EMORY UNIVERSITY
Glihdojj : There's some mistake about it.
Gaoler: It's the rarest chance in the world to find us making mistakes here, sir.
(See p. 212.*1
TOM FOX
THE REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE*
He played his pari, so well, T took him for my friend;
But when I had confided i ll my guilt to him,
Alas! for me, I found him—a "Detective.
THIRD EDITION•
LONDON:
GEORGE VICKERS, ANGEL COURT, STRAND.
MDCCCLXI.
LONDON:
ADAMS AND GEE, PRINTERS, MIDDLE STREET,
"WEST SHITKFIELD, E.G.
PREFACE.
I shall not add to the encumbrance of my book by the
addition of a long preface, yet a few words connected with,
its appearance may not be uninteresting to the reader.
In one of my professional rambles in a northern suburb
of the Metropolis, I was suddenly overtaken by a fearful
storm; angrily roared the thunder, and blinding was the
lightning; like water-spouts down came the rain, and tha
blast threatened to uproot the fine old trees that adorned
the lonely lane in which the tempest overtook me. The
night grew darker, and for the first time in my life I was
seized with fear. As well as the opposing wind would
let me, and with my hand shading my eyes from the
lightning, I hastened onwards to the far-off "public.
I had not gone far on my road, until my footsteps
in this lonely quarter, and in such a storm, attracted
vi
prefacf
a good Samaritan to the threshold of his humble^ dwelling
to  invite the stranger in. I could have hugged the man
for his humanity and mercy, and unhesitatingly accepted it.
Wet to the skin, I was ushered into a small room, and then
my friend escorted me to his neat bed-room, and would
have me doff my wet garments for his dry ones.
This done, I was invited to his peaceful chimney-nook,
and pipes and grog were provided. Never did I enjoy
either one or the other with such relish. The "strange
bedfellows that necessity makes us acquainted with, are
not always the most uncomfortable ones.
Well, after a good deal of pleasant conversation, I dis-
closed to my host that I was a  Detective.
"Indeed! exclaimed my friend, who I soon found
was a highly intelligent man.  Then you must neces-
sarily have seen many phases of life,—especially of criminal
life.
"For fifteen years I have been a crime hunter, I re-
plied, filling my pipe at the gentleman's request,  and have
been engaged in many startling cases.
 Have you kept a diary of them ?
"Yes, sir: I most particularly jotted down everything
of interest.
Then, for the entertainment of "mine host, and
after his wife had joined us, I, from memory, related a
few of the cases to be found in my volume, which made
preface.
vii
those good-natured people alternately weep, and laugh, and
wonder. He and his polite lady expressed themselves much
interested with them, and ejaculated, "What an interesting
volume your experiences would make if printed !
 Possibly so, I replied;  but there would be a great
deal to do before my rough ' mems,' could be fashioned
for the public.
After a short pause, during which I watched the gen-
tleman's lips quiver, and his eye twinkle, he said— What
if I felt disposed to undertake the task of editing them
for the press, would you consent to lend me the materials?
"With all my heart! I said.  And if you will take
the trouble to call on me to-morrow, you shall have my
memorandums, and welcome. He called, and I gave them
to him.
Reader, I'll conceal no longer; the hospitable gentleman
was no other than  J. B., the editor and writer of these
"Revelations, and whatever interest they may possess,
must be ascribed to the graphic power of his pen, rather
than to the crude facts I have supplied him with.
The only condition I imposed on  J. B. was this—a
vain one, no doubt,—that the book should be called "Tom
Fox, a name I am not ashamed to say is my own.
There are some who object to criminal records. With
.all possible deference to those dissentients, it is my opinion
fhey should be spread far and wide, for they carry with
Via PREFACE.
them a moral, forcible enough to warn and deter others
from the delusive road which flatters while it destroys—
"murders while it smiles. Society, I maintain, has a
Tight to demand the histories of those who have offended
against its laws; and I further maintain that these
histories, written in the proper spirit, would operate more
for good than evil. The youth of England should be shown
the dangers and temptations that surround them. The pen
and pencil should be employed to paint in proper colours
the road to ruin.
POM POX
April, 1860
TOM FOX;
OR, THE
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
shoulders.
ERMIT me to inform the reader that I was
born in Honndsditch—but let him not
wrongly infer that therefore I was a son of
Moses. The only thing Jewish about me
was my cunning and my love of  de monish.
Whether or not these characteristics were
attributable to my being born among this
 ancient people, I cannot say; but it is
certain that I impressed every person who
knew me with the idea that I was a  cute
lad, and carried an old head upon young
I must confess a passion lor dice and cards, and some
partiality for the bottle. I always made use of my eyes and ears,
and said little—a precept every Detective should lay to heart.
Age before honesty—let me tell the reader who and what my
father was. Was—I wish I could say is, for he was one of the right
sort: good-tempered, good-natured, everything indeed but good-look-
ing ; and even this point my mother, had she heard me say so,
would have disputed. Well, he was  Thomas Fox, licensed dealer
in tea, coffee, snuff, and tobacco "—so said the lettering over his little
shop-front, But he dealt in a great many other things than excisable
articles ; his shop was—I hardly like to say what; but as I have de-
termined to tell the reader the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth, I suppose I must swallow my pride, and say at once my
father kept a chandler's shop, and sold everything, from shirt-buttons
to beef sausages, and lollypops to bills of exchange :—and a very con-
venient class of shop is the chandler's for the poor of London, where
they can buy four different articles for four farthings.
My father, Thomas Fox, (and whom I was christened after,) did
4 TOM FOX ; OR, TUB
well at this insignificant branch of industry;—lived very respectably—
placed me at a commercial school at Stamford-bill—kept a chaise-cart to
drive my mother and himself to Woodford on Sundays—and when he
died, left me a goodly sum; but not being a goodly boy, it soon melted. I
relate it with shame—albeit, having had a worthy schoolmaster—I learnt
 nothing more "than what a charity-boy is supposed to know—read-
rtig, writing, and "ciphering; hut that was a cut above my father,
for he could do neither, and my holidays were usually spent in
making out his customers' scores. While at school I was seized with
a desperate tendency for drawing, and my time was chiefly occupied in
sketching humourous pen-and-ink caricatures, chiefly theatrical, for
the amusement of my schoolfellows, after the following style:—
I even had the audacity to caricature my schoolmaster and his dog.
The old gentleman
got scent of this,
and my jacket was
well dusted for
bringing him, as he
said, into ridicule
1 among his pupils.
This certainly made
a striking impression
on me, and though
I never after made
a study of old Skin-
ner, I quickly reta-
liated the whacking
upon the French
dancing master, and
his everlastingly - held white handker-
chief.
One day, being home for the Mid-
summer holidays, I did something very artistic, and that wonderfully
pleased my "dad. I never can forget his enthusiasm when I struck
off the heads of five notorious swell Jews, that hovered about the pre-
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
5
ciacts of his shop in Houndsditch, (the one with the hat on I was
instrumental subsequently in transporting for "doing a little bill).
Reader,—pardon a fond father's opinion—mine prophesied for me
nothing less than the Presidency of the Royal Academy for the Jews'
portraits, a copy of which I annex:—
But my chef
d'ceuvre was the
picture of my fa-
ther. It gave the
highest satisfac-
tion ; an expen-
sive' "frame "was
bought for it, and
it was proudly
luing in the best
parlour. Here is
my father — re-
duced in size, but
the likeness is
very strictly pre-
served.
My old father
trumpeted my
praises far and
wide, and I really
believe, besides sketching the whole of my family one after another, I
pourtrayed the whole of my father's customers. My mother, aunt, and
her little boy at dinner in our shop-parlour, was considered very happy
«-*and certainly they were excellent likenesses.
As I had a taste for drawing, there is little doubt but that, had I
followed it as a profession, and pursued it with industry—without
which nothing great is ever accomplished,—I might have obtained a
6 *0M' POX ; OR, THB
respectable position in the art, if not the Presidency of the Royal
Academy. But there, nothing ever appealed to me seriously ; every-
thing was made subservient to the whim or humour of the moment.
However, as a  detective  officer, I can assure the reader, that I
found my pencil of great service. It enabled me to keep by me, and
study the physiognomies of all the thieves, forgers, swell-mobsmer.,
suspicious foreigners, brothel-keepers, "fancy men, "fancy women/'
and every other trader in villainy. I had quite a gallery of notabilities
in crime, which has been the means of assisting many a victim to
pohit out to the officers of iustice the semblance of the oerson bv whom
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
7
he has been victimised. I had a particular eye for foreigners who
came over here as  exiles, many of whom in reality came to our
hospitable shores to  do  the natives. Besides, foreign governments
paid me for watching and reporting their movements. The group here
shown might often have been seen about Leicester-square, and in ones
and twos all over London. They were all Frenchmen—swindler:
rouds, billiard-sharpers, and traders in women. He with his hands in
his pocket, and the centre figure with the long coat and cape, had
assassinated one of their own countrymen in Paris. It appeared they
had been gambling with their victim, who had won heavily from them,
and moreover they became his debtor for a large amount. To rid
themselves of the debt, and to regain their money, they planned to
murder him. Their diabolical scheme was promptly carried out, and
then they fled to England. After receiving a description of their per-
sons, I discovered them at the house of him with the stick under his
arm, and who imported women from France for the worst of purposes.
Ah ! they will never more return—they were tried in their own
country, and guillotined. I got a good sum for their capture. The
corpulent gentleman, with the  gingham, and the meditative swell,
with the fancy trousers, were  too clever by half for this country:
under pretext of teaching the French language, they were wholly oc-
cupied with dies, making counterfeit French coin, and circulating it
through the agency of confederates all over France. They occupied a
small house in Lambeth, and when I scented them out, they were
most industriously engaged at their  mint. The one in the check
trousers, Monsieur Dubois, after keeping me waiting some time, opened
the door to me, and, with the most elegant French manners, inquired—
 Vat he could haf the pleasure of doing for Monsieur ? but firmly
holding the door in his hand, and intercepting my entrance.
 If you will allow me to enter, I will tell you, I replied.
My pertinacity confused him, and he stammered— Dat he did
net teach de language here—dat he called on de peoples at dere
houses—dat dey house was not his—dat he had but one room—dat—
dat 
I begged him not to be so agitated.
 Vy, you Anglais knock so loud at de doors dat it shakes my
narves.
 Honest men never shake at loud knocks.
 Vat mean you, sare ? Do not insult a poor exile.
As I heard a clattering and moving of things up stairs, and hasty
steps going from room to room, I judged it best to hold no farther
parley with Monsieur Dubois, but at once show my search-warrant.
 Mon Dieu ! are you den an officer, sare? He suddenly pushed
me into the street, and closed the door, when I heard him rush up
stairs with the speed of lightning. But I and one of the  force, whom
I had brought with me, soon cleared the door, and were quickly upon
o TOM FOX; OB, THE
the heels of the coiners. When I went up stairs, I found the gentle*
man with the  gingham, Monsieur Moet, in his shirt sleeves, smoking,
on one side of the fireplace, while a pretty young Frenchwoman, with
an infant on her lap, occupied the other. In an adjoining room I found
Dubois making preparations with ropes and bedding to escape from the
window to the back yard ; but I immediately suspended his progress,
and handcuffed him. When the young woman saw her husband in this
condition, she suddenly shrieked and fainted, and the poor child rolled
off her lap, and its head came  bump  on the floor. I suppose Mon>
sieur Moet savv that the game was up, for he neither spoke nor made
resistance while I handcuffed him.
 I vill commence von action against you for dis insult, sare 1
raved Dubois.  Vat for you treat us thus, sare ?
 I arrest you for Coining.
 Vere is your proof, sarel
"Proof has been given in your own country. Two of your con-
federates have been arrested in Strasbourg for uttering base coin, and
they have ' split' upon you, and given up your residence in England.
"MonDieu! he again exclaimed, while Monsieur Moet, as placid as
a philosopher, as his hands were fastened, asked to have his meerschaum
put into his side pocket.
Monsieur Dubois kissed the cold cheeks of his agonised wife, and
I lifted her child to her arms, and then,' with my prisoners, left her to
her fate. I accompanied them across the channel to Boulogne, and
delivered them to the tender mercies of their own country. They
were transported for life.
It was not iorig after this denouement before my attention was
called to my foreign friend enjoying his meerschaum, and that  made
up Turk in a dress-coat and eastern cap. The first kept a cigar shop
in a populous but obscure part of the West-end ; but the shop was
kept merely as a blind to some pretty games and scenes that were
enacted there. I occasionally dropped in and smoked a cigar, played
dominoes, and drank coffee ; but my eyes and ears were open. I was
friendly with all I met there, and though knowing most of them, was
known to none. I often imagined a suspicion was gaining ground re-
garding me, for I observed an occasional restraint and reserve, whis-
perings and silence, where there was generally trust and openness, es-
pecially from the shopkeeper himself, Monsieur Jacques, who occa-
sionally offered me a pinch of his best rappee as I passed through the
little shop to the inner room, which was usually thronged with French,
Germans, and Italians, and a very few English. The chatter of tongues,
and clatter of dominoes, often made my head ache. But I had to
endure a good many things distasteful to me in my character aft
 Detective, which the reader will please understand requires a person
of far higher intelligence than the common  peeler, whose chief du-
ties.appear to be to prevent boys from playing kit-cat in the streets—
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
9
to make acquaintance with pantries, kitchens, and kitchen-maids—to
kick bits of orange-peel off the pavement—to keep out of the way at
the remotest chance of being wanted—to congregate at by-corners
with a '' chum, and talk about this gal, and that gal, and t'other gal
—to touch his hat to the  gent  who leaves an occasional quartern
for him at the bar of some  public"—and whose highest effort, with
the assistance of members of the "force, is to carry 011 a stretcher
some obstreperous
diner-out to the sta-
tion-house. Still, as
a body, I, who know
almost every mem-
ber of them, must
say that they are a
very useful class of
men, and the small
duties that are corn-
mitted to their carj
are generally faith-
fully, promptly, and
honestly performed, and are worth far more public consideration than
they get.
But the "Detective,'' it must be allowed, is a better-educated man,
and therefore holds a higher social position. His duties are of a far
more important class:—the banker and merchant seek his aid in diffi-
cult cases of forgery or embezzlement—Government, in any great
tou fox; or, the
political excitement—and members of
the aristocracy, when in doubt or sus-
pioion of the fidelity of their lords or
ladies. For detective purposes he has
to assume all characters, and play all
parts, from a peasant to a peer; and
sometimes to disguise his very sex, and
put on the airs of  lovely woman.
Reader, for our better acquaintance, and;
not out of any vanity, I do assure you,
I have made an outline of myself,
and beg leave to present it. When I
made the sketch, I never contemplated
making a public exhibition of it; but
one day being dressed out to keep an
appointment with a noble earl who.,
had some confidential communication
to make regarding his countess, I dotted)
it down in my diary, for certain matters pertinent to the case I had in
hand.
But I will not digress further to show the reader the difference be-
tweeu a policeman and a Detective, but return to Monsieur Jacques'
cigar shop, and for reasons I will at once reveal. This shop, as I have
before related, was kept chiefly as a blind to the business that was
carried forward in the elegant rooms above the shop, and which
Madame Jacques and her French servants paid every attention to.
The-walls of these rooms were covered with mirrors, and pictures of a
far warmer class than my pencil ever permitted me to attempt. I dare
not transcribe them ; but they were lovely nudes and semi-nudes in
the most exciting and lascivious attitudes—some stooping, engaged in.
pulling on silk stockings upon exquisite legs, and disclosing full
rounded breasts of snow ; some lacing their corsets; while others—■
but my propriety will not allow me to say. In every room there was
a mahogany Arabian bedstead, and spring couch. Some of the fair;
figures, again, were represented as in joyous dreams, their white rounded
shoulders escaping all concealment, which were enough to make a Joseph
pause in pleasure ; others had newly risen from their couches, and,,
stripped to their waists, were arranging their tresses at a mirror, that
reflected all their charms ; and none there but what had their apparel
so artfully arranged that betrayed some beauty of the female form to
move the passions of the most stoical beholder. I confess my heart
never palpitated so before, as I gave sly peeps around when I profes-
sionally entered one of these rooms ; it was irresistibly tempting and
trying, even to the cold temperament of a  Detective. But this*
 moving  panorama was treated in the most artistic manner—high art
indeed—the moral impression of which I leave to the reador's feelings.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
11
Monsieur Jacques' elegant and convenient saloon was the grand
quarters of the illustrious French ladies who promenaded the Hay-
market, Regent-street, and its neighbourhood. I will no longer dally
with the reader's patience, but at once reveal the business that made
me an occasional visitor at the cigar shop. I was in search of a young
lady, under sixteen, who had been abducted from her home in Islington.
