his escape over the wall by a rope ladder. Stephen instantly 
 seized him, and the man drawing a sword, tried to free himself 
 from his captor. In the struggle, he dropped a pistol, which 
 Blaize snatching up, discharged with fatal effect against the 
 wretch, who, on examination, proved to be Pillichody. 
 
 Efforts were mado to check the fire, but in vain. The villain 
 had accomplished his diabolical purpose too well. Acquainted 
 with the premises, and with the habits of the family, he had got 
 into the yard by means of a rope ladder, and hiding himself till 
 the servants were summoned to prayers, stole into the cellar, and 
 placing a fire-ball amid a heap of fagots and coals, and near 
 several large casks of oil, and other inflammable matters, struck a 
 light, and set fire to it. 
 
 " I shall ever reproach myself that I was away when this 
 calamity occurred," observed Leonard, as the grocer brought his 
 relation to an end. 
 
 " Then you will do so without reason," replied Mr. Bloundel, 
 " for you could have rendered no assistance, and you see my 
 good neighbours have taken the matter entirely out of ray 
 hands." 
 
 " Whither do you intend removing, sir," rejoined Leonard. 
 "If I might suggest, I would advise you to go to Farmer Wing- 
 field's, at Kensal-green." 
 
 "You have anticipated my intention," replied the grocer: 
 " but we must now obtain some vehicles to transport these goods 
 thither." 
 
 " Be that my part," replied Leonard. And in a short space 
 of time he had procured half-a-dozen large carts, into which the 
 whole of the goods were speedily packed, and a coach having 
 been likewise fetched by Blaize, Mrs. Bloundel and the three 
 younger children, together with old Josyna and Patience, were 
 placed in it. 
 
 " I hope your mother has taken care of her money," whispered 
 the latter to the porter, as he assisted her into the vehicle. 
 
 " Never mind whether she has or not," rejoined Blaize, in the 
 same tone ; " we sha'n't want it. I am now as rich as my 
 master, — perhaps richer. On stripping that rascal Pillichod}', 
 I found a large bag of gold, besides several caskets of jewels, 
 upon him, all of which I consider lawful spoil, as he fell by my 
 hand." 
 
400 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " To be sure," rejoined Patience. " I dare say he did not 
 come very honestly by the treasures, but you can't help that, vou 
 know." 
 
 Blaize made no reply, but pushing her into the coach, shut the 
 door. 
 
 All being now in readiness, directions were given to the drivers 
 of the carts whither to proceed, and they were put in motion. 
 At this moment the grocer's firmness deserted him. Gazing at 
 the old habitation, which was now wrapped in a sheet of flame, 
 he cried, in a voice broken with emotion, " In that house I have 
 dwelt nearly thirty years — in that house all my children were 
 born — in that house I found a safe refuge from the devouring 
 pestilence. It is hard to quit it thus." 
 
 Controlling his emotion, however, the next moment, he turned 
 away. But his feelings were destined to another trial. His 
 neighbours flocked round him to bid him farewell, in tones of 
 such sympathy and regard, that his constancy again deserted 
 him. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," he cried, pressing in turn each 
 hand that was offered him. " Your kindness will never be 
 effaced from my memory. God bless you all, and may He 
 watch over you and protect you !" And with these words he 
 broke from them. 
 
 So great was the crowd and confusion in Cheapside, that 
 nearly two hours elapsed before they reached Newgate ; and 
 indeed, if it had not been for the interference of the Earl of 
 Rochester, they would not, in all probability, have got out of the 
 city at all. The earl was stationed near the Old 'Change, at the 
 entrance to Saint Paul's churchyard, and learning their distress, 
 ordered a party of the guard by whom he was attended to force 
 a passage for them. Both Mr. Bloundel and Leonard would 
 have declined this assistance if they had had the power of doing 
 so, but there was no help in the present case. 
 
 They encountered no further difficulties, but were necessarily 
 compelled to proceed at a slow pace, and did not reach Pad- 
 dington for nearly two hours, being frequently stopped by persons 
 eagerly asking as to the progress of the fire. One circumstance 
 struck the whole party as remarkable. Such was the tremendous 
 glare of the conflagration, that even at this distance the fire 
 seemed close beside them, and if they had not known the con- 
 trary, they would have thought it could not be further off than 
 Saint Giles's. The whole eastern sky in that direction seemed 
 on fire, and glowed through the clouds of yellow smoke with 
 which the air was filled with fearful splendour. After halting 
 for a short time at the Wheat Sheaf, which they found open,— 
 for, indeed, no house was closed that night, — to obtain some 
 refreshment, and allay the intolerable thirst by which they were 
 tormented, the party pursued their journey along the Harrow 
 road, and in due time approached Wingfield's residence. 
 
THE GROCER'S HOUSE BURNT. 401 
 
 The honest farmer, who, with his wife and two of his men, 
 was standing i.n a field at the top of the hill, gazing at the con- 
 flagration, hearing the noise occasioned by the carts, ran to the 
 road side to see what was coming, and encountered Mr. Bloundcl 
 and Leonard, who had walked up the ascent a little more quickly 
 than the others. 
 
 " I have been thinking of you," he said, after a cordial greeting 
 had passed between them, " and wondering what would become 
 of you in this dreadful fire. Nay, I had just told my dame I 
 should go and look after you, and see whether I could be of any 
 service to } 7 ou. Well, I should be better pleased to see you in 
 any way but this, though you could not be welcomer. I have 
 room in the barn and outhouses for all you have brought, and 
 hope and trust you have not lost much." 
 
 " I have lost nothing except the old house," replied the grocer, 
 heaving a sigh. 
 
 " Another will soon be built," rejoined Wingfield, " and till 
 that is done you shall not quit mine." 
 
 The coach having by this time arrived, Wingfield hastened 
 towards it, and assisted its occupants to alight. Mrs. Bloundel 
 was warmly welcomed by Dame Wingfield, and being taken 
 with her children to the house, was truly happy to find herself 
 under the shelter of its hospitable roof. The rest of the party, 
 assisted by Wingfield and his men, exerting themselves to the 
 utmost, the carts were speedily unloaded, and the goods deposited 
 in the barns and outhouses. This done, the drivers were liberally 
 rewarded for their trouble by Mr. Bloundel, and after draining 
 several large jugs of ale brought them by the farmer, made the 
 best of their way back, certain of obtaining further employment 
 during the night. 
 
 -r> • -r 
 
 Fatigued as he was, Leonard, before retiring to rest, could 
 not help lingering on the brow of the hill to gaze at the burning 
 city. The same effect was observable here as at Paddington, and 
 the conflagration appeared little more than a mile off. The 
 whole heavens seemed on fire, and a distant roar was heard like 
 the rush of a high wind through a mighty forest. Westminster 
 Abbey and Saint Paul's could be distinctly seen in black relief 
 against the sheet of flame, together with innumerable towers, 
 spires, and other buildings, the whole constituting a picture 
 unsurpassed for terrific grandeur since the world began, and only 
 to be equalled by its final destruction. 
 
 Having gazed at the conflagration for some time, and fancied 
 that he could even at this distance discern the fearful progress it 
 made, Leonard retired to the barn, and throwing himself upon a 
 heap of straw, instantly fell asleep. He was awakened the next 
 morning by Farmer Wingfield, who came to tell him breakfast 
 was ready, and having performed his ablutions, they adjourned to 
 the house. Finding Mr. Bloundel comfortably established in his 
 
 D D 
 
402 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 new quarters, Leonard proposed as soon as breakfast was over te 
 proceed to town, and Wingfield volunteered to accompany him. 
 Blaize, also, having placed his treasures, except a few pieces of 
 gold, in the custody of Patience, begged to make one of the 
 part}-, and his request being acceded to, the trio set out on foot, 
 and gleaning fresh particulars of the fearful progress of the fire, 
 as they advanced, passed along Oxford-road, and crossing 
 Holborn-bridge, on the western side of which they were now 
 demolishing the houses, mounted Snow-hill, and passed through 
 the portal of Newgate. 
 
 Here they learnt that the whole of Wood-street was consumed, 
 that the fire had spread eastward as far as Gutter-lane, and that 
 Saint Michael's church, adjoining Wood-street, Goldsmiths' Hall, 
 and the church of Saint John Zachary were in flames. They were 
 also told that the greater part of Cheapside was on fire, and wholly 
 impassable — while the destructive element was invading at one 
 and the same time Guildhall and the Royal Exchange. They 
 furthermore learnt that the conflagration had spread fearfully 
 along the side of the river, had passed Queenhithe, consuming all 
 the wharves and warehouses in its way, and having just destroyed 
 Paul's- wharf, was at that time assailing Baynard's-castle. This 
 intelligence determined them not to attempt to proceed further 
 into the city, which they saw was wholly impracticable ; and they 
 accordingly turned down Ivy-lane, and approached the cathedral 
 with the intention, if possible, of ascending the central tower. 
 They found a swarm of booksellers' porters and assistants at the 
 northern entrance, engaged in transporting immense bales of 
 books and paper to the vaults in Saint Faith's, where it was sup- 
 posed the stock would be in safety, permission to that effect 
 having been obtained from the dean and chapter. 
 