When her father solicited my professional aid in discovering her
whereabouts, and her seducer, I think I never before saw so much
grief—and a Detective has to witness many heart-rending scenes.
He clasped my hands, and exclaimed—
 For God's sake, sir, find my child ! I shall go mad without her !
He wept piteously, and trembled so much that the floor shook
under us. I asked him for a few particulars—his grief was too exces-
eive for his speech, and he rang for the servant to tell me all she knew.
The girl told me  she by accident met Miss Charlotte walking with
a foreign gentleman in Highbury-crescent.
"Ah! Jane, Jane, you should have told me ! pathetically exclaimed
the broken-hearted father.
 I wish I had now, sir, sobbed the girl ;  but Miss Charlotte
implored me to promise her not to tell you.
"I'll never forgive you ! ejaculated the old gentleman.
"Did she tell you the foreign gentleman's name ? I inquired.
 Count Flamingo, or something like it—I'm sure I forget now.
"Should you know the Count, if you were to see him again ?
The girl paused, while the impatient father imperatively said—■
"Answer the officer directly ! You have ruined me !
 I—think—I should, she sobbed;  I know he had on a cap with
a tassel.
 So-ho ! I thought to myself,  my Turkish-looking friend, eh !
and I at once produced my picture of foreigners, and asked Jane if she
could identify the man amongst them. She at once pointed to Pierre
Fribourg—he in the white vest and Eastern cap, talking to M. Jacques.
 That is a good deal like the gentleman who was walking with
Miss Charlotte in Highbury-crescent, only he looked more loving
like.''
 No doubt about that, I remarked.  Now, did he speak to
you ?
 No ; when I met them, Miss Charlotte left go his arm, and came
after me; while the foreigner stood and played with a shrub belong-
ing to a gentleman's garden.
 And pray what did you say to Miss Charlotte ? I inquired.
 Ha! what did you say ? repeated her angry master.
'' Nothing pertikler, replied the girl;  I laughed, and Miss Char-
lotte blushed. I then said, 'Ah, I've caught you. What would your
father say if he was to know?' Miss Charlotte then slipped half-a-crown
into my hand, and I promised not to tell master.
12 TOM fox; or, the
 And a very culpable promise on your part, I observed—it is
usual for Detectives to be highly moral when it is their interest to be so.
 Is her conduct not legally punishable ? demanded the enraged
father, puffing out his hanging cheeks with the breath of anger.
 Clearly, I should say, was my reply, to the no small terror of
the girl, who, with a scream, swooned into a chair. I chafed her
hands—and, while Mr. Robinson hurried for a basin of water, I confess
I kissed the lips of my pretty Jane—and sprinkled her face, which soon
 brought her to.
 This is a very serious case for you, sir, I condoled with the father.
 Fearful! he ejaculated.
 An only child, sir?
 Ah ! yes—and I wish now she had never been born.
 I have but little doubt of soon discovering her. I guess my man,
and if it is he, your daughter has fallen into the worst of hands. He
has betrayed more women than he has lived years. The father groaned.
 Is it likely, think you, that the scoundrel has married her ? he
agonisingly inquired.
"That would entirely depend upon her expectations, I replied.
 They are large, sir. I have property all over London ; and if
they are married, not a house—not a penny—will I leave her ! 
 Has she any property over which you have no control ?
 Not a shilling.
 Then the probability is we shall not find her married, for these
foreign victimisers like the ready penny; their necessities will not
allow them to wait for expectations. No, no ; this is a case of love on
one side, and seduction on the other. Your daughter was considered
handsome, sir ?
 She was a beauty—follow me, officer, I will show you her por-
trait. So fair a creature I never before beheld; I regret I had not made a
copy of that picture. Conceive, if you please, dear reader, a somewhat
plump yet tall young lady of sixteen summers, dressed in many
breadths of white, a blue sash, and a rose-bud peeping from her bosom;
add to this, hanging raven locks, lips wreathed in smiles, eyes—I know
nothing I can compare them to,—sweet little ears that seemed made
for nothing else than to be the portals of love and romance—conceive
all this, and Miss Charlotte is before you—at least, so far as she was
represented by the ar; ist. I could not help wondering how so beau-
tiful a young lady could have been so foolish to have listened to the
soft-soap and sentimental trash of a designing, idle foreigner. I know
not how it is, but so it is, girls somehow like these kind of men—
these  Count Flamingos, half of whom live upon the credulity of
women, who believe them to be patriotic exiles, and further believe in
the titles they assume ; their ears are tickled, too, with their lisping
foreign accent, and romantic expressions of love.
After I had sufficiently gazed on the picture, and condoled with
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
13
the father upon his loss, I prepared to leave in search of the fugitives—
of course not before he had presented me with a sum of money to
quicken my ingenuity in finding his daughter. This promised to be a
good case for me, and I at once hailed a  Hansom, and pushed off
towards M. Jacques in pursuit of Count Flamingo and Miss Charlotte.
Cabby, in his zeal to keep my commandments, unfortunately, in
turning a corner too fine, raised the ire and chaff of a set of urchins
who had congregated round the  India-rubber Brothers, gaping ad-
mirers of their celebrated achievements. On
my way westward, I pulled up at the  Crown 
to pay a visit to an esteemed  brother of the
trade"—indeed, we held an important case
that we were working together, which the
reader shall know more about hereafter. I
found him in his accustomed "settle, with his
accustomed glass before him, and his ancient
umbrella by his side. He was considered the
most "knowing card about the metropolis.
He is a good-natured fellow, and I'm sure he
will pardon the liberty I have taken in pre-
senting the reader with a sketch I once made
of him when he was little aware what I was
doing. I may not mention his name, that
would be unfriendly ; and I trust I am not the
man to do anything that savours of a breach of friendship.
TOM FOX; OR> THE
After we had  done  a glass oYtwo together, my stout friend con-
fidentially and suddenly said— Tom, I want you to do me a little
favour. You know you are the best penman amongst us—I mean you
can put a thing neatly together—you are d—d handy with the pen.
 I can't stop now, for I've a Hansom at the door.
 Ah Tommy ! he said, in groggy, sentimental tones, "you are
just like the rest of the world ; when a friend wants a favour there is
always some excuse for not doing it. Ho, ho ! old fellow, you've time
to do a glass, hut not a favour.
I assured him that he was thinking too hardly of me.
"Well, I think, Tom, you are one of the right sort, and accord-
ingly two more "goes of whiskey were ordered, I now plainly saw
it was a broken day, and that Miss Charlotte and Count Flamingo
were to rest in peace from me. At my friend's solicitation—and he
had been a friend to me when I needed one—I discharged the cab,
and spent a very jolly evening with him.
'' I want you, Tom, to draw up a petition to the Commissioners
tor a superannuation. I am entitled to it, you know, for length of ser-
vice. I am getting tired of this ferretting, dodging, and spying husi-
ness. I have had enough of it, and I'm not a chicken.
 Stuff o' nonsense, old hoy ! I exclaimed.
 Ah ! but what I say is right, Tom ; and I've determined to apply
for my pension, which will be enough for me and the old woman to
live upon with frugality/'
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
15
 Frugality ! What's that ?
 Well, economy, Tom, economy—don't banter now ; you know
what I mean. Ring for the pen and ink.
I obeyed, and the waiter produced a tray of pens and a stone bottle
cf ink. But the pens !—they were irresistibly comic; even my senti-
mental friend was moved to laughter. I tried and examined them one
after the other, and eventually drew forth my pencil, and for fun made
a sketch of them. Here they are :—•
They gave rise to
much chaff and hilar-
ity, and the petition,
to my great jov, was
at length forgotten,
and we fell-to drinking
and talking over our
professional adven-
tures. The last thing
I remember of my
friend that night—
morning rather — was
leaving him asleep a-
mong the ashes of to-
bacco and broken pipes;
while myself, in a very altered condition from when I set out, and, by
the aid of sundry lamp-posts, got home with the milk in the morning.
It is not often that a "De-
tective is caught tripping in
this manner—he can drink
too much for that sort of fun,
which is far from remunera-
tive. Thank goodness, at this
time I was a bachelor, and
though I had no fear of being
called over the coals by Mrs.
Fox, the state in which the
reader now beholds me was
most offensive to Mrs.Gubbirrs,
my respectable landlady, who
told me if it occurred again
she must part with me.
I must confess it did occur
again ; but Mrs. Gubbins al-
ways forgave me. At one time
I thought Mrs. Gubbins had
an eye to become Mrs. Fox,
but I was not goose enough
for that.
16 TOM rox; OE, THE
Full of Miss Charlotte and Count Flamingo, I got up at 4 p.m.;
had my usual supply of coffee brought up, but felt too  seedy to touch
it. However, I managed by night to stroll down to Monsieur Jacques",
and have a quiet game of dominoes. Evening after evening, night after
night, I thus spent at Monsieur Jacques', in expectation of finding
Count Flamingo, who used to be a constant visitor there. His absence
of course only tended to confirm me in my opinion, that he was the
man who had abducted Mr. Robinson's daughter. I made certain in-
quiries after him, but (of course) no one knew what had become of
liim ; but I could not help perceiving that there was a  knowing
twinkle about Monsieur Jacques' eye. Amongst other things attach-
ing to Flamingo's history, 1 learnt that he was a very needy French-
man, but very clever. He had fled from Paris on account of having
had certain political squibs, antagonistic to the Emperor, traced to him.
His pretence in coming to England was to endeavour to get an engage-
ment to teach his language in some academy or aristocratic family.
He had failed in both, and was now living wholly on borrowing from
his friends.
 A game his friends will soon tire of, I remarked.
 In truth, Monsieur, I am tired of it, said Monsieur Jacques, in-
dulging in his accustomed pinch, and passing his fauciful box to me.
 He owes me lots for cigars—lots for coffee—and von whole pound
I lent him.
I saw Monsieur Jacques was communicative, and I at once quietly
put the ' pump' on. First taking a cigar, and ,lighting it at a jet, I 6at
down on a barrel outside the counter, and in an off-handed careless
manner I said—
 It really is a pity that so clever a man as Count Flamingo—■
 Dat is not his name—he no coilnt. He is von Monsieur Fribourg,
editor of an unknown publication in Paris. You Anglais have so
much respect for titles, that we foreigners assume them to please you.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
17
I laughed, and said— No, no, no ; Englishmen are not gulled by
names. Englishwomen may be tickled with them, and no doubt
Fribourg knows this, and by adopting the title of Count, he had the
hopes of winning the heart of a lady of fortune.''
 Bah ! he is married, and has von family.
 So4io ! I said to myself. "Here's a go !
 His family are in Paris, and he had to flee from them, for writing
sharp things of de Emperor.
"You Frenchmen are funny fellows, I observed ; "you shed
blood for a Republic, and the row ends in founding an Empire.
Monsieur". Jacques' tongue here went  nineteen to the dozen,'' as
the old woinen say. Politics was his favourite topic ; but I contrived
to bring the conversation back to the Count.
"If I knew where he was to be found, I think I could do some-
thing- for the poor exile. I have an interest in that man,—do you
know ?
"I should be glad, Monsieur, if you could help him ; den I should
get my, pound.''
 He used to frequent the coffee-room ; hut I suppose, as he could
not pay his way, he was no longer welcome? However, I wish I could
find him, for I am sure I could put him up to something that would
keep him respectably.
 If you thought so, Monsieur, I would try to convey a note to him,
if you would please to write one.
 How could you do that, if you don't know where he lives, or
where he is to be found ?
 I know a lady who knew him ; and I would make inquiries for
you.
I saw a good chance here, and at once penned off a highflown note,
and an offer  to assist him by procuring liim a situation in the Custom-
house, if he would call on me any evening at Monsieur Jacques',
where, as a stranger, I have had the pleasure of occasionally conversing
with him on the political aspects of tlie Continent. I enclosed my
card— Lieutenant Thornton, H.M. Customs.
The bait took well; the note found its way to his hands, and on
the second evening he came to the coffee-room. To his extreme her-
ror and mortification, he presently found in  Lieutenant Thornton,
a Detective officer, who arrested him for the abduction of Miss Char-
lotte. He pleaded that lie had married the young lady, and that he
would commence an action against me for exceeding my duty.
 If you have married her, I replied,  I arrest you for bigamy, for
your first wife, Madame Fribourg, lives in Paris.
 Mon Dieu he exclaimed, and turned wretchedly sick and pale.
I instantly, called a cab, and lodged him for the night in Bow-street.
I subsequently found that he had been living with Miss Charlotte, at
Monsieur Jacques', and that her father and myself found her in one of
18 tou fox; or, thi
thechaste saloons of the house previously described. After this
c xposure became public, the keeper of the house had to  budge. Ma-
dame Fribourg was summoned to London, and Mr. Robinson, Miss
Charlotte's father, prosecuted the prisoner for bigamy. He was com-
mitted for trial, and whisked off in her Majesty's van to Newgate.
The prisoner was found guilty, and transported for six years.
Miss Charlotte was deeply chagrined ; and poor Madame Fribourg—
I much pitied her—was almost heart-broken. I made fifty pounds by
Miss Charlotte's folly.  It is an ill wind that brings good to nobody.
As long as this windfall lasted, I made an occasional night of it with
my friend at the  Crown, and there we did our punch till my
imagination got so ripe that I thought I saw the sweet face of Mis3
Charlotte rising out of the strong steam of the fragrant mixture.
A few days after this the  Derby was on, and I never miss that
day, as some of my  old particulars  are aware. In right gentle-
manly style I spanked down the road in a "von hoss shay, and man-
aged to connect business with pleasure. After I had  put up,'' and
got on the course, I saw the first man I transported. He gave me
a murderous grin, and then sneaked from
my sight. I took him from a skittle-alley
in Shoreditch, and arrested him for bur-
glary at a silversmith's in the Borough.
He was the most formidable scoundrel I
ever met with. I had two of the "force
with me when I tackled him. He gave
me a terrible kick on my leg, which I feel
at every change of the weather to this
day, although it was eight or more years
ago. His hand was as terrible to look
20 TOM FOS; OR, THE
upon as his face. From the
sketch here given (which 1
made during his trial, while he
lent upon the dock at New-
gate,) the reader can judge of
its repulsiveness, and will
clearly see that it would be
far more in harmony with one
of those instruments (which I
found upon him in the skittle-alley) than covered in the refinement of
d kid-glove. May he never get in my clutches again—and may I
never get in his, for the monster would roast me alive, if he only had
the opportunity.
revelations op a petective.
21
I liad not long lost
sight of the burglar,
and while the horses
were just rounding Tat-
tenham Corner, — and
when, of course, every-
body's eye was strain-
ing to follow their flight,
—I saw a young gentle-
man very skilful in the
magic art of lightening
the public of their gold
n TvS'fhi «
and silver watches. So
high was he in fashion,
that amongst the light-
fingered he was known
by the cognomen of tha
•' double swell. He was
Standing with his nobby
cane to his mouth, and his glass to his eye, as if singling out his victims
from the crowd. Three several times has he
been my prisoner—yet he would address me as
friendly and facetiously when he twigged me,
as if he were an honest man, and I his most par-
ticular acquaintance. Ah! his eye has caugbt
mine, and here he comes to my side—there is
no escaping him—he plumes himself on his
intimacy with  Detectives.
"Ha, Fox, here you are theu !—looking
after the geese V
 No, I'm here to protect the geese—to
keep you fellows from making ducks and
drakes of them.
 I daresay you won't believe me, hut 1
have quite done with that sort of thing, for
after all the d—d risks it was surrounded
with—so many foxes about, ha ! ha ! youun-
derstand—it was not remunerative. Three
times, you know, you've pinned me.
 Beware of the fourth ; you know what
the judge told you?
 Ah ! yes ; I remember the old buffer.
"Well, which horse is to win ? he inquired,
turning the conversation. "I'm heavily on
* Flybynight.' 1
"While this young swell-mobsman was in-
22
TOM FOX ; OR, THE
solently intruding himself upon me, the race was run, and the name
of the winning horse was eagerly buzzed through the crowd.