 Forcing their way through this crowd, Leonard and his 
 companions crossed the transept, and proceeded towards the 
 door of the spiral staircase leading to the central tower. It was 
 open, and they passed through it. On reaching the summit of 
 the tower, which the} 7 found occupied by some dozen or twenty 
 persons, a spectacle that far exceeded the utmost stretch of their 
 imaginations burst upon them. Through clouds of tawny 
 smoke scarcely distinguishable from flame, so thickly were they 
 charged with sparks and fire-flakes, they beheld a line of fire 
 spreading along Cheapside and Cornhill, as far as the Royal 
 Exchange, which was now in flames, and branching upwards in 
 another line through Lawrence-lane to Guildhall, which was 
 likewise burning. Nearer to them, on the north, the fire kindled 
 by the wretched Pillichody, who only, perhaps, anticipated the 
 work of destruction by a few hours, had, as they had heard, pro- 
 ceeded to Goldsmiths' Hall, and was rapidly advancing down 
 Saint Anne's-lane to Aldersgate. But it was on the right, and 
 to the south-east, that the conflagration assumed its most terrific 
 
THE GROCER'S HOUSE BURNT. 405 
 
 aspect. There, from Bow Church to the river side, be}'ond the 
 bridge as far as Billingsgate, and from thence up Mincing-lane, 
 crossing Fenchurch-street and Lime-street to Gracechurch and 
 Cornhill, describing a space of more than two miles in length 
 and one in depth, every habitation was on fire. The appearance 
 of this bed of flame was like an ocean of fire agitated by a 
 tempest, in which a number of barks were struggling, some of 
 them being each moment ingulphed. The stunning and 
 unearthly roar of the flames aided this appearance, which was 
 further heightened by the enormous billows of flame that ever 
 and anon rolled tumultuously onward as they were caught by 
 some gust of wind of more than usual violence. The spires of 
 the churches looked like the spars of "tall ammirals," that had 
 foundered, while the blackening ruins of the halls and larger 
 buildings well represented the ribs and beams of mighty hulks. 
 
 Leaving Leonard and his companions to the contemplation of 
 this tremendous spectacle, we shall proceed to take a nearer view 
 of its ravages. 
 
 Every effort had been used to preserve the Royal Exchange by 
 the city authorities, and by the engineers headed b}' the king in 
 person. All the buildings in its vicinity were demolished. But 
 in vain. The irresistible and unrelenting foe drove the defenders 
 back as before, seized upon their barricades, and used them, like 
 a skilful besieger, against the fortress they sought to protect. 
 Solomon Eagle, who was mounted upon a heap of ruins, witnessed 
 this scene of destruction, and uttered a laugh of exultation as 
 the flames seized upon their prey. 
 
 " I told you," he cried, " that the extortioners and usurers who 
 resorted to that building, and made gold their god, would be 
 driven forth, and their temple destroyed. And my words have 
 come to pass. It burns — it burns — and so shall they, if they 
 turn not from their ways." 
 
 Hearing this wild speech, and beholding the extraordinary 
 figure of the enthusiast, whose scorched locks and smoke- 
 begrimed limbs gave him almost the appearance of an infernal 
 spirit, the king inquired with some trepidation from his attendants 
 who, or what he was, and being informed, ordered them to seize 
 him. But the enthusiast set their attempts at nought. Spring- 
 ing with wonderful agility from fragment to fragment of the 
 ruins, and continuing his vociferations, he at last plunged 
 through the flame into the Exchange itself, rendering further 
 pursuit, of course, impossible, unless those who desired to capture 
 him, were determined to share his fate, which now seemed 
 inevitable. To the astonishment of all, however, he appeared a 
 few minutes afterwards on the roof of the blazing pile, and 
 continued his denunciations till driven away by the flames. He 
 seemed, indeed, to bear a charmed life, for it was rumoured — 
 though the report was scarcely credited — that he had escapaJ 
 
 DD2 
 
404 old saint Paul's. 
 
 from the burning building, and made good his retreat to Saint 
 Paul's. Soon after this, the Exchange was one mass of flame. 
 Having gained an entrance to the galleries, the fire ran round 
 them with inconceivable swiftness, as was the case in the con- 
 flagration of this later structure, and filling every chamber, 
 gushed out of the windows, and poured down upon the courts 
 and walks below. Fearful and prodigious was the ruin that 
 ensued. The stone walls cracked with the intense heat — tottered 
 and fell — the pillars shivered and broke asunder, the statues 
 dropped from their niches, and were destroyed, one only sur- 
 viving the wreck — that of the illustrious founder, Sir Thomas 
 Gresham. 
 
 Deploring the fate of the Royal Exchange, the king and his 
 attendants proceeded to Guildhall. But here they were too late, 
 nor could they even rescue a tithe of the plate and valuables lodged 
 within it for security. The effects of the fire as displayed in this 
 structure, were singularly grand and surprising. The greater part 
 of the ancient fabric being composed of oak of the hardest kind, 
 it emitted little flame, but became after a time red hot, and 
 remained in this glowing state till night, when it resembled, as 
 an eye-witness describes, " a mighty palace of gold, or a great 
 building of burnished brass." 
 
 The greatest fury of the conflagration was displayed at the 
 Poultry, where five distinct fires met, and united their forces, — 
 one which came roaring down Cornhill from the Royal Exchange 
 — a second down Threadneedle-street — a third up Walbrook — a 
 fourth along Bucklersbury, and the fifth that marched against 
 the wind up Cheapside, all these uniting, as at a focus, a whirl of 
 flame, an intensity of heat, and a thundering roar were pro- 
 duced, such as were nowhere else experienced. 
 
 To return to the party on the central tower of the cathedral. 
 Stunned and half stifled by the roar and smoke, Leonard and 
 his companions descended from their lofty post, and returned to 
 the body of the fane. They were about to issue forth, when 
 Leonard, glancing down the northern aisle, perceived the Earl 
 of Rochester and Lord Argentine standing together at the lower 
 end of it. Their gestures showed that it was not an amicable 
 meeting, and mindful of what had passed at Whitehall, Leonard 
 resolved to abide the result. Presently, he saw Lord Argentine 
 turn sharply round, and strike his companion in the face with his 
 glove. The clash of swords instantly succeeded, and Leonard 
 and Wingfield started forward to separate the combatants. 
 Blaize, followed, but more cautiously, contenting himself with 
 screaming at the top of his voice, " Murder ! murder ! sacrilege I 
 a duel ! a duel I" 
 
 Wingfield was the first to arrive at the scene of strife, but just 
 as he reached the combatants 3 who were too much blinded by 
 passion to notice his approach, Lord Argentine struck his adver- 
 
THE GROCER'S HOUSE BURNT. 405 
 
 sary's weapon from his grasp, and would have followed up the 
 advantage if the farmer had not withheld his arm. Enraged at 
 the interference, Argentine turned his fury against the new 
 comer, and strove to use his sword against him, — but in the 
 terrible struggle that ensued, and at the close of which they fell 
 together, the weapon, as if directed by the hand of an avenging 
 fate, passed through his own breast, inflicting a mortal wound. 
 
 " Susan Wing-field is avenged 1" said the farmer, as he arose, 
 drenched in the blood of his opponent. 
 
 u Susan Wingfield I" exclaimed the wounded man, — " what 
 •was she to you ?" 
 
 " Much," replied the farmer. " She was my daughter." 
 
 " Ah!" exclaimed Argentine, with an expression of unutterable 
 anguish. " Let me have your forgiveness," he groaned. 
 
 " You have it," replied Wingfield, kneeling beside him, "and 
 may God pardon us both — you for the wrong you did my 
 daughter, me for being accidentally the cause of your death. 
 But I trust you are not mortally hurt?" 
 
 " I have not many minutes to live," replied Argentine. " But 
 is not that Leonard Holt?" 
 
 "It is," said Rochester, stepping forward. 
 
 " I can then do one rightful act before I die," he said, raising 
 himself on one hand, and holding the other forcibly to his side, 
 so as to stanch in some degree the effusion of blood. " Leo- 
 nard Holt," he continued, " my sister Isabella loves you — deeply, 
 devotedly. I have tried to conquer the passion, but in vain. 
 You have my consent to wed her." 
 
 "lam a witness to your words, my lord," said Rochester, 
 ** and I call upon all present to be so likewise." 
 
 " Rochester, you were once my friend," groaned Argentine, 
 *' and may yet be a friend to the dead. Remember the king 
 sells titles. Teach this young man how to purchase one. My 
 sister must not wed one of his degree." 
 
 " Make yourself easy on that score," replied Rochester ; " he 
 has already sufficient claim upon the king. He saved his life 
 yesterday." 
 
 " He will trust to a broken reed if he trusts to Charles's gra- 
 titude," replied Argentine. "Buy the title — buy it, I say. My 
 sister left me yesterda}\ I visited my anger on her head, and 
 she fled. I believe she took refuge with Doctor Hodges, but I 
 am sure he can tell you where she is. One thing more," con- 
 tinued the dying man, fixing his glazing eyes on Leonard. " Go 
 to Newgate — to — to a prisoner there — an incendiary — and 
 obtain a document of him. Tell him, with my dying breath I 
 charged you to do this. It will enable you to act as I have 
 directed. Promise me you will go. Promise me you will fulfil 
 any injunctions." 
 
 " 1 do," replied Leonard. 
 
406 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 "Enough," rejoined Argentine. " May you be happy with 
 Isabella." And removing his hand from his side, a copious effu* 
 sion of blood followed, and sinking backwards, he expired. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE BTJKNING OF SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 Several other persons having by this time come up, the body 
 of Lord Argentine was conveyed to Bishop Kempe's chapel, and 
 left there till a fitting season should arrive for its removal. Con- 
 founded by the tragical event that had taken place, Leonard re- 
 mained with his eyes fixed upon the blood-stained pavement, 
 until he was roused by an arm which gently drew him away, 
 while the voice of the Earl of Rochester breathed in his ear, 
 " This is a sad occurrence, Leonard, and yet it is most fortunate 
 for you, for it removes the only obstacle to your union with the 
 Lady Isabella. You see how fleeting life is, and how easily we 
 may be deprived of it. I tried to reason Lord Argentine into 
 calmness, but nothing would satisfy him except my blood, and 
 there he lies, though not by my hand. Let his fate be a lesson 
 to us, and teach us to live in charity with each other. I have 
 wronged you — deeply wronged you — but I will make all the 
 atonement in my power, and let me think I am forgiven." 
 
 The blood rushed tumultuously to Leonard's heart, as he lis- 
 tened to what the earl said, but overcoming his feelings of aver- 
 sion by a powerful effort, he took the proffered hand. 
 
 " I do forgive you, my lord," he said. 
 
 " Those words have removed a heavy weight from my soul," 
 replied Rochester, " and if Death should trip up my heels as 
 suddenly as he did his who perished on this spot, I shall be better 
 prepared to meet him. And now let me advise you to repair 
 to Newgate without delay, and see the wretched man, and 
 obtain the document from him. The fire will reach the gaol 
 ere long, and the prisoners must of necessity be removed. Amid 
 the confusion his escape might be easily accomplished." 
 
 " Recollect, my lord, that the direful conflagration now pre- 
 vailing without is owing to him," replied Leonard. " I will 
 never be accessory to his escape." 
 
 " And yet his death by the public executioner" — urged 
 Rochester. " Think of its effect on his daughter." 
 
 " Justice must take its course," rejoined Leonard. " I would 
 not aid him to escape if he were my own father." 
 
 " In that case, nothing more is to be said," replied Rochester. 
 * But at all events see him as quickly as you can. I would ac- 
 company you, but my duty detains me here. When you return 
 
THE BURNING OF SAINT PAUL'S. 407 
 
 from your errand you will find me at my post near the entrance 
 of the churchyard in front of St. Michael's le Quern — that is. it 
 I am not beaten from it. Having seen the father, your next 
 business must be to seek out the daughter, and remove her front 
 this dangerous neighbourhood. You have heard where she is to 
 be found." 
 
 Upon this, they separated, — Leonard and his companions 
 quitting the cathedral by the great western entrance, and pro- 
 ceeding towards Paul's-alley, and the earl betaking himself ta 
 the north-east corner of the churchyard. The former got as far 
 as Ivy-lane, but found it wholly impassable, in consequence of 
 the goods and furniture with which it was blocked up. They 
 were, therefore, obliged to return to the precincts of the cathedral, 
 where Blaizc, who was greatly terrified by what he had seen, 
 expressed his determination of quitting them, and hurried back 
 to the sacred pile. Leonard and the farmer next essayed to get 
 up Ave Maria-lane, but finding that also impassable, they made 
 for Ludgate, and after a long delay and severe struggle, got 
 through the portal. The Old Bailey was entirely filled with 
 persons removing their goods, and they were here informed, to 
 their great dismay, that the conflagration had already reached 
 Newgate Market, which was burning with the greatest fury, and 
 was at that moment seizing upon the gaol. No one, however, 
 in answer to Leonard's inquiries, could tell him what had become 
 of the prisoners. 
 
 " I suppose they have left them to burn," observed a bystander, 
 who heard the question, with a malicious look ; " and it is the 
 best way of getting rid of them." 
 
 Paying no attention to the remark, nor to the brutal laugh ac- 
 companying it, Leonard, assisted by Wingfield, fought his wa 
 through the crowd till he reached the prison. The flames were 
 bursting through its grated windows, and both wings, as well as 
 the massive gate connecting them, were on fire. Regardless of 
 the risk he ran, Leonard forced his way to the lodge door, 
 where two turnkeys were standing, removing their goods. 
 
 " What has become of the prisoners ?" he asked. 
 
 " The debtors are set free," replied the turnkey addressed, 
 "and all but one or two of the common felons are removed." 
 
 " And where are those poor creatures ?" cried Leonard, 
 horror-stricken. 
 
 " In the Stone Hold," replied the turnkey. 
 
 " And have you left them to perish there ?" demanded Leo- 
 nard. 
 
 " We couldn't help it," rejoined the turnkey. " It would have 
 been risking our lives to venture near them. One is a murderer, 
 taken in the fact; and the other is quite as bad, for he set the 
 city on fire ; so it's right and fair he should perish by his own 
 contrivance." 
 
£08 old saint paul's. 
 
 u Where does the Stone Hold lie ?" cried Leonard, in a tone 
 that startled the turnkey. " I must get these prisoners out." 
 
 " You can't, I tell you," rejoined the turnkey, doggedly. 
 " They're burnt to a cinder by this time." 
 
 " Give me your keys, and show me the way to the cell," 
 cried Leonard, authoritatively. " I will at least attempt to save 
 them." 
 
 " Well, if you're determined to put an end to yourself, you 
 may try," replied the turnkey ; " but I've warned you as to what 
 you may expect. This way," he added, opening a door, from 
 which a thick volume of smoke issued ; " if any of 'em's alive, 
 you'll soon know by the cries." 
 
 And, as if in answer to his remark, a most terrific shriek at 
 that moment burst on their ears. 
 
 " Here are the keys," cried the turnkey, delivering them to 
 Leonard. "You are not soing too?" he added, as Win 2; field 
 pushed past him. " A couple of madmen ! I shouldn't wonder 
 if they were incendiaries." 
 
 Directed by the cries, Leonard pressed forward through the 
 blinding and stifling smoke. After proceeding about twenty 
 yards, he arrived at a cross passage where the smoke was not 
 quite so dense, as it found an escape through a small grated 
 aperture in the wall. And here a horrible sight was presented 
 to him. At the further extremity of this passage was a small 
 cell, from which the cries he had heard issued. Not far from it 
 the stone roof had fallen in, and from the chasm thus caused the 
 flames were pouring into the passage. Regardless of the risk he 
 ran, Leonard dashed forward, and reaching the cell, beheld 
 Grant, still living, but in such a dreadful state, that it was 
 evident his sufferings must soon be ended. His hair and beard 
 were singed close to his head and face, and his flesh was blistered, 
 blackened, and scorched to the bone. On seeing Leonard, he 
 uttered a hoarse cry, and attempted to speak, but the words 
 rattled in his throat. He then staggered forward, and to 
 Leonards inexpressible horror, thrust his arms through the bars 
 of the cage, which were literally red-hot. Seeing he had some- 
 thing in one hand, though he could not unclose his fingers, 
 Leonard took it from him, and the wretched man fell backwards. 
 At this moment a loud crack was heard in the wall behind. 
 Several ponderous stones dropped from their places, admitting a 
 volume of flame that filled the whole cell, and disclosing another 
 body on the floor, near which lay that of Grant. Horrified by 
 the spectacle, Leonard staggered off, and catching Wingfield's 
 arm, sought to retrace his steps. This was no easy matter, the 
 smoke being so dense that they could not see a foot before them, 
 and were obliged to feel their way along the wall. On arriving 
 at the cross passage Wingfield would fain have turned off to the 
 right, but Leonard drew him forcibly in the opposite direction ,• 
 
THE BURNING OF SAINT PAUL'S. 409 
 
 and most fortunate was it that he did so, or the worthy farmer 
 would inevitably have perished. At last they reached the lodge, 
 and sank down on a bench from exhaustion. 
 
 " So, my masters," observed the turnkey, with a grim smile, 
 "you were not able to rescue them, I perceive?" But receiving 
 no answer, he added, " Well, and what did you see ?" 
 
 " A sight that would have moved even your stony heart to 
 compassion," returned Leonard, getting up and quitting the 
 lodge. Followed by Wingfield, and scarcely knowing where he 
 was going, he forced his way through the crowd, and dashing 
 down Snow-hill, did not stop till he reached Holborn-conduit, 
 where, seizing a leathern bucket, he filled it with water, and 
 plunged his head into it. Refreshed by the immersion, he now 
 glanced at the document committed to him by Grant. It was a 
 piece of parchment, and showed by its shrivelled and scorched 
 appearance the agony which its late possessor must have endured. 
 Leonard did not open it, but thrust it with a shudder into his 
 doublet. 
 
 Meditating on the strange and terrible events that had just 
 occurred, Leonard's thoughts involuntarily wandered to the Lady 
 Isabella, whose image appeared to him like a bright star shining 
 on troubled waters, and for the first time venturing to indulge in 
 a hope that she might indeed be his, he determined immediately 
 to proceed in search of her. 
 