 By G— ! I've lost ! he passionately exclaimed.
 Why, you seem as much concerned as if you meant to pay, and
had the ' tin' to do it with ! I remarked.
"Aw, well; as you like, Fox. The old caper—give a dog a bad
name and hang him. Are you going to stand anything before I'm off
to get my horse ' put to' for Town ?
"You've finished your business here, eh ?
 Don't be so down upon me, old fellow ; for I don't half like it.
Let bygones be bygones. No doubt you've done a litttle scapegrace in
your time, if the truth were known. Send a thief to catch a thief, you
know, Fox.
His ready wit—his audacious patter—raised my ire.  Those who
keep glass houses should' nt throw stones.'' I told him  he had better
hook it, for my eye was on him.
 Your hooks and eyes are both indifferent to me. You have no-
thing against me, have you ?
 I may have by and bye, so don't be cheeky.
At this moment a gentleman came running towards us with fierce
haste, (leaving his hat behind him in the chase,) exclaiming— I've
been robbed of my gold
watch and chain !
My  double swell 
was about to sneak off
when this cry reached
our ears, but I bade him
remain, and took him by
the arm until the gentle-
man breathlessly came
up, and charged him with
robbing him.
 How dare you, sir,
accuse me ! indignantly
exclaimed the swell-mobs-
man.  I would chastise
you for this insult"—
shaking his cane threateningly— had you been a younger man.
 It is very likely you've hit the right nail on the head, sir,'' I said
to the gentleman.  He is a notorious swell-mobsman.
 If you think so, Fox, you can search me, he challenged, unbut-
toning his pockets with the greatest audacity.
 It won't do, my fine fellow ; some pal has got the watch.
 On my honour—
 Pooh I pooh! Honour! — that's rich. Do you charge him,
•ir ?
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
 I only know
he was standing be-
side me just before
the horses started ;
but I should'nt like
to swear he was the
thief.
 Come with me,
sir ; we'll find your
watch, I make no
doubt, with the as-
sistance of this' gen-
tleman' the ' double
swell.'
Through crowds
of  all sorts'' we
made our way — I
claiming the honour
of walking arm in.
arm with the mobs-
man. As every at-
tendant of races
knows, all the street
performers wend
their way there.
The Flexible Arabs,
as we passed along,
seemed wonderfully
to attract, and we
could hardly make
our way through the
admiring crowd.
Further on we had
the same difficulty
to encounter, with
an audience round
a "nigger  singing to the music of his  bones. I led the way to a
favourite resort of my friends during the "Darby, and, as I thought,
found a couple of the right sort, witnessing a  set to  with the gloves.
My entrance with the  double swell spoilt their sport.- He who did
the  hat-band  business, I made a very singular acquaintance with.
Not many years ago he was clerk in a City house, and his situation
was one of great trust. While there he was very much esteemed—
he belonged to a respectable family—and was always spoken of as
"a good-natured fellow. He always stood  Sam, and I had often
myself had a glass at his expense at the bar of the house he patronised ;
TOM FOX; OB, THE
but I dare not remember these acci-
dental kindnesses in the discharge of
my duty. While Mr. Rakeswell was
the confidential clerk at Blower and
Blenheim's, it was my duty to respect
^«a£c him ; but when I discovered that he
had been embezzling the aforesaid firm,
it was my duty to arrest him. It was
discovered one morning that Mr.
Rakeswell's cash-box had been stolen.
The box contained, besides sundry
coin, a number of notes. Messrs.
Blower and Blenheim sought my aid.
The first person suspected was a porter
in the establishment, but I plainly
saw it was not him ; and after hearing
all the particulars, as related by Mr.
Rakeswell and the suspected porter,
in the private room of their employers,
my suspicions fell upon the former,
I said nothing, of course ; but, after
having obtained the numbers of the
several notes, went to work to traca
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 25
them. Whether or not Mr. Rakeswell read my suspicions I can.-
not say, but he sought me night and day to stand treat. I fought
shy, for I felt convinced that he himself had stolen the cash-box.
I knew what his employers did not know—that he kept a mis-
tress—that he kept a horse and trap—that he gambled, and made a
hook for the races ;—this I knew was not compatible with the situa-
tion he held, for, though it was highly responsible, it would not stand
the  luxuries I have submitted to the reader. But, to cut a long
story short, I traced one of the ten-pound notes to Mr. Rakeswell, as
one that he had paid away for the rent of his mistress' "villa, in the
neighbourhood of Camden-town, The discovery took every one by
surprise, but none more so than Messrs. Blower and Blenheim, who,
for his deceased father's sake, had some regard for their dishonest
clerk, and whom, I
verily believe, they
would readily have for-
given, had he not been
mean enough to have
placed the embezzle-
ment upon an old and
valued servant. Be-
sides, Mr. Rakeswell
showed more noneha-
lance than repentance
—more pride than re-
gret. I arrested him
at a casino, where I
found him engaged in
the joyous excitement
of a polka with a very
pretty girl—aye, seem-
ingly as happy as if no
guilt was upon his head.
The sequel was, that his
employers,with extreme
reluctance, prosecuted
him, at the same time appealed through their counsel to the tender
mercies of the judge, who sentenced him to two years' imprisonment
with hard labour.
Finding no clue here, I went forward to another booth on the
course, of a more fashionable class than the one I had just left. My
next picture shows the style of the company I there met with.
While here, I met with one of the  force, with a whole bag-full of
articles that he had taken from the "dummy of the swell-mobsmen's
party. The watch that I had been in search of was among them, and
my brother officer was in pursuit of the very man—'' the double swell'
26 tom fox; or, the
—I had in my charge. I handed Mm over to be locked-np with the
''dummy.
Night coming on, and the excitement of the day over, I regaled
myself and friend with a glass of brandy and water, then had my
horse  put to, and whipped as speedily to London as the crowded
state of the roads and lanes would let me.
But a  Detective  knows no rest. I had scarcely reported myself
and my doings at the Derby at head quarters than I was commissioned
to apprehend William Abel, a Yorkshire schoolmaster, for the murder
of a little boy. It appeared that this William Abel was left sole
guardian to the boy and his large property, and there was a clause in
the will that at the boy's death the property should descend to the
schoolmaster and his family. This clause tempted Abel to murdei
his ward, which he did by poison. Abel then became possessor of the
property—but murder will out. This guilty accession of wealth led
the schoolmaster to dissipation, and he deserted his wife for another.
The wife, in a fit of jealousy, revealed her suspicions of her husband's
crime to the police authorities, the little body was exhumed, and it
was clearly demonstrated that poison had been the instrument of death.
Abel fled, and was traced to London—but there he was lost sight of,
until the acute mind of a  Detective  was brought into the case. I
scented him to a house in Clerkenwell. To screen himself from sus-
picion, because he dared not venture abroad, he put on the disguise of
an invalid, and when I arrested him his table was covered with physic
bottles, and he was taking a warm footbath and a basin of gruel, in
his night robes.
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
27
About nine o'clock, one Sunday night, I waited on Mr. Abel, and
found him as I have previously described. I informed the landlady I
■wanted to see Mr. Abel on particular business. She took ruy request
to his room, to the door of which I followed her.
 "You are wanted, sir, she said.
"Wanted ! by whom ? inquired Mr. Abel, in agitated tones.
 I didn 't ask sir—he's a stranger.'
 A stranger ! he exclaimed.  The devil 1
 Not so, Mr. Abel,'' I said, entering the room,  but a ' Detective'
officer. I then mentioned my business—he fell on the floor—so
suddenly that I thought he was dead. The landlady screamed, and I
at once sought the assistance of a policeman on duty. We soon
threw a blanket over him, got him into a cab, and conveyed him to
the station-house. The unhappy man did not survive long enough to
he tried or hung; he was found, next morning dead in his cell.
He had a gentler death than he deserved. It is astonishing how
lucky some people are. The hangman and the gallows should have
received him from the prison door.
CHAPTER II.
glancing over the lasc por-
tion of my l< Revelations '' I find
that I am under promise to my
readers to make some profes-
sional disclosures concerning the
Marquis of W. It is a part of
my religious creed to keep my
promises; nor have I faith ir»
any man who lightly trifled
with his word, or who would, as
Macbeth said to those lovely
witches who assailed him on the
barren heath, palter with us in a
double sense.
Not long after my capture of
the Marquis,asrelated in my First
Number, I made his acquaint-
ance again at the execution of
six criminals at Newgate. This
was about twenty years ago, on a
piercing cold January morning,
If I live twenty years longer,!'
shall never forget that dismal time,
but the roaring wind, laughter, oaths,
be heard
g speech
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 29
execution! "Peppermint Drops, hot and strong — hot
strong! and St. Sepulchre's melancholy bell. Nothing to be
1 hut the grim gallows, and a sea of upturned heads. The
'ep was a witness—the man about town was a witness—and
! man and woman who had narrowly escaped hanging them-
res were witnesses to the
mising drama.
One of the six malefactors
s a woman, for the murder of
: step-daughter. I make a
itch from a print of the day,
ich now lies before me, por-
ying the murderous attack.
Oh ! that bell—its harrowing
ind almost made me feel as
[ were about to make an exit
m those gallows ropes and
tins that were dangling in the
d, cold breeze, as if impatient
■ the prey that was being prepared for them within those
der walls. But I must not stop to sentimentalise—a Detective
ist look at the scenes of life as they exist in life, — must
il with broad and naked facts. Although his profession lies wholly
;h the criminal, it is not hi3 province to seek out the causes of
me, nor to express pity with an offender.
[ recollect once I took a little ragged girl—and, if the dirt and tears
1 been washed from her face, rather a pretty girl—into custody for
aling a small loaf from a baker's counter. I entreated the man to
give her—even offered to pay for the bread. He turned upon
with the hardest face it was possible to conceive, and said:—
'' I'm surprised at you, a hofficer of perlice, should want to let thieves.
! I give her in charge—that's enough for you; and, min d, when her
■30
toji I'ox ;
hearing comes off. I don't let the
magistrate know about your hu-
inanity.
And lie did mention my inter-
cession for the poor child to the
magistrate, and I was asked for
an explanation. I replied, I thought
the child committed the step through
dire starvation.
"You are not paid to think,
sir, but to do your duty. It is for
us to investigate crimes and causes.
This was the first time I was ever reprimanded by the aagacioi
bench—and I took care it should be the last on the score of humamtj
After that, as far as the magistrate, prisoner, and prosecutor mi
concerned, I kept my thoughts to mysell. But now I am makii
 Revelations  for the ear of the general public, I do not hesitate
affirm, after a twenty years' experience of criminal life, my convictioni
that half the crimes may be referred to intemperance—a fourth!
poverty—and another fourth to gambling and living beyond til
means.
As the time of execution drew near—it wanted but a quarter ofai
hour—the morning grew darker—the crowd increased. The red caj
of the butcher was plentifully sprinkled about, and roars of laughta
passed through the crowd when they espied the antics of two sweep
who had taken position on the tops of chimneys that eommandedi
view of the great and gloomy prison. But this attraction gave placi
to women's screams proceeding from the "Sun public house, faciei
the prison. I was the first to battle through the crowd, followed bj
a few riff-raff, and one of the  force, to the spot from wheno
the screams and uproar issued. When I reached the room of th
house, to my great astonishment I found the Marquis with ai
aristocratic friend or two and their  ladies, all in indelicati
confusion on the floor. For the better understanding of the reada
I will sketch the scene. The party had been drinking here all nigb(
and had paid ten guineas for the room. The Marquis, ever in searcl
of excitement, swore that the room was sinking, at the same tin)
turning over a side table stored with decanters and glasses. Tb
 ladies, half in intoxication, half in affright, dropped to the floa
while the Marquis and his male friends, to keep up the "lark, rolle
amongst them. The fair one in the white dress was a new  flame'd
the. Marquis, one whom he had made acquaintance with and betrajd
at Vauxhall Gardens, which was then in its greatest glory of colourel
l imps, and public and private prostitution. The Marquis, with oil
stretched limbs, forms the centre of this aristocratic group. I had no id!
his lordship would have recollected me, but on my remonstrance,!
U E V F L AT IONS OF A DETECTIVE.
31
jehalf of
irdinary
the landlord, at such uproarious conduct, he made an extra-
leap from the floor, and staggered to welcome me.
The Marquis, besides being enor-
mously rich, was reputed to be the
handsomest man of his day. The
reader shall judge, from a sketch I
made of him one morning in Ken-
sington-gardens, where I found him
smoking a quiet cigar after a night's
debauch. Perhaps his sins are better
known than his virtues.  The evil
that men do, lives after them. I al-
ways found him liberal to a degree,
and the poor were always better for
his acquaintance. His manly beauty,
no doubt, made him the ladies  pet
and fancy, and largely contributed to
his great success among them. His.
manners were of all things the most
delightful, and would have beguiled
an angel from the paths of virtue, had
his lordship so willed it.
But of what is it that the Marquis
has been guilty? His friends reply,
nothing more than the larks of a school-
boy, or any young man overflowing
with animal spirits. Let me examine
a few of them, and my readers will be the better able to judge of tbg
harmlessness. He and liis friends were the first to make a privtq
trip in a balloon. The party unfortunately took too much wi
with them, and they became elevated in two senses. The Marqui
as in too many instances, was regardless of all danger to hima
and friends ; he tampered with the balloon, and they madea more
than agreeable descent. Ilappilv no lives were lost, no limbs broka
He was severely censured—and properly so—by the public and j|
press for his recklessness, and threatened with indictment.
On another occasion he liberally paid some rogue and vagabon
to attire himself, and parade from Charing-cross to the Exchangeioi
barrister's wig and gown. This caused a very great deal of amusi
ment in that great thoroughfare, whj
the Marquis and a friend drove slowlj
in a cabriolet, enjoying the fun til
he had created.
Another amusement of the Marqtii
was, to employ a dustman to j
COOK-SHOP
1 e t f £ Bn efj
'-Mutton
m a
bl® A I;to rn e y £
A fim i f* i- ~ '
through Etlgravia at two oclock in the morning with a noisy hell,!
lustily cry,  Dust 0! 
Once lie gave some needy adventurer five pounds, to sail downl
Thames in a washing-tub, with an open umbrella for £
Then he would play the ghost (as shown in my initial illustration)#
3-1
TOM FOX ; OR, THK
frighten a friend, whom lie knew was about to pass along. Thishii
favourite groom told me he did after the breaking up of a party at hh
house. They had been laughingly discussing supernatural subject!
at dinner, and one of the gentlemen  pooh-poohed ghosts, and swort
that he should like to meet with one. The Marquis said, he should
not mind either, were it in a lone place, and that it proved a female
ghost. Soon after this, said the groom,  he tipped the wink to me,
and bade me to bring a sheet and night-cap, and attend him to a bye-
path in the beautiful grounds attached to his mansion, and through
which his ghost-defying friend must pass on his way home. Tin
Marquis made up well; it gave me a chill to look upon him. H<
took his position on a hillock, in a dark corner of the meadow, in
order that his ghostly habiliments might the better tell. I hid behind
the hedge. With cigar in mouth, the man, who professed to believe ia
neither God, ghost, nor devil, came swaggering by. The Marquis
grinned a terrible grin—he gave a ghastly stare—he uttered fearful
groans. No sooner did the gentleman fix his eyes on the sheeted
Marquis than dreadful fear seized him ; his teeth chattered—the cigar
fell from his mouth, and he seemed fixed to the ground. The spirit
moved, and extended its arms. The gentleman screamed—
' Murder! Murder! Murder!'  This, continued the groom, "wat
the height of fun. I and other of the Marquis' servants poured into
the meadow in answer to the screams. The other servants, who knetf
nothing whatever of the spree, became as frightened as the gentleman,
and were utterly paralysed with fear. However the Marquis could keep
his gravity before such a frightened crew, 1 could not for the life of mo
tell. Suddenly, with the sheet outstretched, he jumped from his seat,
and ran like lightning after his frightened servants and brave com
painon. I stayed behind, and never enjoyed such capital sport before
I;, a turning of the meadow, the ghost found it convenient to vanieb,
and he was soon lost sight of, to the great comfort of the affrighted
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
35
pack. The gentleman was ill for a week after ; but when the hoax
was explained to him, he had the audacity to say he was not in the
least alarmed, but that he kept up the spree for the amusement of
the Marquis. However, he could not bear the tables that were turned
upon him, and it positively led to a duel between him and my noble
master. The gentleman was very vindictive, and fired in earnest at
the Marquis, but missed him. My gallant master fired in the air.