 It was now high noon, but the mid-day sun was scarcely visible, 
 or visible at all; as it struggled through the masses of yellow 
 vapour it looked red as blood. Bands of workmen were demolish- 
 ing houses on the western side of Fleet-ditch, and casting the 
 rubbish into the muddy sluice before them, by which means it 
 was confidently but vainly hoped that the progress of the fire 
 would be checked. Shaping their course along the opposite side 
 of the ditch, and crossing to Fleet-bridge, Leonard and his com- 
 panion passed through Salisbury-court to Whitefriars, and taking 
 a boat, directed the waterman to land them at Puddle-dock. The 
 river was still covered with craft of every description laden with 
 goods, and Baynard's-castle, an embattled stone structure of great 
 strength and solidity, built at the beginning of the fifteenth 
 century on the site of another castle as old as the Conquest, being 
 now wrapped in flames from foundation to turret, offered a 
 magnificent spectacle. From this point the four ascents leading 
 to the cathedral, namely, Addle-hill, Saint Bennet's-hill, Saint 
 Peter's-hill, and Lambert-hill, with all their throng of habitations, 
 were burning — the black lines of ruined walls standing in bold 
 relief against the white sheet of flame. Billows of fire rolled 
 upwards every moment towards Saint Paul's and threatened it 
 with destruction. 
 
 Landing at the appointed place, Leonard and his companion 
 ascended Saint Andrew's-hill, and, proceeding along Carter-lane, 
 
410 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 soon gained the precincts of the cathedral. Here the whole 
 mass of habitations on the summit of Saint Bennet's-hill, extend- 
 ing from the eastern end of Carter-lane to Distaff-lane, was on 
 fire, and the flames were dashed by the fierce wind against the 
 south-east corner of the cathedral. A large crowd was collected 
 at this point, and great efforts were made to save the venerable 
 pile, but Leonard saw that its destruction was inevitable. Forcing 
 a way through the throng with his companion, they reached 
 Doctor Hodges's residence at the corner of Watling-street, and 
 Leonard, without waiting to knock, tried the door, which yielded 
 to his touch. The habitation was empty, and from the various 
 articles scattered about, it was evident its inmates must have fled 
 "with the greatest precipitation. Alarmed at this discovery, 
 Leonard rushed forth with Wingfield, and sought to ascertain 
 from the crowd without whither Doctor Hodges was gone, but 
 could learn nothing more than that he had departed with his 
 whole household a few hours before. At last it occurred to him 
 that he might obtain some information from the Earl of Rochester, 
 and he was about to cross to the other side of the churchyard, 
 when he was arrested by a simultaneous cry of horror from the 
 assemblage. Looking upwards, for there he saw the general 
 gaze directed, he perceived that the scaffolding around the roof 
 and tower of the cathedral had kindled, and was enveloping the 
 whole upper part of the fabric in a net-work of fire. Flames 
 were likewise bursting from the belfry, and from the lofty 
 pointed windows below it, flickering and playing round the 
 hoary buttresses, and disturbing the numerous jackdaws that 
 built in their timew T orn crevices, and now flew screaming forth. 
 As Leonard gazed at the summit of the tower, he discerned 
 through the circling eddies of smoke that enveloped it the figure 
 of Solomon Eagle standing on the top of the battlements and 
 waving his staff!, and almost fancied he could hear his voice. 
 After remaining in this perilous situation for some minutes, as if 
 to raise anxiety for his safety to the highest pitch, the enthusiast 
 sprang upon a portion of the scaffolding that was only partly con- 
 sumed, and descended from pole to pole, regardless whether 
 burning or not, with marvellous swiftness, and apparently without 
 injury. Alighting on the roof, he speeded to the eastern ex- 
 tremity of the fane, and there commenced his exhortations to the 
 crowd below. 
 
 It now became evident also, from the strange roaring noise 
 proceeding from the tower, that the flames were descending the 
 spiral staircase, and forcing their way through some secret doors 
 or passages to the roof. Determined to take one last survey o:' 
 the interior of the cathedral before its destruction, which he now 
 saw was inevitable, Leonard motioned to Wingfield, and forcing 
 his way through the crowd, which was now considerably thinned, 
 entered the southern door. He had scarcely gained the middle 
 
THE BURNING OF SAINT PAUL'S. 411 
 
 of the transept when the door opened behind him, and two 
 persons, whom, even in the brief glimpse he caught of them, he 
 knew to be Chowles and Judith, darted towards the steps leading 
 to Saint Faith's. They appeared to be carrying a large chest, 
 but Leonard was too much interested in what was occurring to 
 pay much attention to them. There were but few persons 
 besides himself and his companion within the cathedral, and 
 these few were chiefly booksellers' porters, who were hurrying 
 out of Saint Faith's in the utmost trepidation. By and by, these 
 were gone, and they were alone, — alone within that vast structure, 
 and at such a moment. Their situation, though perilous, was 
 one that awakened thrilling and sublime emotions. The cries of 
 the multitude, coupled with the roaring of the conflagration, 
 resounded from without, while the fierce glare of the flames 
 lighted up the painted windows at the head of the choir with 
 unwonted splendour. Overhead was heard a hollow rumbling 
 noise like that of distant thunder, which continued for a short 
 time, while fluid streams of smoke crept through the mighty 
 rafters of the roof, and gradually filled the whole interior of the 
 fabric with vapour. Suddenly a tremendous cracking was heard, 
 as if the whole pile were tumbling in pieces. So appalling was 
 this sound, that Leonard and his companions would have fled, but 
 they were completely transfixed by terror. 
 
 While they were in this state, the flames, which had long been 
 burning in secret, burst through the roof at the other end" of the 
 choir, and instantaneously spread over its whole expanse. At 
 this juncture, a cry of wild exultation was heard in the great 
 northern gallery, and looking up, Leonard beheld Solomon 
 Eagle, hurrying with lightning swiftness around it ; and shouting 
 in tones of exultation, " My words have come to pass — it burns 
 ^it burns — and will be utterly consumed 1" 
 
 The vociferations of the enthusiast were answered by a piercing 
 cry from below, proceeding from Blaizc, who at that moment 
 rushed from the entrance of Saint Faith's. On seeing the porter, 
 Leonard shouted to him, and the poor fellow hurried towards 
 him. At this juncture, a strange hissing sound was heard, as if 
 a heavy shower of rain was descending upon the roof, and 
 through the yawning gap over the choir there poured a stream of 
 molten lead of silvery brightness. Nothing can be conceived 
 more beautiful than this shining yet terrible cascade, which 
 descended with momentarily increasing fury, sparkling, flashing, 
 hissing, and consuming all before it. All the elaborately carved 
 woodwork and stalls upon which it fell were presently in flames. 
 Leonard and his companions now turned to fly, but they had 
 scarcely moved a few paces when another fiery cascade burst 
 through the roof near the great western entrance, for which they 
 were making, flooding the aisles and plashing against the mas- 
 sive columns. At the same moment, too, a third stream began 
 
412 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 to fall over the northern transept, not far from where Blaize 
 stood, and a few drops of the burning metal reaching him, caused 
 him to utter the most fearful outcries. Seriously alarmed, 
 Leonard and Wingfield now rushed to one of the monuments in 
 the northern aisle, and hastily clambering it, reached a window, 
 which they burst open. Blaize followed them, but not without 
 receiving a few accidental plashes from the fiery torrents, which 
 elicited from him the most astounding yells. Having helped 
 him to climb the monument, Leonard pushed him through the 
 window after Wingfield, and then cast his eye round the build- 
 ing before he himself descended. The sight was magnificent in 
 the extreme. From the flaming roof three silvery cascades 
 descended. The choir was in flame, and a glowing stream like 
 lava was spreading over the floor, and slowly trickling down the 
 steps leading to the body of the church. The transepts and the 
 greater part of the nave were similarly flooded. Above the roar 
 of the flames and the hissing plash of the descending torrents, 
 was heard the wild laughter of Solomon Eagle. Perceiving 
 him in one of the arcades of the southern gallery, Leonard 
 shouted to him to descend, and make good his escape while 
 there was yet time, adding that in a few moments it would be too 
 late. 
 
 " I shall never quit it more," rejoined the enthusiast, in a 
 voice of thunder, " but shall perish with the fire I have kindled. 
 No monarch on earth ever lighted a nobler funeral pyre." 
 
 And as Leonard passed through the window, he disappeared 
 jilong the gallery. Breaking through the crowd collected round 
 Wingfield and Blaize, and calling to them to follow him, Leonard 
 made his way to the north-east of the churchyard, where he 
 found a large assemblage of persons, in the midst of which were 
 the king, the Duke of York, Rochester, Arlington, and many 
 others. As Leonard advanced, Charles discerned him amid the 
 crowd, and motioned him to come forward. A passage was 
 then cleared for him, through which Wingfield and Blaize, who 
 kept close beside him, were permitted to pass. 
 
 " I am glad to find no harm has happened to you, friend,*' 
 said Charles, as he approached. " Rochester informed me you 
 were gone to Newgate, and as the gaol had been burnt down, I 
 feared you might have met with the same mishap. I now 
 regret that I did not adopt your plan, but it may not be yet too 
 late." 
 