This took place at Wormwocd-scrubs, where they parted, and never
met again.
Primrose-hill, placing a light within the devilish figure which glared
through the eye-holes, and imparted a fearful ghastliness for miles
around its prominent position. The following morning every Newspaper
was full of the  Mysterious Apparition on Primrose-hill, and
to this hour it is fully believed in, as an apparition, by many of the
weak-nerved who were unfortunate enough suddenly to come upon
it. Of course, the Marquis had it removed before daybreak, and
the following night set it up in another part of the outskirts, to the
terror of all passers-by. For several nights this figure made its
mysterious appearance, and it is hardly credible that amongst all who
saw it there was but one man brave enough to approach it, and he was
under the influence of brandy and water, and far from being able with
distinctness to say—
Indeed, these lines are so comically constructed, that our readers
would find it difficult to read them quickly and preserve the proper
d
The Marquis, he it
observed, was prone
to this childishness of
frightening people—as
many of his friends,
servants, and the public
could testify. It was
no matter to him, who
he played his jokes
upon; but it must be
said in his favour, that
whenever hecommitted
an injury, he was al-
ways the first to make
reparation with his ex-
haustless purse. Once
he set the annexed
figure on the top of
The British Constitution
Is a glorious Institution
And truiy rural.
3G TOM Fox; OR, TBS
pronunciation of ench word. Any one with a brain reeking with alcohol
would prcbably render them thus :—
The Bish 'too-shon
G-gloryus too-shon,
Tooral-looral.
This man was returning home from a supper with friends, and saw
the figure with an eye of fire glaring at him, from one of the Surrey-
hills. Valiantly approaching it, he exclaimed, as well as the grog
would let bim—
 Who are you? It's no go, old fellow! Hic-cup. I'll be down
upon you as the f-f-feather said to the d-d-duck! What's your
game? You're an ugly devil, and no flies. Hic-cup! I'll send you
home to blazes ! And with a blow with his walking stick he took
the devil out of the Marquis' figure, and sent the basket rolling down
the Hill.
One more anecdote or two of the Marquis we will relate, ere we
return to the execution. He took down a gilt lamb over a City hosier's
door, and established the funny figure of a black doll.
These noctur-
nal freaks of the
Marquis were, for
the greater part,
enacted in the days
when the metropo-
lis was guarded by
infirm old watch-
men, yclept Char-
leys, (why, or
wherefore, I do not
pretend to say.)
His lordship found -
it more difficult to :
carryout his unruly
organisations for
disturbing the pub-
lie peace after the
 Peelers '' and
 Deteccives  were
brought in to super-
sede the  men of
other days. Poor
old boys ! methinks
I see one of them
now, whose beat
was in the neighbourhood of my father's house in Houndsditch. There
ue is—there he goes—the infirm old Charley, in the midst of frost and
snow, loudly proclaiming the state of the weather, and the hour of the
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
37
night, hobbling to his box in the centre of the little square, with rattle
by his side, and lantern in his hand; his doubled body supported by
an antique stick, and comforted with a coat of many capes.
These were the happy days when the Marquis, and such as he,
could, with impunity, wrench knockers from doors—turn the watch-
Juan's box over his head—substitute hosier's gilt lambs for marine-
store dealers' black dolls—upset old mother Morgan's pie-can, (who,
by the bye, was de-
lighted to see the
Marquis and his
.confederates pelt-
ing each other with
her pies, for she
knew they would
pay her well for
the spree) — hire
an organ grinder
to play under the
window of a crot-
chetty old maid,
who, it was well-
known, had a par-
ticular objection
to such serena-
ders, and who was
constantly lodging complaints at the police station. These, and similar
Jpfjj jokes, sprees, develries,
pastimes or pleasan-
tries were the soul of
the Marquis' life.
Amongst his trades-
people was a boot-
maker, who had a
shre w of a wife,
a young woman, too.
This the Marquisknew,
and he also knew that
nothing annoyed Mrs.
Witcherley more than
that her husband, on
any pretence whatever,
should be from his
lawful wife, home, and
bed, after ten at night.
Now Witcherley, in
fris way, was quite a
38 tom fox; or, the
"character, and furnished a great deal of sport for the Marquis—
that is, when it suited his lordship's humour to condescend to spent
an hour or an evening with his worthy bootmaker. He was really t
good-tempered man, and laughed as heartily as did the Marquis, or any
of the company, when he was  fou, and the latter would slily remove
his chair on his attempt to resume it after rising to drink  the mosf
noble Marquis' health.
But Witcherley feared
nothing, cared for no-
thing, but she who had
promised to "love, ho-
nour, and obey  him—a
promise she had utterly
forgotten from the mo-
ment she left the altar
with her fatherly, bald-
pated husband, and whom
she had only married for
his money. Let my fair readers take a Detective's warning—never
marry for money, or, if you do, for pity's sake treat your victim kindly
and considerately, and not like wicked Mrs. Witcherley, from peep of
dawn to drowsy eve, be ever nagging, scolding, provoking, and annoy-
ing him who is doing all he can to please and make you happy. Poof
"Witcherley ! one night the Marquis sent him home rather  fou, to
his wife's tender mercies ; but the sight of his own door sobered him.
He knocked once, and softly—no answer ; he knocked twice—no an-
swer ; he knocked a third time—lo ! up flew the sash of the first-floor
window, out popped Mrs. Witcherley's head, and her tongue went
wagging with terrible abuse upon her unoffending and trembling hus-'
band. She has exhausted herself. She retires from the window, and
opens the door.
"Now don't be cross—there's a good woman;—it shan't occur
again—indeed it shan't. The Marquis, my dear ■
 Don't dear me, you, you—I don't know anything bad enough to
call you—you're drunk; you know you are! You have been with
other women ; you know you have!
"Me ! Mrs. Witcherley? Oh ! Mrs. Witcherley ! exclaimed the
bootmaker, hardly knowing bow to pacify his enraged spouse. Then,
to escape her wrath, he would slink away to the kitchen and smoke a,
pipe, while Mrs. AV. would hurry upstairs with the desperation of one
who had been deeply injured, and who was about to expiate her
misery in suicide. When she reached her bedroom her piteous sobs
might be heard all over the house, and nothing would comfort her but
Witcherley's taking the part of a penitent, and handing over Mrs. W,
the price of a seasonable dress.
Once the Marquis did a very unfriendly thing—he got one of his
REVELATIONS OS A DETECTIVE.
99
"ladies  to address a tender note to Witcherley. This was opened by
Mrs. W., who, pale with rage, charged him with adultery ; and, before
he could deny it, assailed him with candlestick, bootjack, flat iron, and
hearth - broom.
Alas ! Alas !—
this hen-pecked
husband never
went to church
but he prayed
heaven to de-
3iver him from
Mrs. W.; he
never went to
bed but he men-
tally offered up
a like supplies-
tion. Now Mr.
Witcherley was
a "righteous
man, and his
prayers were
heard. One day,
hot with rage,
and inflamed
with jealousy,
Mrs. W. fell a
corpse at her
husband's feet;
she had broken
a blood-vessel of the heart. Much as the bootmaker felt his relief,
still he regretted his wife, and grief was awakened in his tender, forgiv-
ing nature when the undertaker arrived with her coffin.
I have now submitted a few of the sports
and pastimes which made the Marquis so popu-
lar. Though, as a  Detective, I cannot but
pass the severest censure upon them, I still think
they were made of more importance than they
merited. Indeed, had they been committed by
a government or office-clerk, half of them would
have passed unnoticed ; but being the deeds of
a live marquis—oh, how they were talked about,
and reprobated by an outraged public and an
indignant press.. Bad as the Marquis was, I
knew two of his companions to be worse. Sir
Harry Marksby and Bob Elphinstone were two
of the worst in the world. They were men who
lived for nothing but evil. Their whole ingenuity and fortune wasbrougbb
40 TOtI FOX ; OR, THE
to bear upon woman's weakness. All ! how many weeping eyes,—how
many broken hearts,—how many suicides their wickedness had led to.
The evil is incalculable that men of fortune commit upon the age
they live in, when they give the reign to their lawlessness and plea-
sure. Morally or physically they are sure to make shipwreck of
themselves and those who unhappily come within their contaminating
influence.
Multitudes are annually caught within their artful web, and rarely
escape from its meshes without death and destruction. I fondly trust
that my ''Revelations will put young men and women upon their
guard, and that they will find in the base and wicked career of those
I am about to open up for their warning, lessons that will make them
pause ere they allow themselves to be duped by the sweet tones of
flattery's tongue.
 Ah ! Sir Harry, said Elphinstone, one day as he leant against
the pillar of his club.  an(i how did you get over that little affair ?
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
41
"Ha ! ha! ahem !—which ? interrogated the other, tapping his
polished boot with his cane. -
 Why, that little smiling servant you were so sweet upon. Tom
Bradshaw's gal.
 Oh, Lord, Lord !—pooh, pooh> pooh,—that was soon finished
I found her very docile—very simple. She took all the blarney in ;
and, like other simpletons, she lost her virtue, as the world calls it.
I drove her down the road—dined with her—gave her wine—plenty of
wine—but enough. She cried a little—a good deal, perhaps, in
the morning; and I dried her tears by promising her marriage.
Ha ! ha !
 Ah ! she was a nice little gal, replied Elphinstone, half vexed
that he had not been in Sir Harry's place in wronging his friend's
servant.
"Yes, yes; she was as nice a little article as I have won for some
time.
 What has become of her, Sir Harry
 Ha ! ha ! ha !—why ? are you anxious to make after fallen
game ?
 That be d—d !—not I. I merely inquire, for—for 
 Ah, it won't do—you stammer. My life upon it, that girl has
smitten you.
"Psha! Sir Harry ! cried Elphinstone, indignantly; "women
are not so scarce that I should be concerned about a serving wench. I
only thought you outstripped me with her—but, Lord, it's of no con-
sequence 
"My dear fellow, said Sir Harry, "I never understood that
you had fixed upon the lass. I trust I am too much of a man of
honour to rob a dear friend of his prey. Not for the world, on my
soul!
"Now recollect, said Elphinstone, "did I not see her first?—
did I not admire her ?—did I not open the campaign with her one
night at Bradshaw's ?—did I not tell you 
 Oh yes, yes ; I won't deny a word of it, said Sir Harry.
 Did I not, continued Elphinstone, rather impassioned,  dis-
tinctly tell you, Sir Harry, that directly I got rid of another little
thing or two, that you knew I had on hand at the moment, I would
address myself to Bradshaw's servant ?''
 Well, well ; you did, Elphinstone. But pray do not let
us quarrel over a kitchen maid ! On my soul, I thought the ballet-
girl occupied your thoughts, if not your heart, and as just then I was
engaged with nothing particular, I made love to Bradshaw's servant—
and, between I and you and the post, it is my firm conviction that
Bradshaw himself had been smitten with her.
 Nonsense !
"A truth, by ! For he gave a knowing wink, and a knowing
42
TOM fox; or, Tns
leer—you know his way—when he found the gal had eloped with
me. And I have another reason—she was devilish easy to betray.'
Just before we retired she sang a song—a sacred song—ha! ha!
—something about—'pon my soul I forget ; I know it ended with
'mother dear.' After she finished, I handed her a glass of wine, and
sang—with my arms round her waist*—
' Oh ! dearest maid,
Will you pout thus, and sigh,
If your lips, like your cheeks, are all ruddy ?'
 And then I said—
' Oh, love, early, untainted love,
Thou only pure idolatry.'
 Ha ! ha ! and then I said—
' Oh, woman! lovely woman ! Nature made thee
To temper man ; we had been brutes without you!
Angels are painted fair, to look like you!'
et-cetera, cetera, and so forth. And then we had more wine, Elphin-
stone—and then—(he excitedly whispered in his friend's ear) 
 The scene is not interesting to me,
said Elphinstone, still displeased,  however
much you might have enjoyed it.
"Did you see the Marquis last night, El-
phinstone ?
 No, I saw no one; I was not the cheese,
and did the quiet.
"Hurrah ! here comes Bradshaw ! ex-
claimed Sir Harry, as a little swell made to-
wards the club, dressed tip-top.
He no sooner reached the spot than he
exclaimed, half in jest, half in earnest—"I
say, old boy, there is such a row about my
gal!
 The devil !—you don't mean that, Brad-
shaw ? said Sir Harry, reddening.
'' Her father ha been to my house, and
as the girl has not been seen since you bolted
with her, he has summoned me to the police
office for the production of the body. I told
him I had seen nothing of her for two or
three days, and that I could not be answerable for her.
 And what did the old buffer say then ? inquired Sir Harry.
"Oh, threatened all kind of things—action for seduction—trans-
portation for rape—&c., &c., &c. However, it ended by his being d—d
insolent, and I kicked the fellow down stairs.
"Bravo, Bradshaw ! exclaimed Sir Harry.
 Yes, that's all very well; but look here, he has summoned me.
Now, what's to be done ?
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE,
43
Elphinstone seemed delighted at the  fix  his friend, Sir Harry,
was placed in, and laughed heartily, much to his annoyance.
 There's nothing to be done but buying over the old buffer's
Wrath with a shiner or two What do you think, Bradshaw ?
 You can try it on, you know ; but it must be done at once, or
by I shall have the police at my house ! Can't you produce the
 Lord love you, no. I know nothing more of her, as I was saying
to Elphinstone, than that I left her in Oxford-street, where I pro-
imised to meet her the following night.
 Which, of course, you forgot to do ?
"I did not forget; but I had an appointment with a little thing
that I had been angling for for some time—better fish, I can tell von,
than your gal. But I say, Bradshaw—honour now—did you not—
(here he whispered in Bradshaw's ear.)
"D e, no. The girl Lad not been in my service a week. I
Wont say t ut what I intended to make love to her.
 Oh, of course exclaimed Sir Harry and Elphinstone.
"But, honour bright, I wish, you dog, you had not spent that
evening with me 
gal?'
u
TOM FOX; OR, THE
"Egad ! I saw her before that. I had
night, passing year house, I tumbled over
and a cloudy morn-ing
a ttte d t&te when one
the individual fetching
the ' supper - beer.' —
"Oh! d—nthegal!
since she's gone, let her
go. Let's into the club
and have a bottle, and
then I'll see her old
father. By the bye, who
is be, and where is he
to be found ?''
"His name is Ni-
cliolas Belcher;
a tripe and trotter
near Holborn.
 All right, said the
reckless, unfeeling Sir
Harry.  Now, let us
in; what say you, El-
pbinstone ?
There was no ob-
jection made, and the
three dissipated men ad
journed to the smoking-
room of the club, then
sallied forth in spreeish
mood when the old
Charley of the district
was lustily crying, in
a sing-song manner,
 Pa-ast two o'clock !
two men—beg pardon,
*' gentlemen,"—laugh so much at their own folly. The silent street
resounded with their coarse disturbance. And as soon as the old
Charley waked up from his snug house, and threatened that he
would  spring his rattle  they only laughed the more—told him to
"spring his rattle and be d—d'' gave him an unceremonious "bonneter
and joyously started over to another "beat, to create a like dis-
turbance, and to defy another old defender of the peace of the metro-
polis, or to sport with some wretched woman returning from her
walks to her place of nightly refuge. After again giving one of the anti-
auated night guardians of the metropolis a  bonneter, and running
pell-mell down the street, they pulled up at the first lamp to light
their cigars, which was effected by Sir Harry supporting Bradshaw OB
bis ponderous shoulders.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
45
Their nocturnal sprees
having exhausted them, as
well as the wine would let
them they sauntered back to
their club, and roused the fat
old porter from his dose in the
easy hall-chair.
Ah ! these clubs — well
may wives be jealous of them,
and husbands luxuriate in
them. In these aristocratic
places, what elegance ! what
superfluity of comfort! what
cunning and countless con-
trivances for sensual indul-
gence! what taste 1 what
splendour ! There is really
nothing left to desire. And
then the daily fare of the for-
tunate individuals who con-
gregate in them—viands of
the daintiest kind, choicest
wines and cigars, wit, wealth,
and fashion, all in superabun-
dance. They had not long returned before Bradshaw and Sir Harry
called for the cards, while Elphinstone stretched himself at length upon
a velvet couch, and fell into a deep sleep.
I must now tell my readers what befel poor Mary Belcher and
her disconsolate father. Mar-y really was a virtuous girl ere she fell
into the sink of Bradshaw's service ; being simple, ignorant, and know-
ing nothing of the world and less of its wicked inhabitants, she was
soon led astray by the blarney and gold of the gay, handsome, and
bland Sir Kany. And yet withal, Sir Harry, you were a pitiful
scoundrel, to ruin a poor girl, then to cast her off, and make sport of
her to your friends in crime,—to betray her trustingness, and then to
mock her for her folly,—to corrupt her, and then to point at her, and
say, "hence, poor fool, I know you not. There are too many of
your stamp living at the present day ; but a more contemptible class
of men a  Detective  could not .encounter ; and whenever I am set in
motion to catch any of your set for offences against the law, I shall
always put my best leg forward to be  down on 'em.''
Mary Belcher never survived the cowardly blow that had been
dealt her by her  bosom friend step by step she went downward—
first drink, then prostitution, then theft. She was transported for
robbing a gentleman of his gold watch. Her father—I was at Mary's
trial—I kriow not how to describe his appearance in the Criminal
4G TOM FOX; OR, THE
Court, nor the heavy groan he gave at the fate of his only child. When
her sentence was pronounced, he rushed amongst the counsel, fell on.
his knees before the Judge, and shrieked for forgiveness for his "poor
Mary. But the law must take its course, and the half-mad old man
was removed from the Court. Life henceforth became a serious burden
to him ; one day he wandered on board a river steamer, and while the
band played gaily to the holiday passengers, Nicholas Belcher slunk
from observation, and plunged into the water. The steamer tacked-
about to where the body heaved up and down, and the good old  salt''.
of a captain managed to get a hold of the body that had so lately
parted from its agonised soul.
I need hardly be expected to stop to comment on the unmitigated
rices—the devilish profligacy—the finished deceit—the entire sensu-
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
47
ality—the deep-dyed villany, of the two men who had brought such
misery upon unhappy Mary Belcher, and her suicide father.
These worst specimens of mankind—these men (forgive the word !)
who gloried, and only gloried in their shame, were at the  Sun,
waiting for the exhibition of six beings (better than themselves, to
all intents and purposes) expiating their crimes upon the gallows.
They passed the night here—they and the fallen women they had
brought with them,—and, to make it as "jolly  as possible, they drank
deep—sang ribald songs—played unlimited loo—made unseemly jests
at the poor creatures who were preparing for a dreadful death—rioted
with each other, the women exchanging their bonnets for the men's
hats—in short, gave themselves up to every excess that the wildest
and most debauched fancy could suggest. Anything—anything—
rather than be  slow. borne time—the dreadful time for those who
had to suffer before a gaping, heartless crowd, on tip-toe for the  sight
—before the execution took place a heavy snow-storm came on, and
the wind sported fantastically with the flakes until they found a resting
place on the gallows and the ground. Every little heap that collected
on the window-sill of the  Sun  was eagerly scrambled for by the
aristocratic party, to make into a ball to pelt the crowd with ; the
crowd kept up the "ball, and gathered the snow from each other's
shoulders and returned the compliment.
Amidst such revolting scenes as these—amidst oaths, and yells,
and hurrahs of fiends in human shape—amidst a wind that whistled
and shrieked while sporting with the snow—St. Sepulchre's chimed
the fatal hour of eight! Scarcely had the last echo of the bell died out,
than the culprits moved solemnly to their fate ! The party at the
 Sun, of course, took the front boxes—they paid for them—while I
and my man of the  force, who entered at the landlord's request
to keep the dissolute in order, stood behind them. While the poor
wretches prayed with the chaplain, who implored  that God might
have mercy on their souls,"—'twas but a brief moment or two—the
noble personages and the crowd kept breathless silence; you might
have almost heard the snow falling ; the former, as well as their
trembling intoxicating limbs would let them, levelled their opera-glasses
at the gallows, that they might not lose one agonising quiver that shot
like lightning over the faces of the condemned, and so continued till
the white cap hid the dread sight, and the withdrawal of the fatal
bolt had given Justice her terrible dues.
"While the bodies were dangling in the snow, moving hither and
thither in the gamboling wind, the distinguished party at the  Sun
rioted among themselves, and I plainly saw that something presently
would occur that would make them amenable to the law, and to my
custody. I never knew but mischief produced by "chaff aud prac-
tical jokes among people who were well up in alcohol. The landlord
was doing a good stiokc of business wi'h his customers, and on the
48 TOM FOX ; OR, THE
occasion of a hanging match he was of opinion that a little lawlessM#
might be excused, as it was at country fairs and races.
Signs of fatigue now began to show themselves upon the illustriom
narty—one of the ladies lay fast asleep across the breast of the Mar-
quis, while another, sitting on one chair, with her legs resting01
another, proposed the calling of a hackney coach, and taking their
departure. Sir Harry, in tin. endeavour to infuse fresh spirits into till
assembly, with his hair dishe-
veiled, and his cravat anyhow,
yawningly ordered breakfast.
The proposition was so-*
conded by some, and opposot
by others. The landlord did;
,(^not wait to see whether the,
 ayes  or  noes  had it, but
set liis servants to work to pre-;
pare it. By the time the fut
serving wench came up the
narrow stairs with the jingling
things, high unparliamentaiy
words were being banded from
one to another, and when the
things were set on the table, the Marquis upset the whole on the floor,
and the teapot, with its hot contents, rolled into Sir Harry's lap. The
REVELATIONS op a detective.
49
lowest ana the vilest oaths were heaped on the Marquis's devoted
head. The Marquis resented this attack—hexing was about to com-
mence, when I interposed. Neither of the combatants were disposed
to allow any interference, but I persisted, and while I held back the
Marquis, my man tried his hand upon the furious Sir Harry. By
some means or the other he tripped the constable to his knees, and,
mad^ with drink, drew from the fire a red hot poker, and was about to
assail him with it. Luckily I was in time to stay his hand, and for
this outrage upon one of the force, I took him into custody.
I never saw a man in so much jeopardy of destruction as the po-
liceman. Directly I set my clutch on Sir Harry, the whole of the
party, including the  ladies, made an onslaught on me for his deliver-
ance from custody. I gave the policeman the wink to obtain
assistance, and soon two more of the  force  were in attendance. A
regular melde ensued. The window of the  Sun was smashed—cups
and saucers were flying about, and a champagne bottle caught me over
the left eye, and inflicted a wound. One of the officers was furiously
seized by two of the women, and they desperately endeavoured to
fling him from the window. When they saw the game was up—that
resistance was in vain—that we had the whole of them fairly in cus-
tody—they  spoke in a humbler key, and sued for favour. The
Marquis, who was the most sober of his party, softly said:—
 Come, Fox, don't be a fool. Let us settle it over a bottle, and a
pound or two. A spree, my boy—nothing more.
I replied by pointing to the painful gash over my eye.
 Pah ! nonsense, nonsense—that will soon heal. Here, plaster it
with this bit of paper"—(exhibiting a five-pound note),— this is a
remedy for all complaints—an infallible cure for headache and heart-
ache—a sovereign remedy for all human ills.
•'It's no go, sir, I replied; "it's a serious case, and must be
settled at the sessions.
 Let me appeal to your gallantry, Fox. Spare the dear ladies,
for pity's sake ! he added, in mock heroic tones.
 Don't plead for us, love, spoke one of the fair ones ;  where you
go we will go. Merrily humming—■
 There's nothing like constancy under the sun.
Seeing no grave necessity that the women should suffer the im-
pending disgrace, I acquiesced in the Marquis's appeal to my gallantry,
and the  ladies, after embracing the noble prisoners, made their exit
in a hackney coach.
After their departure the Marquis renewed his temptations of
 squaring the affair. I was obdurate—more especially as his friend,
Sir Harry, defied me and the law to boot.
 I have a ball coming off this evening, and I must get released.
 By heaven, 1 had forgotten that ! exclaimed Sir Harry.  Come,
officaw, be a trump, and settle the thing. The Marquis will stand one
50 tom rox; on, the
fiver, and I dont mind anothah. Money after all, you know, will set
tie it.
 Not witli me, though. You have committed a desperate assault
upon two officers, and I shall push to have it tried at the sessions.
 Permit me to drop a line to my solicitor ? said the Marquis.
 You will be able to do that at the Compter;* where I shalllodgt
you. j
 Call a coach, landlord—it's a demmed nuisance ; hut I would not
Lave cared but for the ball. I
 There is no need of a coach ; the Compter is just by, I observed;
As they were going down the narrow sanded stairs, the landlord
demanded payment. The Marquis immediately discharged the bill by
giving a Bank of England note, and disdaining the change. Money
is potent. This liberality immediately won the landlord's heart. ]
could not but think of the words of an old song—one popular in the
times I am writing about :—
 For fashion or arts, should you seek foreign parts,
It matters not whereever you land;
Jew, Christian, or Greek, the same language they speak—
That's the language of Abrahara Newland.
Oh, Abraham NeWl'and!
Wonderful Abraham Newland! ■;
Though with complimenls cramm d, you may die and d—d,
If you havn't an Abraham Newland."t
"Treat 'em like gentlemen, Fox, said the landlord, in sycophant*
ish tones.  They meant it all in sport.
 People must be treated as they behave, I replied.  Civility be-
gets civility; and for those who wish to be treated like gentlemen;
must act like gentlemen. '
These sentiments elicited much laughter from those I had in chargel
and Sir Harry chaffingly remarked— .
"You're drunk, Fox—drunk and disorderly. It's a grave offencf
against the law for an officaw to be in such a condition, and we must
make an example of you. •
 Now, Sir Harry, said the Marquis,  move forward to the place
of execution, for we have no time to lose, to arrange the charge, an4
to be present at the ball.
As we got among the crowd, Jack Ketch was on the scaffolj
busily cutting down the dead, and disposing of them in their rouglf
coffins for prison interment. The Marquis, casting his eye to tbj&
woman who was still suspended, facetiously asked— !
"Wliy is a publican, Sir Harry, who has had his stock in tradb
seized upon, like that woman ?
"I'm demmed if I know.
* The Compter, Giltspur-street, at this time was the chief City prison, but
it is now pulled down.
f All Bank of England notes, towards the close of the last century, wer
signed by Mr. Abraham Newland, chief cashier at the Bank.
r>2 TOM FOX; OR, THE
 Because his spirit's fled.''
Loud shouts of laughter, and many  Bravos !'' The Marquis
wit was contagious, and Sir Harry inquired :—
 Why is she like a naughty boy !'' A pause.  D'ye give it up ?
 No,'' said the Marquis,  for I think I've hit it. Because she's
had a taste of the rope's end.
 Good ! good ! cried Sir Harry.  You have it.
I was not sorry when I lodged the party in the compter, for I was
ns weary of their wit and humour—if it may be so dignified—as their
unwarrantable attack upon myself and brother members of the  force.
After I had lodged the complaint against them I took my departure,
and went straight to our surgeon to have my eye attended to. l't Was
a serious gash, and I was ordered to abstain from my usual glass for
the present. This was an additional punishment to me, and altogether
I felt depressed, and not at all myself. I passed the day in a skulk,"!
and went to bed queer and wretched. Haunted in the night by the
wildest of dreams, I thought I had an engagement at Astley's as the
clown in the Pantomime and woko up while singing "Hot Codlings.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 23
"Well, there was nothing very disagreeable about that; but mark !
after a second dog-sleep, I dreamt I was lost in an African forest, and
had a deputation from two of its amiable inhabitants, who appeared
to dispute with each other which should giye me the first embrace.
I could stand this caper no longer. In affright I turned out, struck
a lucifer, lit a candle, lit the fire, and lit my pipe ; and, setting the
doctor at defiance, made myself a stiff glass of grog. I felt much
more comfortable after this, and sat in my old arm-chair thinking over
the events of the day, until I felt drowsy, and while the kettle sang
its old song on the hob I turned in again, and with better success, for the
brain, although still excited, led me into pleasanter scenes and fancies
I dreamt of Miss Charlotte—she who so much captivated me-
she of whom I made a confidential revelation in my Tirst Chapter
I dreamt her sweet little hand was in
mine, until my heart overflowed with
love, and I woke up fondly hugging the
pillow ! Oh! the disappointment.
What can he greater to a bachelor, than
to he inspired with the warm embrace of
a plump little lady, and find it but a
dream ! Tom Moore says :—■
 Oh ! there's nothing half so sweet in life,
As love's young dream.''
hut I, a detective, am bound to acknow-
ledge that the substance is much sweeter
54
TOai FOX; OR, THE
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 55
than the dream,—and no one better knew that than Tommy himself.
A virtuous woman is the most priceless thing this side heaven.
 "Woman is to man his sov'reign bliss."'
And that I believe also. And I believe further, that the man who can
call a good-looking, amiable, industrious, affectionate woman his wife,
ought to bless the planet he was horn under. I have as much regard
for the kind of woman 1 have briefly described, as I have horror and
contempt for her who meanly marries a man for his money, and when
misfortune overtakes him, neglects and despises him. I love a woman
that stands apart from kith or kin, and centres her heart and soui
in her husband and her children. Mind, a good husband—I mean a
sober, kind, industrious, truthful man,—deserves all the respect and all
the love a woman can bestow on him.
After cogitating awhile on conjugal felicity, I fell to sleep again,
and poor brain ! to dream again—and of Miss Charlotte, too. I dreamt
that she became Mrs. Fox, and that Providence gave us a family of
Foxes—and that ill-luck overtook us, and that we emigrated. That,
for a time in the backwoods, things promised well, and while, one Sun-
day afternoon, we were sitting as loving as two doves in our log hut,
we were suddenly waited upon by an overpowering host of natives,
who intruded from the roof, the door, and the window. My wife
screamed—so did the boy—and as for myself, the tight embrace of the
cold, ghastly, slimy constrictor, made me bellow as lustily as wife or
little boy Jack, who esconsed himself under the table. I was a long
time forgetting that dream—it made an indelible impression on me;
and although it is now near twenty years ago, I write of it with un-
pleasant feelings.
For the better understanding of my readers I have made my
dreams pictorial. Indeed, almost every incident of my life I have
made a sketch of, or I could not have so amply illustrated my  Re-
velations. I have found two advantages in this:—first my private
affairs can never be known to anybody but myself, for the drawings as
they stand are as hieroglyphics or cyphers ; secondly, those I choose
to reveal can be better explained by the pencil than the pen. For ex-
ample, the most graphic writing by the most graphic writer would
have failed to have conveyed the situation of horror my dreams
placed me in, half as well as my rude dotting down of it by the pencil
C HAPTER II I.
^ UPPOSE, for a change of scene and air, I
ask mv readers to follow me into the
country. Crimes, alas ! are not alone to
"be met with in towns and cities. Wher-
ever the human heart heats, wherever
man takes up his abode, there are they to
be found. Strange to add, that the
crimes committed by country people are
worse in degree than those committed by
the inhabitants of commercial towns.
Strange indeed, that those who breathe,
move, and have their being amongst the
most beautiful of the Creator's boundless
works—those who walk amid groves made harmonionsby the
music of birds, and the solemn echo of the old church bell—
who see the yellow
corn bountifully
springing up at their
feet lor their daily
bread, and the gay
flowers and the de-
licious air perfuming
their pleasant paths
backwards and for-
wards to their health-
ful toil, while the quiet cat-
tie walk the green hilly meadows to drink at the little brooks by
the wavside,—it is strange that these and the thousand other delight-
ful objects, fresh as it were from the Great Maker's hands, should
not inspire more purity of life in those who are privileged to he born,
and live, and die amongst them. But these scenes so charming—
scenes that might be thought enough to subdue the heart of a savage
and refine his nature—fail to civilise the English peasant, who walks
REVELATIONS OE A DETECTIVE.