 " It is not too late to save a portion of your city, sire," replied 
 Leonard ; " but, alas ! how much is gone !" 
 
 " It is so," replied the king, mournfully. 
 
 Further conversation was here interrupted by the sudden 
 breaking out of the fire from the magnificent rose window of the 
 cathedral, the effect of which, being extraordinary fine, attracted 
 the monarch's attention. By this time Solomon Eagle had 
 
LEONARD RESCUES THE LADY ISABELLA. 413 
 
 igain ascended the roof, and making his way to the eastern 
 extremity, clasped the great stone cross that terminated it with 
 his left hand, while with his right he menaced the king and his 
 party, uttering denunciations that were lost in the terrible roar 
 prevailing around him. The flames now raged with a fierceness 
 wholly inconceivable, considering the material they had to work 
 upon. The molten lead poured down in torrents, and not 
 merely flooded the whole interior of the fabric, but ran down in 
 a wide and boiling stream almost as far as the Thames, con- 
 suming everything in its way, and rendering the very pavements 
 red-hot. Every stone, spout, and gutter in the sacred pile, of 
 which there were some hundreds, added to this fatal shower, and 
 scattered destruction far and wide ; nor will this be wondered at 
 when it is considered that the quantity of lead thus melted 
 covered a space of no less than six acres. Having burned with 
 incredible fur} r and fierceness for some time, the whole roof of* 
 the sacred structure fell in at once, with a crash heard at an 
 amazing distance. After an instant's pause, the flames burst 
 forth from every window in the fabric, producing such an inten- 
 sity of heat, that the stone pinnacles, transom beams, and mul- 
 lions split and cracked with a sound like volleys of artillery, 
 shivering and flying in every direction. The whole interior of 
 the pile was now one vast sheet of flame, which soared upwards, 
 and consumed even the very stones. Not a vestige of the reve- 
 rend structure was left untouched, — its bells — its plate — its 
 woodwork — its monuments — its mighty pillars — its galleries — its 
 chapels — all, all were destroyed. The fire raged throughout all 
 that night and the next day, till it had consumed all but the 
 mere shell, and rendered the venerable cathedral " one of the 
 most ancient pieces of piety in the Christian world," to use the 
 words of Evelyn, a heap of ruin and ashes. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HOW LEONARD RESCUED THE LADY ISABELLA. 
 
 The course of events having been somewhat anticipated in the 
 last chapter, it will now be necessary to return to an earlier stage 
 in the destruction of the cathedral, namely, soon after the furious 
 bursting forth of the flames from the great eastern windows. 
 While Leonard, in common with the rest of the assemblage, was 
 gazing at this magnificent spectacle, he heard a loud cry of dis- 
 tress behind him, and turning at the sound, beheld Doctor 
 Hodges rush forth from an adjoining house, the upper part of 
 which was on fire, almost in a state of distraction. An elderly 
 man and woman, and two or three female servants, all of whom 
 
414 OLD SAIN1 PAUL'S. 
 
 were crying as loud as himself, followed hitn. But their screams 
 fell on indifferent ears, for the crowd had become by this time 
 too much accustomed to such appeals to pay any particular atten- 
 tion to them. Leonard, however, instantly rushed towards the 
 doctor, and anxiously inquired what was the matter ; the latter 
 was so bewildered that he did not recognise the voice of the 
 speaker, but gazing up at the house with an indescribable 
 anguish, cried, "Merciful God! the flames have by this time 
 reached her room — she will be burned — horror !" 
 
 " Who will be burned ?" cried Leonard, seizing his arm, and 
 gazing at him with a look of apprehension and anguish equal to 
 his own—" Not the Lady Isabella ?" 
 
 " Yes, Isabella," replied Hodges, regarding the speaker, and 
 for the first time perceiving by whom he was addressed. " Not 
 a moment is to be lost if you would save her from a terrible 
 death. She was left in a fainting state in one of the upper 
 rooms by a female attendant, who deserted her mistress to save 
 herself. The staircase is on fire, or I myself would have saved 
 her." 
 
 " A ladder ! a ladder I" cried Leoaard. 
 
 " Here is one," cried Wingfield, pointing to one propped 
 against an adjoining house. 
 
 And in another moment, by the combined efforts of the crowd, 
 the ladder was brought and placed against the burning building. 
 
 " Which is the window ?" cried Leonard. 
 
 " That on the right, on the second floor," replied Hodges. 
 " Gracious Heaven I the flames are bursting from it." 
 
 But Leonard's foot was now on the ladder, and rushing up 
 with inconceivable swiftness, he plunged through the window 
 regardless of the flame. All those who witnessed this daring 
 deed, regarded his destruction as certain, and even Hodges gave 
 him up for lost. But the next moment he appeared at the 
 window, bearing the fainting female form in his arms, and with 
 extraordinary dexterity obtaining a firm footing and hold of the 
 ladder, descended in safety. The shout that burst from such 
 part of the assemblage as had witnessed this achievement, and 
 its successful termination, attracted the king's attention, and he 
 inquired the cause of the clamour. 
 
 " I will ascertain it for your majesty," replied Rochester, and 
 proceeding to the group, he learnt, to his great satisfaction, what 
 had occurred. 
 
 Having gained this intelligence, he flew back to the king, and 
 briefly explained the situation of the parties. Doctor Hodges, it 
 appeared, had just removed to the house in question, which 
 belonged to one of his patients, as a temporary asylum, and the 
 Lady Isabella had accompanied him. She was in the upper part 
 of the house when the fire broke out, and was so much terrified 
 /hat she swooned away, in which condition her attendant left 
 
(3 Ik fiWiiimt of l&ttnt iyiartl"*. 
 
LEONARD RESCUES THE LADY ISABELLA. 415 
 
 her; nor was the latter so much to blame as might appear, for 
 the stairs were burning at the time, and a moment's delay would 
 have endangered her own safety. 
 
 " Fate, indeed, seems to have brought these young persons 
 together," replied Charles, as he listened to Rochester's recital, 
 who took this opportunity of acquainting him with Lord Argen- 
 tine's dying injunctions, "and it would be a pit}' to separate 
 them." 
 
 " I am sure your majesty has no such intention," said Rochester. 
 
 " You will see," rejoined the monarch. 
 
 And as he spoke, he turned his horse's head, and moved 
 towards the spot where Leonard was kneeling beside Isabella, 
 and supporting her. Some restoratives having been applied by 
 Doctor Hodges, she had regained her sensibility, and was mur- 
 muring her thanks to her deliverer. 
 
 " She has not lost her beauty, I perceive," cried Charles, 
 gazing at her with admiration, and feeling something of his 
 former passion revive within his breast. 
 
 "Your majesty, I trust, will not mar their happines?," said 
 Rochester, noticing the monarch's libertine look with uneasiness. 
 " Remember, you owe your life to that young man." 
 
 "And I will pay the debt royally," replied Charles; "I will 
 give him permission to marry her." 
 
 "Your majesty's permission is scarcely needed," muttered 
 Rochester. 
 
 " There you are wrong, my lord," replied the king. " She is 
 now my ward, and I can dispose of her in marriage as I please ; 
 »or will I so dispose of her except to her equal in rank." 
 
 "I discern your majesty's gracious intentions," replied Ro- 
 chester, gratefully inclining his head. 
 
 " I almost forget my deliverer's name," whispered Charles, 
 with a smile, " but it is of no consequence, since he will so 
 speedily change it." 
 
 " His name is Leonard Holt," replied Rochester, in the same 
 tone. 
 
 "Ah! — true," returned the king. "What ho! good master 
 Leonard Holt," he added, addressing the young man, " commit 
 the Lady Isabella Argentine to the care of our worthy friend 
 Doctor Hodges for a moment, and stand up before me." His 
 injunctions being complied with, he continued, "The Lady 
 Isabella Argentine and I owe our lives to you, and we must 
 both evince our gratitude — she by devoting that life, which, if I 
 am not misinformed, she will be right willing to do, to } r ou, and 
 I by putting you in a position to unite yourself to her. The 
 title of Argentine has been this day extinguished by most 
 unhappy circumstances ; I therefore confer the title on you, and 
 here in this presence create you Baron Argentine, of Argentine, 
 in Staffordshire. Your patent shall be made out with all con- 
 
416 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 renient despatch, and with it you shall receive the hand of the 
 sole representative of that ancient and noble house." 
 
 " Your majesty overwhelms me," replied Leonard, falling on 
 iiis knee, and pressing the king's hand, which was kindly extended 
 towards him, to his lips. " I can scarcely persuade myself I am 
 not in a dream." 
 
 "You will soon awaken to the sense of the joyful reality," 
 returned the king. "Have I not now discharged my debt?" he 
 added to Rochester. 
 
 " Right royally, indeed, my liege," replied the earl, in a tone 
 of unaffected emotion. " My lord," he added, grasping Leonard's 
 hand, " I sincerely congratulate you on your newly-acquired 
 dignities, nor less in the happiness that awaits you there." 
 
 "If I do not answer you fittingly, my lord," replied the new- 
 made peer, " it is not because I do not feel your kindness. But 
 my brain reels. Pray Heaven my senses may not desert me." 
 