57
among the grandeurs of liis home as though he were blind, and had
never a soul to save. I cannot, never could, fathom the cause of this,
nor shall I stop now to inquire. I only know that I have made notes
and sketches of many cases of crime that I have been professionally
connected with as  Detective, and they all bear me out in saying
that these animosities are borne longer, and revenged more terribly
by the tiller of the soil than by those who dwell in the airless and
dreary courts and alleys of the towns and cities. There is more life
and soul, more feeling of responsibility, more appreciation of the
works of God (when he can get sight of them), in the heart of a
townsman than in his more farmer brother of the country. When
summer days come round, the poor of London may be found wan-
dering miles from their pent-up rooms, basking their jaded frame amid
forest depths or sunlit valleys. Even in winter time the Londoner
begins to provide for his summer
rambles and excursions. A few
pence is invested weekly in the
Social Club for the hire of a van
to Hampton or Woodford, and
the suburban woods of the me-
tropolis are thickly covered with
these vehicles with their living
freight, which return covered with
the boughs of the forest as tro-
phies and proclamations of the
joyous day.
The peasantry are a most berighted class ; nor, in rnv opinion, is
there any material in them capable of improvement. I remember
once walking from Exeter to Plymouth, and in passing from village
58
TOM FOX ; OK, THE
to village, in a paddock near by a cottage-door I saw a man looking..
4>ver one fence while his pig looked over another, and I declare at first
sight I was in doubt which was which—they were as like as two peas—
and it was only the difference in costume that led me to decide
certainly the pig was the handsomest and the most intelligent of the
two. I believe it would have been an easier task to have taught the
pig his letters, and impressed him with a sense of the beautiful and
wondrous works by which he was surrounded, than the man. Cer-
tainly I should not like to have been his schoolmaster. Let me assure
my readers that there is little or no exaggeration in my picture, but
that it is a faithful copy from nature ; the animals wr e physiogno-
rnically so much alike, that if I had heard the peasant call himself a
man, I should have felt myself so much insulted that the proba-
bility is I should have exclaimed, "Pig, thou liest! i
But 1 must  move on, and entertain my readers with a case J.,
was engaged in, that to a certain extent is confirmatory of the opinion ■
I have ventured to express.
In the old coach days—long before a sod was turned for the con- :
struction of the Great Western line—I was commissioned to trace a,'
murder, and to track the steps of the murderers. Ah! the days o«
the old mail coach—I would not yield to any in admiration of the gay
"turn out, with their proud scarlet-clad guards and coachmen, with
tbeir rubic nd brandy - a nd-water faces, and their "bits of blood
champing their bits and pawing the ground, eager for the start,—,
nor to the echoing horn that told of their departure and heralded ,
their approach,—nor to a keen relish for the welcome repasts afforded
at the old inns and sporting-houses, after a rapid ridein the invigorat-
ing breeze over the hills and through the open country. I was always
glad of a county case where I had to  post or take my seat by the
side of the jolly, hearty, talkative, big-bellied mail coachman, or to be
thrown face to face with the more important guard, who winded his
horn more cheeringly when he entered a town where a few extra
minutes were allowed for a  feed. But horseflesh has given place ,
to steam—and instead of the shrilly horn and cracking of the whip, we
have the demon-like whistle and the noisy railway bell—instead of
the fat and healthy-lookmg coachman, we have the sickly, greasy
stoker—and instead of mounting hills, and diving into dales and winding
lanes, we have one undeviating straight, level, and monotonous line—
and instead of the mild Havannali, you can only pass the time awaj
by studying the unintelligible time-table, or attempting to read
small-printed silly book, got up expressly for the sillier railway
traveller. But give the devil his due—railways have been a fine
thing for the commerce and  commercials  of England. God only
Knows where we should have been without the aid of steam! Looking
at it from this point of view, and leaving out pleasure, we must con-
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
59
fess our gratitude to science and our scientific men for the iron roads
that intersect the civilised portions of the earth.
But to my story—one that is enough to wring the hardest heart,
and awaken pity and compassion in the most insensible natures. It
had been better for the poor heroine of my  ower true tale had she
never been born. Nature had bestowed on her the sweetest of faces,
•beaming with cheerfulness and affection; and she bore the pretty rustic
name of  Ruth Lee. She lived at a small farm with her brother
and mother (her father lay in the churchyard that could be seen from.
Ruth's bedroom window). She had a lover—what maiden with a pretty
face has not ?—but he was not of the stamp that quite suited Ruth's
pure and peaceful heart. He was cold, exacting, restless, jealous;
but being one of Dame Fortune's sons, his faults were all explained
away by Ruth's brother and mother. When Ruth fretted, as she often
would do—when she was found in tears, and often she might—she
was angrily told by them— Not to make such a fool of herself; that
Harry Drakeford meant it all for her good; that he did not intend
deceiving her with soft nothings before marriage, and tyranny after-
wards. Hity toity!—don't be a fool—don't be a goose—or take my
word for it you will lose Harry, and you will lose his fortune.
 I cannot bear his jealousies, mother—nor do I like him much at
all, to say truth.
 Learn, girl, learn, said old Mrs. Lee, cuddling herself round
with her shawl. *'I warrant you'll be happy enough after you're
married, and that I shall soon be grandmother"—and then she
chuckled. But Ruth hung her head, and a chill crept over her.
 Tom, cried the mother to her son, who was passing the lattice on
his way to spend his usual evening at skittles, at a neighbouring
public, "here a minute.
 What is it, mother ? he impatiently inquired, beating his gaitera
with a bit of ash stick.'
 Do speak to this girl.
"Not I, he coarsely replied.  I'm sick, sore, and weary of this
nonsense. If I was Harry Drakeford, with all his money, rather than
put up with so much frippery and moonshine from any woman, I'd
hang her or myself.
TOM FOX; OR, TIIE
"I thank you, Tom—I thank you, mother—for your sympathy*
said Ruth, taking her work-box from the table to retire to her room,.
 Isn't her a fool, Tom ? As I say to her, why, Lord, if he is this,
that, and the other, what does it matter, seeing he has got so much
money
"And ¥1 he is jealous of her, mother, I say that only shows how
much he loves her.
 To be sure, Tom, to be sure. She ought to be flattered at that.
"Why your dear father—but ah! he's gone—why he never cared a bit
who I spoke to, or laughed, with, or joked with ; but then that only
showed lie cared never a pin's head for me; as long as I did my work
and looked after you and Ruth, and I didn't spend too much money
at market—he cared for nothing else. Poor soul, he's at rest now—
but you know, Tom, how lie would go on at the sight of a new gown,
Draw up the clock, and light a candle before you go, Tom — fori
'spose Mr. Drakeford will be here directly. Ah, me!—a pretty state
of mind he will find his sweetheart in. I don't know when I felt so
tired, she y i-x,r/ningly added, throwing her little attenuated body back
in her roomy wooden arm-chair.
The clock was adjusted and continued its ticking sounds; and
Tom illuminated the neat little room, that looked out upon a small
garden, with a candle. He threw on an extra log too.
"Ah, that's right, Tom—let ns make things look as comfortable as
possible, for Mr. Drakefcrd's coming.
Tom Lee now took his evening departure and was soon buried
witli his pot companions in an outhouse, engaged in betting two to one
that he would "get 'em down in twice. The loss of agameof
skittles gave him far more uneasiness than his sister's misery.
Happily for pocr Ruth, her lover came not as was expected: lsut
his withered maiden half-sister (for the old original Drakeford had
twice tasted matrimonial sweets) came instead—and came in a rage
too.
 I have called upon you, Mrs. Lee, to say that something must be
done to break this nonsensical match off between my brother, Mr,
Harry Drakeford, and your designing daughter.
 Eh! ma'am; what do you mean, ma'am, by 'designing?' You are
forgetting yourself, Miss Drakeford.
 Oh, not at all, Mrs. Lee. Dear me! how insufferably close
your room is!
"Walk into the best parlour, ma'am—my son has been smoking
here.
 Pah !—a filthy habit; and I regret to say Mr. Harry Drakefori
has commenced it since he has known your family.
 Oh, he is not the worse man for that, ma'am, if he has. I lilo
So see a rr.an smoking—it looks comfortable-like, of an evening.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
61
 I canot abide it, Mrs. Lee—and will thank you to give me a few
irds in another room.
Mrs. Lee showed the way to her best room, and while the old maid
ok her rest by the table, with her face as sour as green gooseberries,
sting on her lank, veiny hand, Ruth's mother, in the hope of putting
r in a better humour, pleasantly asked her if she should make her a
nice cup of tea.
"Thank you, ma am, I had .much rather not; I have but just
;ned—and I have an engagement with the rector's lady"—she
roudly added, looking at her watch; "and indeed, my brother, Mr.
larry was to have accompanied me—but he seems beside himself,
cbout your daughter.
"A teasing thing is love—''
Tom rox; or, the
' Madness, ma'am, madness, interrupted Miss Lee, disdainfuliy;i
"I won't pretend to dispute with you, Miss Lee—it would beot)
of place ; but, said the old widow, with her fhppetty-flopotty cap,
and smiling in Miss Drakeford's face,  if love be madness, I should
like to be mad all the year round.
"For shame, Mrs. Lee! to make such an observation in tktl
presence of the young ! "—(Mrs. Lee inwardly laughed at MissDraks
ford's dreadful conceit, in imagining that the summer charms of dimpled
youth had not fled before the wintry wrinkles of age; but, somehowor
other, elderly spinsters will cling to the delusion of youth).  I trail
you have not inoculated your daughter with such sentiments.
 Inoculated with such sentiments ! reiterated Widow Lee; "1
don't know what you mean, ma'am—my children were only inoculated
for the small-pox, which was proper, Miss Drakeford, and if you evei
live to he a mother, which is not probably now—''
 Now! Mrs. Lee, interrupted the offended old maid—"what Jo
you mean, madam ?
 Don't madam me, Miss Drakeford; I'm in my own cottage,and
a respectable woman, and wont permit that from no one. I was going
to say if you could he a mother—
 ' iff Pray, Mrs. Lee, what has 'if' to do with it.
 Well, if I am any judge of faces, I should say, if Miss Drakeford
was to be married to-morrow, she would be too old for children.
 Insufferable impertinence ! I certainly sliall submit youti
conduct to my friends, the rector and his lady. Oblige me with my
bonnet, and cloak, and umbrella, and gloves, that I may take my
departure. I shall never more give you the opportunity of insulting
me, Mrs. Lee. It was for Mr. Harry Drakeford's sake that I caM
now. But if he is so mad as to form so poor and illiterate an alliance
with your daughter, I certainly shall have to leave the village. But
I hope and trust, I pray and believe, that my friend the Rector will
be enabled to save my brother, Mr. Harry Drakeford, from such a
snare of the evil one. I should have thought, Mrs. Lee, that youwouli
have paid more respect to your superiors. And she haughtily
vanished from the cottage, leaving Mrs. Lee to say to herself—
"Nobody is my superior while I pay my way—and make my
responses in the church—and believe in the resurrection of the dead-
'and do unto others as I would they should do unto me.' Superior
indeed ! ,
Miss Drakeford had received such a shock to her nervous system
from this interview, that, after a short illness at home, she wasadviscl:
by her surgeon and  her friend the rector to sojourn for a time^
the seaside, and see what change of air and bathing in the "deep, deep
sea would do for her. Poor old maid ! we can easily imagine whit
a ludicrous picture she would make, peeping out over the curtaias|
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 63
r batb, to see that no horrid man was about while she emerged into
i  briny  with the more charming of her sex. °
From the latticed bedroom casement Rutli Lee saw  Miss'
Orakeford mincingly cross the road to her mother's cottage, and from
-.he same position saw her take her departure. She thought it was
Strange that, in place of her lover, his proud sister should call, and her
ntense curiosity led her to the stairs to listen to her errand. So much
-trouble had she suffered since she became unwillingly engaged to Mr.
-Harry Drakeford, that it would have been small grief to her had his
ulster brought the news of his death.
 Now, Ruth, called Mrs. Lee, "you may make yourself happy.
Mr. Drakeford will not be here to-night. Come down, and finish me
ihe story of ' Mad Mary.'
Tt ii rox ; or, 'rnc
Ruth loved her mother, and was always glad to have a pleas:It
word from her, and she would have given worlds would she and l*r
son favour the breaking off the match with Ilarry Drakeford—whom
she disliked for his sullenness, and hated for his continual jealousy.
She never met him, but that he would have something to chide her
for ; either she was too volatile, or too silent; too warm or too cold;
her dress was too high or too low ; she had no business at market with
her mother, or she had no business in the cottage by herself; that she
could help the Squire calling for his rent, and she could help his
smiling on her. Sad for her, too, in all this caprice and jealousy,
Mr. Drakeford was supported by her mother, who was awed by his
money.
Ruth, laden with needlework and workbox, quickly attended her
mother's summons, and while the old lady, iu reverence and wonder,
arranged herself in her easy chair, Ruth took her mother's favourite
story book of  Mad Mary, and read some of the greatest horrors,
improbabilities, and superstitions, that the human imagination ever
conceived. I shall not stop to relate any of the book, which Mrs-Lee
prized above all other books, a copy of one of its illustrations will better
convey its startling character to the reader.
Kutli, it must be told, took but little pleasure in a heroine, whose
writing-desk was a coffin, and whose candlestick was a skull, but read
the book only in obedience to her mother, who could not read Mad
Mary's life for herself.
"What's that, Ruth ? read it over again !  she would exclaim at
every choice narration, such as "Mary never spoke to any one for
forty years, during which time she was always writing in a large
book ;  or, "when she was weary, which was very rare, she would
recline inside her coffin, while the skulls grinned at her from headtoi
foot. These passages were too highly seasoned and spiced for Mrs.i
Lee not to have them read twice over.
Just as Ruth had got to the most thrilling part of  Mad Mary,
who should ride up to the cottage-door but young Squire Mowbray,
whose previous slight attentions and recognitions, in the parish church
or wherever they met, had given Mr. Harry Drakeford so much un-
easiness, and had brought down so much sorrow on Ruth's young
heart. Squire Mowbray was quite unconscious of the mischief his
affability brought to poor Ruth, or, however much he might bay#
laughed at the jealous, sullen, Mr. Drakeford, for Ruth's dear sake
and peace he would have ceased to notice or speak to her. And yet
this could hardly be avoided, for Widow Lee was the Squire's tenant.
When he pulled up his steed by the window of the cottage, Mrs. Let
came forth and dropped a smiling curtsey to her distinguished visitor,
and begged him to walk in.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 65
 I won't dismount, thank you; hut ask your daughter out. I have
just been through the fair and bought a fairing for her.
"Now, then, Ruth—Squire Mowbray wants a word with you.
Poor Ruth knew not how to act: she was perplexed beyond
: measure, for a recent threat made by her disagreeable lover towards
: the Squire chilled and oppressed her. Her mother had no patience
; with her hesitation and delay in coming to the Squire, and went back
, and fetched her forth.
 Why what's the matter, Ruth? jocularly inquired the Squire.
.  You should get Mr. Drake ford to take you to the fair—a fine- placa
; to remove the dolefuls. See, I've been, and not forgotten-^ou,"—
presenting her with a paper of gingerbread nuts.
TOM FOX ; OR, THE
 You are verv kind, sir, faltered Ruth, hesitating and blushing*
"but—but—
 But what?  inquired Squire Mowbray.
"The silly maid is afraid of Mr. Drakeford—would you believe it,
sir? '' said Mrs. Lee, coming to her daughter's assistance.
 Nonsense, nonsense, said the Squire, laughing heartily  And
pray, for why ? Drakeford surely has too much sense to be jealous-
and yet I swear there is ample excuse when I contemplate Rutli'i
black eyes.
 Oh, sir, forbear, said Ruth, making her escape within tha
cottage.
 You know the old proverb, Squire, I daresay—
' Hottest love is soonest cold,
Fairest fruit is soonest rotten.'
 But really, sir, between me and you, poor Ruth has not tumbled
upon a bed of roses in Mr. Drakeford. Yet I would not have him
knew that I said so, for untold gold.''
 This has taken me quite by surprise. I thought Drakeford wai
a quiet, amiable gentleman and scholar.
"So he is, sir,—but the mischief of it is, he is jealous; and mv
Rutli, poor girl, is too feeling—that is, she cares too much about his
observations.
"I am very sorry to hear of this state of things, for Ruth is a nice
lass, and lam sure would make a good wife. I suppose they are
attached to each other.''
 Well, do you know, sir, I am afraid Ruth— here she looked
round about to see that no other person was within hearing— I am
afraid that Ruth does not much like Mr. Drakeford.