 "You must not forget the document you obtained this morning, 
 my lord," replied Rochester, endeavouring to divert his thoughts 
 into a new channel. " The proper moment for consulting it may 
 have arrived." 
 
 Lord Argentine, for we shall henceforth give him his title, 
 thrust his hand into his doublet, and drew forth the parchment. 
 He opened it, and endeavoured to read it, but a mist swam 
 before his eyes. 
 
 " Let me look at it," said Rochester, taking it from him. "It 
 is a deed of gift," he said, after glancing at it for a moment, 
 "from the late Lord Argentine — I mean the elder baron — of a 
 ^rge estate in Yorkshire, which he possessed in right of his wife, 
 to you, my lord, here described as Leonard Holt, provided you 
 shall marry the Lady Isabella Argentine. Another piece of good 
 fortune. Again and again, I congratulate you." 
 
 " And now," said Charles, " other and less pleasing matters 
 claim our attention. Let the Lad} 7 Isabella be removed, under 
 the charge of Doctor Hodges, to Whitehall, where apartments 
 shall be provided for her at once, together with fitting attendants, 
 and where she can remain till this terrible conflagration is over, 
 which, I trust, soon will be, when I will no longer delay her 
 happiness, but give her away in person. Chiffinch," he added 
 to the chief page, "see all this carried into effect." 
 
 " I will, my liege, and right willingly," replied Chiffinch. 
 
 "I would send you with her, my lord," pursued Charles to 
 Argentine, " but I have other duties for you to fulfil. The plan 
 you proposed of demolishing the houses with gunpowder shall 
 be immediately put into operation, under your own superin- 
 tendence." 
 
 A chair was now brought, and the Lady Isabella, after a 
 tender parting with her lover, being placed within it, she was 
 tlius transported, under the charge of Hodges and Chiffinch, to 
 
LEONARD RESCUES THE LADY ISABELLA. 417 
 
 Whitehall, where she arrived in safety, though not without 
 having sustained some hindrance and inconvenience. 
 
 She had not been gone many minutes, when the conflagration 
 of the cathedral assumed its most terrific character ; the whole of 
 the mighty roof foiling in, and the flames soaring upwards, as 
 before related. Up to this time, Solomon Eagle had maintained 
 his position at the eastern end of the roof, and still grasped the 
 stone cross. His situation now attracted universal attention, 
 and it was evident he must speedily perish. 
 
 " Poor wretch !" exclaimed the king, shuddering, " I fear there 
 is no way of saving him." 
 
 " None whatever, my liege," replied Rochester, " nor do I 
 believe he would consent to it if there was. But he is again 
 menacing your majesty." 
 
 As Rochester spoke, Solomon Eagle shook his arm menacingly 
 at the royal party, raising it aloft, as if invoking the vengeance 
 of Heaven. He then knelt down upon the sloping ridge of the 
 roof, as if in prayer, and his figure, thus seen relieved against 
 the mighty sheet of flame, might have been taken for an image 
 of Saint John the Baptist carved in stone. Not an eye in the 
 vast crowd below but was fixed on him. In a few moments, he 
 rose again, and tossing his arms aloft, and shrieking, in a voice 
 distinctly heard above the awful roar around him, the single 
 word, " Resurgam /" flung himself headlong into the flaming 
 abyss. A simultaneous cry of horror rose from the whole 
 assemblage on beholding this desperate action. 
 
 " The last exclamation of the poor wretch may apply to the 
 cathedral as well as to himself," remarked the monarch, to a 
 middle-aged personage, with a pleasing and highly-intellectual 
 countenance, standing near him: "for the old building shall 
 rise again, like the phoenix from its fires, with renewed beauty, 
 and under your superintendence, Doctor Christopher Wren." 
 
 The great architect bowed. 
 
 "I cannot hope to erect such another structure," he said, 
 modestly ; " but I will endeavour to design an edifice that shall 
 not disgrace your majesty's city." 
 
 " You must build me another city at the same time, Doctor 
 Wren," sighed the king. "Ah The added, "is not that Mr. 
 Lilly, the almanac-maker, whom I see among the crowd ?" 
 
 "It is," replied Rochester. 
 
 " Bid him come to me," replied the king. And the order 
 being obeyed, he said to the astrologer, " Well, Mr. Lilly, your 
 second prediction has come to pass. We have had the rlague, 
 and now we have the Fire. You may thank my clemency 
 that I do not order you to be cast into the flames, like the poor 
 wretch who has just perished before our eyes, as a wizard an' 
 professor of the black art. How did you obtain information of 
 these fatal events ?" 
 
418 old saint Paul's. 
 
 " By a careful study of the heavenly bodies, sire," replied Lilly, 
 " and by long and patient calculations, which, if your majesty 
 or any of your attendants had had leisure or inclination to make, 
 ■would have afforded you the same information. I make no 
 pretence to the gift of prophecy, but this calamity was predicted 
 in the last century." 
 
 " Indeed ! by whom ?" asked the king. 
 
 "By Michael Nostradamus," replied Lilly, "his prediction 
 runs thus : — 
 
 ' ' La sang du juste a Londres fera faute, 
 
 Bruslez par feu, le vingt et trois, les Six ; 
 La Dame antique cherra de place haute, 
 De meme secte plusieurs seront occis."* 
 
 And thus I venture to explain it. The 'blood of the just' refers 
 to the impious and execrable murder of your majesty's royal 
 father of blessed memory. ' Three-and-twenty and six gives the 
 exact year of the calamity ; and it may likewise give us, as will 
 be seen by computation hereafter, the amount of habitations to 
 be destroyed. The ' Ancient Dame' undoubtedly refers to the 
 venerable pile now burning before us, which, as it stands in the 
 most eminent spot in the city, clearly ' falls from its high place.* 
 The expression ' of the same sect,' refers not to men, but churches, 
 of which a large number, I grieve to say it, are already 
 destroyed." 
 
 "The prophecy is a singular one," remarked Charles, musingly, 
 " and you have given it a plausible interpretation." And for 
 some moments, he appeared lost in reflection. Suddenly rousing 
 himself, he took forth his tablets, and hastily tracing a few lines 
 upon a leaf, tore it out, and delivered it with his signet ring to 
 Lord Argentine. "Take this, my lord," he said, "to Lord 
 Craven. You will find him at his post in Tower-street. A band 
 of my attendants shall go with you. Embark at the nearest 
 stairs you can — those at Blackfriars I should conceive the most 
 accessible. Bid the men row for their lives. As soon as you 
 join Lord Craven, commence operations The Tower must be 
 preserved at all hazards. Mark me ! — at all hazards." 
 
 "I understand your majesty," replied Argentine — "your com- 
 mands shall be implicitly obeyed. And if the conflagration has 
 not gone too far, I will answer with my life that I preserve the 
 fortress." 
 
 And he departed on his mission. 
 
 * The blood of the just shall be wanting in Londoa, 
 Burnt by fire of three-and-twenty, the Six ; 
 The ancient Dame shall fall from her high plaoe^ 
 Of the same sect many shall be killed. 
 
419 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHAT BEFEL CHOWLES AND JUDITH IN THE VAULTS OF 
 SAINT FAITHS. • 
 
 Having now seen what occurred outside Saint Paul's we shall 
 proceed to the vaults beneath it. Chowles and Judith, it has 
 been mentioned, were descried by Leonard, just before the 
 outbreak of the fire, stealing into Saint Faith's, and carrying a 
 heavy chest between them. This chest contained some of the 
 altar-plate, which they had pillaged from the Convocation 
 House. As they traversed the aisles of Saint Faith's, which 
 were now filled with books and paper, they could distinctly hear 
 the raging of the fire without, and Judith, who was far less 
 intimidated than her companion, observed, " Let it roar on. It 
 cannot injure us." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," replied Chowles, doubtfully, " I 
 wish we had taken our hoards elsewhere." 
 
 " There is no use in wishing that now," rejoined Judith. " And 
 it would have been wholly impossible to get them out of the city. 
 But have no fear. The fire, I tell you, cannot reach us. It 
 could as soon burn into the solid earth as into this place." 
 
 " It comforts me to hear you say so," replied Chowles. " And 
 when I think of those mighty stone floors above us, I feel 
 we are quite safe. No, no, it can never make its way through 
 them." 
 
 Thus discoursing, they reached the charnel at the further end 
 of the church, where Chowles struck a light, and producing a 
 flask of strong waters, took a copious draught himself and handed 
 the flask to Judith, who imitated his example. Their courage 
 being thus stimulated, they opened the chest, and Chowles was 
 so enraptured with its glittering contents that he commenced 
 capering round the vault. Recalled to quietude by a stern 
 reproof from Judith, he opened a secret door in the wall, and 
 pushed the chest into a narrow passage beyond it. Fearful of 
 being discovered in their retreat, they took a basket of provisions 
 and liquor with them, and then closed the door. For some 
 time, they proceeded along the passage, pushing the chest before 
 them, until they came to a descent of a few steps, which brought 
 them to a large vault, half-filled with bags of gold, chests of plate, 
 caskets, and other plunder. At the further end of this vault was 
 a strong wooden door. Pushing the chest into the middle of the 
 chamber, Chowles seated himself upon it, and opening the 
 basket of provisions, took out the bottle of spirits, and again had 
 recourse to it. 
 
 * How comfortable and secure we feel in this quiet place," he 
 said ; " while all above us is burning. I declare I feel quite 
 Csrry, ha 1 ha I" And he forced a harsh and discordant laugh. 
 
420 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " Give me the bottle," rejoined Judith, sternly, "and don\ 
 grin like a death's head. I don't like to see the frightful face 
 you make." 
 
 " It's the first time you ever thought my face frightful," re- 
 plied Chowles, "and I begin to think you are afraid." 
 
 "Afraid!" echoed Judith, forcing a derisive laugh in her turn; 
 « afraid— of what ?" 
 
 " Nay, I don't know," replied Chowles ; " only I feel a little 
 uncomfortable. What if we should not be able to breathe here ? 
 The very idea gives me a tightness across the chest." 
 
 " Silence," cried Judith, with a fierceness that effectually en- 
 sured obedience to her command. 
 
 Chowles again had recourse to the bottle, and deriving a false 
 courage from it, as before, commenced skipping about the chamber 
 in his usual fantastical manner. Judith did not attempt to check 
 him, but remained with her chin resting upon her hand gazing 
 at him. 
 
 " Do you remember the Dance of Death, Judith ?" he cried, 
 executing some of the wildest flourishes he had then performed, 
 " and how I surprised the Earl of Rochester and his crew ?" 
 
 " I do," replied Judith, sternly, "and I hope we may not soon 
 have to perform that dance together in reality." 
 
 " It was a merry night," rejoined Chowles, who did not hear 
 what she said, " a right merry night — and so to-night shall be, 
 in spite of what is occurring overhead. Ha! ha!" And he took 
 another long pull at the flask. " I breathe freely now." And 
 he continued his wild flourishes until he was completely ex- 
 hausted. He then sat down b} r Judith, and would have twined 
 his bony arms round her neck, but she roughly repulsed him. 
 
 With a growl of displeasure, he then proceeded to open and 
 examine the various bags, chests, and caskets piled upon the 
 floor, and the sight of their contents so excited Judith, that, 
 shaking off her misgivings, she joined him, and they continued 
 opening case after case, glutting their greedy eyes, until 
 Chowles became aware that the vault was filled with smoke. 
 As soon as he perceived this, he started to his feet in terror. 
 
 " We are lost ! — we shall be suffocated !" he cried. 
 
 Judith likewise arose, and her looks showed that she shared in 
 his apprehensions. 
 
 "We must not stay here," cried Chowles; "and yet," he 
 added, with an agonized look at the rich store before him, " the 
 treasure ! the treasure !" 
 
 " Ay, let us, at least, take something with us," rejoined Judith, 
 snatching up two or three of the most valuable caskets. 
 
 While Chowles gazed at the heap before him, hesitating what 
 to select, the smoke grew so dense around them, that Judith 
 seized his arm and dragged him away. 
 
 " I come — I come !" he cried, snatching up a bag of gold. 
 
FATE OF CHOWLES AND JUDITH. 421 
 
 They then threaded the narrow passage, Judith leading the 
 way and bearing the light. The smoke grew thicker and thicker 
 as they advanced, but regardless of this, they hurried to the 
 secret door leading to the charnel. Judith touched the spring, 
 but as she did so, a sheet of flame burst in and drove her back. 
 ChowLes dashed past her, and with great presence of mind shut 
 the door, excluding the flame. They then hastily retraced their 
 steps, feeling that not a moment was to be lost if they would 
 escape. The air in the vault, thickened by the smoke, had 
 become so hot that they could scarcely breathe ; added to which, 
 to increase their terror, they heard the most awful cracking of 
 the walls overhead, as if the whole fabric was breaking asunder 
 to its foundation. 
 
 " The cathedral is tumbling upon us ! We shall be buried 
 alive !" exclaimed Chowles, as he listened with indescribable 
 terror to the noise overhead. 
 
 " I owe my death to you, wretch 1" cried Judith, fiercely. 
 w You persuaded me to come hither." 
 
 " I !" cried Chowles. " It is a lie ! You were the person who 
 proposed it. But for you I should have left our hoards here, and 
 come for them after the fire was over." 
 
 " It is you who lie." returned Judith, with increased fury, 
 " that was my proposal." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you she-devil," cried Chowles, " it is you 
 who have brought me into this strait — and if you do not cease 
 taunting me, I will silence you for ever." 
 
 " Coward and fool 1" cried Judith, " I will at least have the 
 satisfaction of seeing you die before me." 
 
 And as she spoke, she rushed towards him, and a desperate 
 struggle commenced. And thus while the walls were cracking 
 overhead, threatening them with instant destruction, the two 
 wretches continued their strife, uttering the most horrible blas- 
 phemies and execrations. Judith, being the stronger of the two, 
 had the advantage, and she had seized her opponent by the 
 throat with the intention of strangling him, when a most terrific 
 crash was heard, causing her to loose her gripe. The air instantly 
 became as hot as the breath of a furnace, and both started to 
 their feet. 
 
 " What has happened ?" gasped Chowles. 
 
 " I know not," replied Judith, "and I dare not look down the 
 passage." 
 
 " Then I will," replied Chowles, and he advanced a few paces 
 up it, and then hastily returned, shrieking: " it is filled with 
 boiling lead, and the stream is flowing towards us." 
 
 Scarcely able to credit the extent of the danger, Judith 
 gazed down the passage, and there beheld a glowing silvery 
 stream trickling slowly onwards. She saw too well, that if they 
 could not effect their retreat instantly, their fate was sealed. 
 
422 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " The door of the vault !" she cried, pointing towards it, 
 " where is the key ? where is the key ?" 
 
 " I have not got it," replied Chowles, distractedly, " I cannot 
 tell where to find it." 
 
 "Then we are lost!" cried Judith, with a terrible execra- 
 tion. 
 
 " Not so," replied Chowles, snatching up a pickaxe, " if I 
 cannot unlock the door, I can break it open." 
 
 With this, he commenced furiously striking against it, while 
 Judith, who was completely horror-stricken, and filled with the 
 conviction that her last moments were at hand, fell on her knees 
 beside him, and gazing down the passage, along which she could 
 see the stream of molten lead, now nearly a foot in depth, gra- 
 dually advancing, and hissing as it came, shrieked to Chowles to 
 increase his exertions. He needed no incitement to do so, but 
 nerved by fear, continued to deal blow after blow against the 
 door, until at last he effected a small breach just above the lock. 
 But this only showed him how vain were his hopes, for a stream 
 of fire and smoke poured through the aperture. Notwithstanding 
 this, he continued his exertions, Judith shrieking all the time, 
 until the lock at last yielded. He then threw open the door, but 
 finding the whole passage involved in flame, was obliged to close 
 it. Judith had now risen, and their looks at each other at this 
 fearful moment were terrible in the extreme. Retreating to 
 either side of the cell, they glared at each other like wild beasts. 
 Suddenly, Judith casting her eyes to the entrance of the vault, 
 uttered a yell of terror, that caused her companion to look in that 
 direction, and he perceived that the stream of molten lead had 
 gained it, and was descending the steps. He made a rush 
 towards the door at the same time with Judith, and another 
 struggle ensued, in which he succeeded in dashing her upon the 
 floor. He again opened the door, but was again driven back- 
 wards by the terrific flame, and perceived that the fiery current 
 had reached Judith, who was writhing and shrieking in its 
 embrace. Before Chowles could again stir it was upon him. 
 With a yell of anguish, he fell forward, and was instantly stifled 
 in the glowing torrent, which in a short time flooded the whole 
 chamber, burying the two partners in iniquity, and the whole of 
 their ill-gotten gains, in its burning waves. 
 
U lir Sffate of O'lmiulr^ ;im> Jttdttli 
 
423 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Lord Argentine proceeded, as directed by the king, to the 
 eastern end of Tower-street, where he found Lord Craven, and 
 having delivered him the king's missive, and shown him the 
 signet, they proceeded to the western side of the Tower-dock, 
 and having procured a sufficient number of miners and engi- 
 neers, together with a supply of powder from the fortress, com- 
 menced undermining the whole of the row of habitations called 
 Tower-bank, on the edge of the dock, having first, it is scarcely 
 necessary to state, taken care to clear them of their inhabitants. 
 The powder deposited, the trains were fired, and the buildings 
 blown into the air. At this time the whole of the western side of 
 the Tower moat was covered with low wooden houses and sheds, 
 and mindful of the king's instructions, Lord Argentine suggested 
 to Lord Craven that they should be destroyed. The latter 
 acquiescing, they proceeded to their task, and in a short time the 
 whole of the buildings of whatever description, from the bulwark- 
 gate to the city postern, at the north of the Tower, and nearly 
 opposite the Bowyer Tower, were destroyed. Long before this 
 was accomplished they were joined by the Duke of York, who 
 lent his utmost assistance to the task, and when night came on, 
 a clear space of at least a hundred yards in depth, had been 
 formed between the ancient fortress and the danger with which 
 it was threatened. 
 