 So-ho !—so that's the secret of it all!
 To the best of my belief, sir, that's it. But I would not have.
Mr. Drakeford know for the world.
 Perhaps he has penetration enough to discover it. Lovers are
quick to perceive, Mrs. Lee.
"True, sir, very true. I know he seems mighty fond of her
which I wonder at in a rich gentleman and scholar like him.
 Tut, tut—a pretty girl is worth a king's ransom. Ruth should
cure him of his jealousy.
 I don't see how, sir; jealousy is the devil's work, and there was
never a cure found for it.
 Let her slight Drakeford for a while ; go into society without
him.''
'' My gracious, sir ! it would be as much as her life was worth!
Oh, no, it would only hasten the marriage on.
 It's my opinion, sir, that there'll be a funeral before a marriage
As I said before—Ruth don't like Mr. Drakeford.
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 67
The dreadful words, dreadful to Mr. Drakeford—had hardly es-
caped Widow Lee, than he suddenly came upon the scene. The widow
turned sickly pale at his presence; she feared he had heard the con-
fidence she had imparted to Squire Mowbray.
Mr. Drakeford was, as the Squire had described him, so far as being
a scholar and gentleman,—but he was not amiable. His father had
been a successful London tradesman, who had afforded his son a
College education, and at his death left him and his antiquated step-
Sister an ample fortune. In his earliest youth he had contracted
eecentric habits, and his spirit was deeply tinged with a disagreealbe
p
6S TOM FOX ; OR, THE
melancholy, and an equally unbendable imperiousness towards every,
thing human—even to a little child. The quiet of a country life
suited his melancholic temperament—therefore he chose the country
for his residence. His cottage-home was about a mile from the more
rustic residence of Mrs Lee, and situated in the centre of a bleak and
blasted heath. I present a bird's-eye view of Mr. Drakeford's home,
which really as seen from the withered remains of two old oaks, formed
an extraordinary likeness to something human, if not divine. The
little home itself as compared with the world of waste by which it was
siirrounded, was truly insignificant. He was rarely seen beyond the
precincts of the little gate, that led to the house—where he would walk
up and down the path—sometimes reading, sometimes with folded
arms, pondering the ground he walked upon—from sunrise to sunset.
No Eugene Aram seemed fuller of thought—fuller of restless melan-
choly—fuller of mystery. His dress too—as far as practicable, he
adopted the customs of the past, and his silver buckles shone so
bright that the villages had a saying among themselves, when they
wished to speak of a fine day or a fine deed, or a fine face, that "it was
as bright as Mr. Drakeford's shoe-buckles.''
When this gentleman saw Squire Mowbray mounted before Ruth's
cottage—in close confidence with Ruth's
mother—his inward passion and jealousy
knew no hounds ; but his pride was
equal to either, and he kept his choking
white-heat rage within his control.
 On your way to the fair, Mr.
Drakeford, I suppose ? said the Squire.
"Not I, sir, he sharply replied;
 fairs have no charms for me.
 It was lucky for Miss Bentley that
they had charms for me, for I saved her
life.'
 What! Farmer Bentley's daugh-
ter, Squire! exclaimed the excited
widow. "How did that happen—do
let me hear.
 I called in to see Wombwell's
managerie, and Miss Bentley was
passing the great elephant when
lie suddenly seized licr dress in his
trunk, and would have lifted her ova
the enclosure of his cage, had I nol
drawn a knife and cut away the garmenl
the animal held her by, which freed hi
from her perilous position 1
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
 I should have had little sympathy, sir, had the worst consequences
befallen the young lady—she had no business at such places as fairs/'
 You are severe, Mr. Drakeford. I can assure you, sir, I saw
very wonderful things there.
 My wonder is not so easily excited, Squire; I am only surprised
that such things as fairs—invented only for the weak and frivolous,
—should find an advocate in Squire Mowbray.
"Let me advise you to go, rejoined the latter, good-temperedly;
"and take with you Miss Ruth and her mother—
 Unsolicited advice, sir, is rarely worth the following, he frown-
ingly interrupted.  Perhaps you would like to chaperone Miss
Ruth and her mother, whom you take so lively an interest in, through
the fair. I make no doubt they would be delighted with your compau-
ion ship.
 Ruth would he hardly likely to go without you, Mr. Drakeford,
said Mrs. Lee.
Really, Mrs. Lee, the object of my visit here is' not to discuss
about fairs, or other childish matters; when I have the opportunity—
looking at the Squire, significantly— I shall make my errand
known.
 I think there is a storm about, said.the Squire.
"I am not weather-wise, returned Mr. Drakeford, curtly.
 Follow your instincts, Squire, and get sheltered before it arrives.
 Your advice is sound, sir,—I shall be guided by it. After
bidding each an adieu, and bidding Mrs. Lee remember that the
morrow was the last day of the fair, he set spurs to his docile horse,
and rode off to his seat some four miles beyond Mr. Drakeford's
gloomy abode.
 I have called to complain of some rather harsh treatment towards
my sister, Mrs. Lee, said Mr. Drakeford, directly the Squire had set
his horse in motion.
 It was your sister who forgot herself, Mr. Drakeford. Neither
me nor my daughter intend putting up any longer with such over-
bearing conduct. Here the excited old lady wiped the falling tear
with the corners of her stuff apron.
 The clandestine visits of Squire Mowbray, no doubt, have led you
to such unwonted independence of speech. I'm almost mad ! Let
me see Ruth !
 Not to-night, sir, if you please. She is not well, and the state
of mind you are now in would make her worse.
"How much she loves me !—my presence make her worse !
 I had no such meaning, Mr. Drakeford—
 Do not palter with me, Mrs. Lee ! he passionately exclaimed.
 False play is abroad—and the stake is too great for me to look
calmly on. I must see your daughter !
70
TOM FOX OR, THE
 Promise me to be kind and calm with her, and you shall. I tell
you she is not well,- and any excitement would be serious. She frets
much at your jealous treatment of her. Ah ! Mr. Drakeford, you
don't seem to know what a tender thing a woman's heart is.
 Nor do I seek the knowledge.
To the cottage-gate now came Mrs. Lee's son, and after making
his "service to Mr. Drakeford, said—
 Mother, I've come home early on purpose to treat you and Ruth
to the fair—so get ready, for its full late. It isn't often we get such
wonderful exhibitions down our way.
 I can't go now, Tom, for Mr. Drakeford, you see, is here.
"Don't let me prevent you, Mrs. Lee, said Mr. Drakeford
proudly.
 'Spose, mother, you go, and leave Ruth at home with Mr. Drake-
ford—two's company, three's none.
So it was arranged, and while the discontented, miserable,
wretched gentleman conferred with poor Ruth, Tom and his mother
trudged off to the fair, which was held on a large enclosed common.
Country fairs and Mad Mary's were things strictly in harmony with
the simple heart of Widow Lee and her attentive son Tom, and really
I feel more in the humour to follow them there than to keep company
with the miserable Mr. Drakeford; but my readers may be assured
I shall not lose sight of him, and shall report his progress a little
further on.
interest, to be found at them. Tom and his mother, arm-in-arm, first
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 71
made their way to where the gaping crowd most congregated before
Richardson's theatrical troupe, and, at the humorous invitation of
 Master Merrvman, ascended the sawdusted stairs to the show, and
Tom lugged out his hag, and paid for the best places to witness the
new and wonderful tragedy. Poor Mrs. Lee could hardly help
screaming at seeing one bravo stab another, in a quarrel about the
division of a robbery and a murder.
The tender parts of the tragedy thrilled her heart, and excited
much interest in Tom. Their wonder could no farther go, when
I >on Gonzalve de Betterini ascended the ladder to steal away the
beautiful daughter of a king—nothing less.
But they, and the interested audience, were horrified at seeing Don
72 TOM FOX OR THE
Gonzalve de Betterini come down faster then be ascended.^ Frr the
infuriated king,father of the lovely princess, espied the traito irons
turret window of his castle, capsized the ladder, and the Don perished
in the castle moat.
This surely was enough for the first act of the country tragedy,
and the green curtain dropped amidst much applause, Tom Lee being
the first to begin clapping, which he continued to the rising , of the
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 73
eurtain for the performance of act.ii., which discovers Don Zuccani,
the successful rival of Don Gonzalve de Betterini, and the villain of
the piece, taking a moonlight walk in some Italian Grove (the bill of
the play did mention the name, but really I forget it, I only remember
it contained all the letters of the alphabet, with a large sprinkling of
c's, and i's, and z's), with the dear delightful princess, and there
for awhile they affect to mourn and talk over, in mock-heroic, the ill-
fate of Don Gonzalve de Betterini.
 Unhappy lady, that I am ! said the princess,  that my beauty
should have been the untimely death of the devoted, yet daring Don
Gonzalve de Betterini.
Here most of the female part of the audience might be discovered
in tears. Poor Mrs. Lee was quite overwhelmed, and a little moisture
might be discerned in the wondering eyes of her round-shouldered
son.
 Distraction ! exclaimed Don Zuccani, catching the princess
round the waist.  I cannot bear to see thee troubled thus, thou
fairest star! Oh! my heart's idol!
 Dear Zuccani! endearingly exclaimed the princess (who was
robed in two yards of pink gauze, at about 3d. a-yard, and a pen'orth
of gilt leather round her fair brow, for a princely diadem), "as the
chateau bell tolled twelve last night, I saw the ghost of Betterini!
"Horror upon horror! exclaimed Zuccani.  Did he speak to
thee, my beloved?
 I screamed, and the king, my royal father, hied to my chamber,
bo did my attendants—but they nothing saw, and chid me for my
fancies.
74
TOM FOX ■ OR, THE
 Would that I'd been there, O my princess! exclaimed Zuccani,
 I would have saved thee from this affright. I'd dare hell's lowest
depths for thee!''
"But see! what's this? both in terror exclaimed, the princess
holding by a tree, while Zuccani drew his sword and made a passat
u figure that was intended for the ghost of Don Gonzalve de Betterini,
which suddenly appeared amidst
a bright blue smoke—but the
ghost more resembled a largo
turnip prepared by a schoolboy
and a light placed inside to illu
minate the eye-holes and mouth.
The stage manager could not
allow his ghost long to be in*
spected, and the blue fire and the
terrible spirit vanished amidst
the screams of the Princess and
the two-edged sword of Zuccani
—all to join in a pot of "heavy
wet behind the highly-coloured
drop-scene of act ii.
The third and last act opens
with an alarming altercation be-
tween Don Zuccani and the King,
the latter exclaiming, when Zuc-
cani draws his sword—
"Who waits without? What
ho ! my guards! seize the
traitor! seize the base, perfidious traitor.
This row was caused by the Don's beggaring himself by gambling
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 75
and tlie King's refusal to marry the Princess to any other than a
nobleman of wealth. In short, it appeared that the King's exchequer
was somewhat low, and that a heavy tax must be imposed on his daugli-
76 TOM FOX , OR, THE
ter's hand. The Princess deeply feels the loss of her lover, and
beseeches her father to overlook his poverty,  for her dear sake.
 Hie thee to thy chamber—and there learn obedience to my royal
command! was the churlish answer.  Hence, I say ! or I will have
thee and the beggar Zuccani bound togethef, and flung into the moat
where perished Don Gonzalve de Betterini!' was the terrible
addition.
The house was thrilled at the king's remorselessness, and the
women wept for the sore fate of the Princess, who wrung her hande,
and sobbed in dire distress. But not long was the lady left to grieve,
for Zuccani gambles again—gambles successfully—and in the gayest
swagger appears at night before the royal castle, and serenades his
beautiful Princess.
This happy state of things gave the gaping audience great pleasure,
and more so when the charming Princess substituted her two yards of
pink calico for two yards of flowing white of the same material, with a
wreath of orange-blossom in her hair, and she was given over in
marriage to the gay and loving Don Zuccani, the play closing with a
joyous marriage pcean to the happiness of the union—at which the
wide-awake old father (who still looked suspiciously on Zuccani, as
if he feared he would ultimately be a burden to his state) took
part.
■REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
77
 Come, mother, said Tom,  now let's go somewhere else. I
mean to see all I can—it's only once a year, yon know.
"I should like to get back to poor Ruth now, for I'm terribly
alarmed that something will happen. I'm sure I thought of her often
when the first lover of the jjpor Princess was thrown from the ladder
by her cruel father.''
 I want to come and see some magic now, said Tom, taking
Mrs. Lee's hand within his arm, while his own hands were thrust in
the side-pockets of his velveteen coat. Everybody seemed to know
everybody at the country fair, and my chief pleasure was to see with
what gusto everything was relished, and the most improbable things
believed in by the peasantry. I continued to follow Mrs. Lee and
: her son.
"Eh! mother, what's this? exclaimed Tom Lee, on entering the
 Magician Alraschid's cave, just at the incantation scene of sulphur
and blue smoke.
78 TOM fox; or, the
After this followed the "gun trick, the ''pocket handkerchief trick*
the  egg trick, the plum-pudding trick,"—ah! that was a wonder-
ful trick !—however a man could make a pudding and boil it in his
hat, and then distribute small slices to his befooled audience !
 By golly ! there's no, mistake about that—is there, mother, for
here's a bit of the pooden}' said Tom, about to taste it.
"Lor', don't eat it, Tom! exclaimed Mrs. Lee; "it is the
wizard's pooden, and might harm thee! Tom took the advice, ana
placed it in a piece of odd paper. This trick was talked oft all the
year round by those who witnessed it.
After this,
"Toby,the learned
pig exhibited
himself. This
gave exquisite de-
light to the audi-
ence, and they
1 a u g h e d—they
roared with laugh-
ter—to see one
uncouth grunter
smoking his pipe,
while another
tippled his beer.
Nothing more
was to be seen
here—enough too,
for one penny,—and Tom and his mother trudged forth in search of
new wonders for their excited appetites.  Be in time ! Be in time!
just going to begin ! Here you may see the whole history of Bluebeard
and his wives ! and all for one penny !  lustily shouted th showman.
 Ob, mother, we must see Bluebeard—that's a beautiful thing, as
I've heerd. Come on !  dragging the old widow through the crowd.
Directly the showman saw his customers, be shouted—
 Now, then, little boys, make way for that lady and gentleman.
Be in time! Be in time ! Just going to begin ! Here you will see the
blue chamber—the yellow chamber—and the bloody chamber ! and
all for one penny ! Be in time! remember this is the last night but
one of the fair ! when our troupe is going far away to perform before
the King of Siam and the Emperor of China. [His trumpet here,
gives the signal for all in to begin, leaving the caravan to he sentinelled
by a stalwart man dressed like one of the old beef-eaters at the!
Tower.] The incidents in Bluebeard's history are too well knowiVj
for me to recapitulate. I will only remark that the last scene, whicl
•discovered the monster chasing two pretty little damsels in provoking!
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 79
trousers, into the bloody chamber, much charmed the intelligent
audience, who execrated the monster for his dreadful cruelty.
Tom now proposed a visit to the  Royal Circus,■' which occur.!c \
a large tent adjoining Bluebeard's booth. When he and his simp'e-
hearted mother entered, Madame Sacchi was paying visits on h r
Lilliputian ponies. The clever performance of Madame Sacchi and
her ponies was succeeded by something very terrific in horsemanship
80 tom fox; oii, the
—the Bight of a Roman soldier's horse, whose rider had been woanM
in combat.
Now Bluebeard and the Circus were very well while they lasted-
(Mrs. Lee and her son only regretted that there were no more wives to be
slain for their entertainment)—but directly it was finished, Tom led
his mother to the next shop, called  The Chamber of Horrors! But,
alas! as they were picking their way through the crowd, and gaping at
the painted canvas, exhibiting the skeleton of a gentleman who had
starved himself to death for the love ne bore a young lady, who died
upon the bridal morn, a young rascal picked Tom's pocket and left
him penniless. But Tom, after he had recovered the shock of his
chagrin, good-temperedly said—
 Never mind, it's all fair, fair time! But I should like to hate
seen that skeleton—wouldn't you, mother? I'm jiggered if I don't go
again to-morrow night, and take Ruth.
Amidst a Babel of shoutings from showmen to  Walk up! walk
up!"—roars of hungry wild beastsfrom Wombwell's—invitations from
gingerbread-stall-keepers to buy "fairings for your sweethearts!"—
 This way for the riders! this way for the riders!"from the whirligig
stands—the noisy rattles and penny trumpets of the children—and the
merry-makings of the crowd—Torn and his mother made their way
through the fair to the cottage farm.