 Meantime the conflagration continued to rage with unabated 
 fury. It burnt throughout the whole of Monday night, and 
 having destroyed Saint Paul's, as before related, poured down 
 Ludgate-hill, consuming all in its way, and crossing Fleet-bridge, 
 commenced its ravages upon the great thoroughfare adjoining it. 
 
 On Tuesday an immense tract was on fire. All Fleet-street, 
 as far as the Inner Temple, Ludgate-hill, and the whole of the 
 city eastwards, along the banks of the Thames, up to the Tower- 
 dock, where the devastation was checked by the vast gap of 
 houses demolished, were in flames. From thence the boundary 
 of the fire extended to the end of Mark-lane, Lime-street, and 
 Leadenhall, the strong walls of which resisted its fury. Ascend- 
 ing again by the Standard on Cornhill, Threadneedle-street, and 
 Austin-friars, it embraced Drapers' Hall, and the whole mass of 
 buildings to the west of Throgmorton-street. It next proceeded 
 to the then new buildings behind Saint Margaret's, Lothbury, 
 and so on westward to the upper end of Cateaton-street, whence 
 it spread to the second postern in London-wall, and destroying 
 the ramparts and suburbs as far as Cripplegate, consumed Little 
 Wood-street, Mungwell-street, and the whole of the city wall on 
 
*24 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 the west as far as Aldersgate. Passing a little to the north o« 
 Saint Sepulchre's, which it destroyed, it crossed Holborn-bridge, 
 and ascending Saint Andrew's-hill, passed the end of Shoe-lane, 
 and so on to the end of Fetter-lane. The whole of the buildings 
 contained within this boundary were now on fire, and burning 
 with terrific fury. And so they continued till the middle of 
 Wednesday, when the wind abating, and an immense quantity 
 of houses being demolished according to Lord Argentine's plan, 
 the conflagration was got under; and though it broke out in 
 several places after that time, little mischief was done, and it may 
 be said to have ceased on the middle of that day. 
 
 On Saturday morning in that week, soon after daybreak, a 
 young man, plainly yet richly attired in the habiliments then 
 worn by persons of high rank, took his way over the smouldering 
 heaps of rubbish, and along the ranks of ruined and blackened 
 walls denoting the habitations that had once constituted Fleet- 
 street. It was with no little risk, and some difficulty, that he 
 could force his way, now clambering over heaps of smouldering 
 ashes, now passing by some toppling wall, which fell with a 
 terrific crash after he had just passed it — now creeping under an 
 immense pile of blackened rafters — but he at length reached 
 Fleet-bridge, where he paused to gaze at the scene of devastation 
 around him. It was indeed a melancholy sight, and drew tears 
 to his eyes. The ravages of the fire were almost inconceivable 
 Great beams were burnt to charcoal — stones calcined, and as 
 white as snow, and such walls and towers as were left standing 
 were so damaged, that their instant fall was to be expected. The 
 very water in the wells and fountains was boiling, and even the 
 muddy Fleet sent forth a hot steam. The fire still lingered in 
 the lower parts of many habitations, especially where wine, 
 spirits, or inflammable goods had been kept ; and these " voragos 
 of subterranean cellars," as Evelyn terms them, still emitted 
 flames, together with a prodigious smoke and stench. Undis- 
 mayed by the dangers of the path he had to traverse, the young 
 man ascended Ludgate-hill, still encountering the same devasta- 
 tion, and passing through the ruined gateway, the end of which 
 remained perfect, approached what had once been Saint Paul's 
 Cathedral. Mounting a heap of rubbish at the end of Ludgate- 
 street, he gazed at the mighty ruin, which looked more like the 
 remains of a city than those of a single edifice. 
 
 The solid walls and buttresses were split and rent asunder; 
 enormous stones were splintered and calcined by the heat ; and 
 vast flakes having scaled from off the pillars, gave them a hoary 
 and almost ghostly appearance. Its enormous extent was now 
 for the first time clearly seen, and strange to say, it looked twice 
 as large in ruins as when entire. The central tower was still 
 standing— but chipped, broken, and calcined, like the rest of the 
 structure, by the vehement heat of the flames. Part of the roof 
 in its fall broke through the solid floor of the choir, which was 
 
CONCLUSION. 425 
 
 of immense thickness, into Saint Faith's, and destroyed the 
 magazine of books and paper deposited there by the booksellers. 
 The portico, erected by Inigo Jones, and which found so much 
 favour in Evelyn's eyes, that he describes it as " comparable to 
 any in Europe," and particularly deplores its loss, shared the fate 
 of the rest of the building, — the only part left uninjured being 
 the architrave, the inscription on which was undefaced. 
 
 Having satiated himself with this sad but striking prospect, the 
 voung man, with some toil and trouble, crossed the churchyard, 
 and gained Cheapside, where a yet more terrific scene of devasta- 
 tion than that which he had previously witnessed burst upon him. 
 On the right to London-bridge, which he could discern through 
 the chasms of the houses, and almost to the Tower, were nothing 
 but ruins, while a similar waste lay on the left. Such was the 
 terrible change that had been wrought in the aspect of the ruined 
 city, that if the young man had not had some marks to guide 
 him, he would not have known where he was. The tower and 
 ruined walls of Saint Peter's church pointed out to him the 
 entrance to Wood-street, and entering it, he traversed it with 
 considerable difficulty, — for the narrow thoroughfares were much 
 fuller of rubbish, and much less freed from smoke and fiery 
 vapour, than the wider, — until he reached a part of it with which 
 he had once been well acquainted. But, alas ! how changed was 
 that familiar spot. The house he sought was a mere heap of 
 ruins. While gazing at them, he heard a voice behind him, and 
 turning, beheld Mr. Bloundel and his son Stephen, forcing their 
 way through what had once been Maiden-lane. A warm greeting 
 passed between them, and Mr. Bloundel gazed for some time in 
 silence upon the wreck of his dwelling. Tears forced themselves 
 into his eyes, and his companions were no less moved. As he 
 turned to depart, he observed to the young man, with some 
 severity, " How is it, Leonard, that I see you in this gay 
 apparel ? Surely, the present is not a fitting season for such 
 idle display." 
 
 Lord Argentine, for such it was, now explained to the wonder- 
 stricken grocer all that had occurred to him, adding that he had 
 intended coming to him that very day, if he had not been thus 
 anticipated, to give him the present explanation. 
 
 " And where are Farmer Wingfield and Blaize ?" asked Mr. 
 Bloundel. " We have been extremely uneasy at your prolonged 
 absence." 
 
 " They are both at the palace," replied Lord Argentine, " and 
 have both been laid up with slight injuries received during the 
 conflagration, but I believe — nay, I am sure, they will get out 
 to-day." 
 
 "That is well," replied Mr. Bloundel — " and now let me con- 
 gratulate you, Leonard — that is, my lord — how strange such a 
 title sounds ! — on your new dignity." 
 
 F F 
 
426 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 " And accept my congratulations, too, my lord," said Stephen. 
 
 " Oh ! do not style me thus," said Argentine. " With you, 
 at least, let me be ever Leonard Holt." 
 
 " You are still my old apprentice, I see," cried the grocer 
 warmly grasping his hand. 
 
 u And such I shall ever continue in feeling," returned the 
 other, cordially returning the pressure. 
 
 Three days after this, Lord Argentine was united to the Lady 
 Isabella — the king, as he had promised, giving away the bride. 
 The Earl of Rochester was present, together with the grocer and 
 his wife, and the whole of their family. Another marriage also 
 took place on the same day between Blaize and Patience. Both 
 unions, it is satisfactory to be able to state, were extremely 
 happy, though it would be uncandid not to mention, that in the 
 latter case, to use a homely but expressive phrase, " the grey 
 mare proved the better horse." Blaize, however, was exceed- 
 ingly content under his government. He settled at Willesden 
 with his wife, where they lived to a good old age, and where 
 some of his descendants may still be found. 
 
 Mr. Bloundel sustained only a trifling loss by the fire. 
 Another house was erected on the site of the old habitation, 
 where he carried on his business as respectably and as profitably as 
 before, until, in the course of nature, he was gathered to his 
 fathers, and succeeded by his son Stephen, leaving an un- 
 blemished character behind him as a legacy to his family. Nor 
 was it his only legacy, in a worldly sense, for his time had not 
 been misspent, and he had well-husbanded his money. All his 
 family turned out well, and were successful in the world. 
 Stephen rose to the highest civic dignities, and the younger 
 obtained great distinction. Their daughter Christiana became 
 Lady Argentine, being wedded to the eldest son of the baron 
 and baroness. 
 
 Mike Macascree, the piper, and Bell, found a happy asylum 
 with the same noble family. 
 
 As to Lord and Lady Argentine, theirs was a life of uninter- 
 rupted happiness. Devotedly attached to her lord, the Lady 
 Isabella seemed only to live for him, and he well repaid her 
 affection. By sedulously cultivating his talents and powers, 
 which were considerable, he was enabled to reflect credit upon 
 the high rank to which it had pleased a grateful sovereign to 
 elevate him. He lived to see the new cathedral completed by 
 Sir Christopher Wren, and often visited it with feelings of admi- 
 ration, but never with the same sentiments of veneration and 
 awe that he had experienced, when, in times long gone by, he 
 had repaired to Old Saint Paul's.