All, all was still in the cottage. No light was there. Mrs. Lee
was breathless with alarm—she had the worst misgivings. Gonzalw
de Betterini and Bluebeard were for the moment forgotten in herteni
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
81
ble apprehensions about Ruth and Mr. Drakeford. She called upon
her name—no answer. Tom called—but still no answer. Each room
was searched in the moonlight that streamed through the lattices—
but no signs of Ruth or her whereabouts were revealed.
 I fear she's murdered, Tom! said the distressed mother.
 La! mother, I doant think so-, maybe she's only gone out for a
little walk with Mr. Drakeford. I'll go seek her.
 I'll go with you, Tom—for I feel afraid to stop here.
The cottage was again left in silence, and mother and son, with
very different feelings than they had at the fair, were soon in the moon-
lit lane in search of Ruth Lee, whose mysterious disappearance
afforded them so much alarm.
CHAPTER IV.
NIIAPPY Widow Lee trod thi
moonlit-lanes, sadly bewailing the
mysterious absence of Ruth. Her
son Tom, who walked slowly by her
side, tried, as much as his rough,un»
varnished language would let him,
to encourage her in the belief that
Ruth was safe. Naturally enough,
they took their trembling steps to-
wards Mr. Drake ford's wild, eceen-
trie residence. It was a grand night.
Stars and moon never shone so re-
spleudently. The ancient trees,'
that here and there clustered by
the path, were in majestic repose-r
no breath abroad to stir a leaf. The moon reigned supreme mistress of
the heavens, and everything she gazed on became surpassingly fair.
It was in the harvest time, and the golden ears
of corn were ready ripened for the sickle, while
the new-mown hay perfumed the night. Sad and
silent, Tom and his mother walked on, cruelly
filled with misapprehensions about Ruth. An oc-
casional hare, startled at their approach, bounded
swiftly by, and sought the coppice by the lane
side. The viper and the toad sported in the
glow-worm's light, while the rooks cawed as
they skimmed along overhead. Even the mi-
serable Tom could not resist saying, as they
came near a decayed finger-post, on which two
night-birds perched, making music to the moon
—even Tom, whom nothing scarcely ever
moved but some feat at skittles—as he looked
round about and far away from the hill-top—
REVELATION'S OF A DETECTIVE. 89
u It's a fine night, mother, and the corn looks well.
 Don't tell me,Tom, abont
the corn and the night; I
want my Ruth. I fear I shall
never see her more.
 I'll het a silver penny
against that, mother. We
shall learn all about her at
Mr. Drakeford's.
 I almost fear to go there
—he's such a savage—and his
upstart sister, too.
Just at the point they had
now reached, called Mower's
Fields, they met old Peggy
:Styles, well known to Widow
Lee and her son, and, indeed,
to all the country round ;
for, professionally, she had
brought most of the young
: villagers into the world. Peggy
.was delighted, yet surprised,
to meet Mrs. Lee so far from home at that hour of the night ; and
:Mrs. Lee was equally so to meet Old Peggy. After mutual explana-
jtions and customary exclamations of  Lor ! who'd have thought of see-
ing you ! Peggy produced her round tin snuff-box, and volunteered
jft pinch all round, not forgetting herself, whose nose seemed admirably
formed for receiving the pungent dust.
 I've been to see my Jane, who is hourly expecting, said Peggy.
"But, Lor ! it's her first, you know, Mrs. Lee, and it's my opinion she's
a long way off it. She's a good way frightened—hut I tell her, she
should have thought of that afore she got married. But, eh ! this is
3ad news about Ruth. I passed Mr. Drakeford's not a great while
ago—but I saw no lights in the house. But there, they are such odd
people, there's no telling whether they're at home or not from that.
Don't grieve about it, Mrs. Lee—she is safe enough somewhere of
t'other. Take another pinch—you'll soon find her. I wonder at you,
Tom, a great big fellow like you, don't bring Mr. Drakeford to book,
ind get Ruth married. The more marriages the more babbies—and
' the more babbies the more work for Peggy Styles.
 In the case of my Ruth, I often say there'll be a funeral before a
Damage.
"Pish! pish! don't have such dark thoughts, Widow Lee. I often
think dark thoughts bring about dark deeds. Take another pinch—
Ruth is safe enough. A sensible girl she is—and a good girl she is.
G
84
TOM FOX ; OK, THE
 You may say that, Peggy, said Mrs. Lee.
 Aye, to he sure.—But I say, Tom, you've not given me aftfc
ing. All gone to Mary Spilworth, I'll be bound.
'' We've been to the fair to-night—and, golly! I lost all my monei
there.
 Eh 1 now, that's vexatious ! I went last night, and I was mightilj
pleased. Here old Peggy rummaged her mind to relate the tliingi
that pleased her best. The Wizard's pudding-trick was spoken of it
the most breathless wonder; so were many of the other things that ilu
saw there. The three compared notes—at last old Peggy mentioned
something that Tom and his mother had not seen, and, of course, thii
was extravagantly coloured to excite the wonder of Tom, for the htttf
of the mother was too much absorbed to pay much attention to till
conversation.
 I never seed sich a thing before—and I've lived a good m&qy
years, I have. He took a pack of cards, and asked anybody to name a
card, and he made it fly
out of the pack and stick
on the wall!
 By golly! I'll go and
see'e, when we findRuth.
"More thanithat, Tom,.
I declare to you, he made
the whole pack dance to a
regular tune. Things are
coming to something, Mrs.
Lee. And so you went to
the fair, and never seed the
Card Conjuror?
 Don't I tell 'e, said
Tom,  some thief picked
my breeches-pocket afore
I'd half seed it. Iwasjistgo-
ingin to see the ' Chamber
ber ofHorro.rs,'whenI found
my bag and money clean
gone. And when we got
back we found Ruth gone
too.
*' And so you never seed
the ' Chamber of Horrors?'
Then you must surely go
again! Why its the best-
est — most wonderfulest
thing in all the fair! It
was as real as life. There
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
85
yoa ll see the beheading of an earl and
the executioner, and the man said the
real axe which cut his head off ! In
another room, you'll see a gentleman
speared to death by an African savage
king ! and the showman said, that he
afterwards eat every bit of him raw !
and that it was the real dress of an
African king, jewels and all! and that
the clothes of the poor man who was
devoured was the liidentical ones he
wore, that the brute took from him bo-
fore he ate him! and he pointed out the
hole in the coat made by the spear!
"By golly! I must see that! exclaimed Tom. "We 11 all go
together if we find Ruth.
Mrs. Lee shook her head.
88
tom fox; oe, tub
I must go to the fair before I can buy a fairing—I must get a
wife before I can ask you to the wedding—and a child must be gotten
before a nurse is required.
 Why, you've as sharp a tongue as your master, said Tom.
 But not so long a purse, or I would have no master. I would
have all masters or all servants,'' added this embryo Chartist. "lam
the slave of another's will. We are all one flesh and blood 
 And all come into the world alike, that I do know, interrupted
the village midwife
 And all find the way to the churchyard, whenever God pleases,
remarked Mrs. Lee.
"Well, then, said Robin ; "seeing all this, I ask why there are
some rich and some poor ?''
"All for good purposes, I'll be bound, said Peggy. "Same 88
some are born men and some women—ther'd be no children without,
and no work for midwives and nusses.
 You're always joking, said Robin,  But I'm fond of a real,
downright good bit of hard argument. I ask, why some are rich
and some poor? The land, I maintain, is as much mine as the
Squire's.
"Pish! Why, his father left it to him, that I do know, said
Peggy.
 But who left it to his father ? and his father's father ?
"Why, his father's father's father, or his mother's mother'stttS*
ther—it don't matter which, said the tantalising Peggy, laughlngl
nor could the perplexed Chartist resist joining.  Be content, Reihitt,
the Bible shows there were to be rich as well as poor. Be content—
you've a good place, a good master, and good wages.
 True!—but I've a will over me—that will prevented my going to
the fair—that will prevented my keeping my engagement with De»
borah. But, where are you all going? What's the matter with you,
Mrs Lee? you say nothing.
 I've not much heart to say much. I've lost my Ruth.
 Why, not half-an-hour ago, I met her and Mr. Drakeford, walk-
ing side by side in the churchyard.
 There, mother !'' exclaimed Tom ;  I told you she was safe
enough. *
 No doubt she's home by this, said Peggy.  Let us turn back.
Mrs. Lee was much relieved, and questioned Robin as to the cer-
tainty of his information.
 I'm positive ! I and Mr. Drakeford bowed to each other.
 You don't mean to say that, Robin ? You don't mean to sty
that he bowed to you ?
 I do, though. I bow to no man except he bows to me—and you
may call it pride, if you like. I call it independence. Founded on
, REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 89
rthe eternal laws—laws—dear me, I forget just now what eternal laws
it was our lecturer said. To think that great man should he con-
trolled by these dirty hounds—man, who was created to govern and
•sway—and sway and govern—I forget, just now, what our London
lecturer did say we were to govern and sway, but I know it was some-
thing grand, and something that was founded on eternal laws. Come
and hear him, Tom, and you will be enlightened as well as me. Now
I must goto my "Matter, (this'word Robin pronounced with the most
galling irony)  and deliver the hounds—and take my hat Off—and
ask him, forsooth, if there is anything more I can do for his comfort?
But what I'Want to know i3 this, why Should he not bow and scrape
to Robin,'as'well as Robin to him ?—to pull off Robin's boots, as well
as Robin pull off Squire Mowbray's boots ? Ah! Tom, my boy,
'there's something rotten in the state of Denmark,' as ohr'Iefcturer
said. Come on! (to the poor hounds.) Good night1 to you all—it's
a fine night, aint it?
 Don't forget'my fairing, Robin, said Peggy,' trudging back* with
her umbrella (a friend she was never known'to forget, rain or sun-
shine) towards her home, which her avocations made it impera-
tive should be in the' most populous part of the village.
Mrs. Lee, her motherly nature still in the ascendant, increased
her speed.  She was dying to meet her Ruth, she said, and begged
Peggy and her son to "put their best foot foremost.
"What can they want in the churchyard, I wonder? she re-
fleeted.  A melancholy place for courting, I declare.
 Never mind that, as long as she's safe, said Peggy.  But her
absence never alarmed me.
 Nor me, said Tom, valiantly.
 Nor would it me, had my Ruth been out with any one else than
that odd man. I hate him now!
 Take myadvice, Mrs. Lee, insist upon his marrying her, or break
it off; it's been going on too long. Tom, you ought to look better
after your sister. If she don't like Mr. Drakeford, she's a fool to
have him—rich or poor. Both of you, I must say, think more of his
money than Ruth's happiness.
 I confess I have done so hitherto; but never again—never again,
Peggy. This shock has taught me what, as a mother, I ought never
to have forgotten—that happiness is more precious than gold or silver.
I'm determined now, if Ruth don't like Mr. Drakeford, she shan't
marry him. Poor girl! she don't like him ; and, hadn't it been for
me, she would have thrown him up long ago. I'll soon end it. Hoity,
toity!—that I will.
The old widow's courage woke up again now that she had tidings
Of her daughter, and it would not have been well for the moody cross-
grained Mr. Drakeford, were he just now to cross her path. In this
88
TOM FOX; OR, THE
Peggy, I must go to the fair before I can buy a fairing—I must get k
wife before I can ask you to the wedding—and a child must be gotten
before a nurse is required.''
 Why, you've as sharp a tongue as your master, said Tom.
 But not so long a purse, or I would have no master. I would
have all masters or all servants,'' added this embryo Chartist. "Iam
the slave of another's will. We are all one flesh and blood 
 And all come into the world alike, that I do know, interrupted
the village midwife
 And all find the way to the churchyard, whenever God pleases,
remarked Mrs. Lee.
"Well, then, said Robin ; "seeing all this, I ask why there are
some rich and some poor ?''
 All for good purposes, I'll be hound, said Peggy.  Same as
some are horn men and some women—ther'd he no children without,
and no work for midwives and nusses.
 You're always joking, said Robin,  But I'm fond of a real,
downright good bit of hard argument. I ask, why some are rich
and some poor? The land, I maintain, is as much mine as the
Squire's.
"Pish! Why, his father left it to him, that I do know, said
Peggy.
 But who left it to his father ? and his father's Father ?
"Why, his father's father's father, or his mother's mother's m»»
ther—it don't matter which, said the tantalising Peggy, laughfaif 1
nor could the perplexed Chartist resist joining.  Be content, Robin,
tbe Bible shows there were to be rich as well as poor. Be content—
you've a good place, a good master, and good wages.
 True!—but I've a will over me—that will prevented my going to
the fair—that will prevented my keeping my engagement with De-
borah. But, where are you all going? What's the matter with you,
Mrs Lee? you say nothing.
 I've not much heart to say much. I've lost my Ruth.
 Why, not half-an-hour ago, I met her and Mr. Drakeford, walk-
ing side by side in the churchyard.
 There, mother ! exclaimed Tom ;  I told you she was safe
enough. •
 No doubt she's home by this, said Peggy.  Let us turn back.
Mrs. Lee was much relieved, and questioned Robin as to the cer-
tainty of his information.
 I'm positive ! I and Mr. Drakeford bowed to each other.
 You don't mean to say that, Robin ? You don't mean to say
that he bowed to you ?
 I do, though. I bow to no man except he bows to me—and you
may call it pride, if you like. I call it independence. Founded on
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 89
■tfhe eternal laws—laws—dear me, I forget just now what eternal laws
.t was our lecturer said. To think that great man should be con-
trolled by these dirty hounds—man, who was created to govern and
r3way—and sway and govern—I forget, just now, what our London
lecturor did say we were to govern and sway, but I know it was some-
' thing grand, and something that was founded on eternal laws. Come
and hear him, Tom, and you will be enlightened as well as me. Now
I must goto my 'Maister (this'word Robin pronounced with the most
.galling irony)  and deliver the bounds—and take my hat Off—and
ask him, forsooth, if there is anything more I can do for his comfort?
■ But what I'Want to know i3 this, why Should he not bow and scrape
to Robin/as'well as Robin to him ?—to pull off Robin's boots, as well
;as Robin "pull off Squire Mowbray's boots? Ah! Tom, my boy,
'there's Something rotten in the state of Denmark,' as oUr'lefcturer
said. Come on! (to the poor hounds.) Good night to you all—it's
a fine night, aint it?
 Don't forge tmy fairing, Robin, said Peggy,' thidging back with
her umbrella (a friend she was never known 'to forget, rain or sun-
shine) towards her home, which her avocations made it impera-
tive should be in the' most populous part of the village.
Mrs. Lee, her motherly nature still in the ascendant, increased
her speed.  She was dying to meet her Ruth, she said, and begged
Peggy and her son to "put their best foot forefnost.
"What can they want in the churchyard, I wonder? she re-
fleeted.  A melancholy place for courting, I declare.
 Never mind that, as long as she's safe, said Peggy.  But her
absence never alarmed me.
 Nor me, said Tom, valiantly.
 Nor would it me, had my Ruth been out with any one else than
that odd inan. I hate him now!
 Take myadvice, Mrs. Lee, insist upon bis marrying her, or break
it off; it's been going on too long. Tom, you ought to look better
after your sister. If she don't like Mr. Drakeford, she's a fool to
have him—rich or poor. Both of you, I must say, think more of his
money than Ruth's happiness.
 I confess I have done so hitherto; but never again—never again,
Peggy. This shock has taught me what, as a mother, I ought never
to have forgotten—that happiness is more precious than gold or silver.
I'm determined now, if Ruth don't like Mr. Drakeford, she shan't
marry him. Poor girl! she don't like him ; and, hadn't it been for
me, she would have thrown him up long ago. I'll soon end it. Hoity,
toity!—that I will.
The old widow's courage woke up again now that she had tidings
Of her daughter, and it would not have been well for the moody cross-
grained Mr. Drakeford, were he just now to cross her path. In this
90 *OM TOX; OB, THE
spirit Peggy heartily supported her, and in this spirit they bade each
other an affectionate "good night on the threshold of Peggy'i
thatched-roof home.
Here I also take leave of Peggy, who was a good-heartea, grateful
old soul, with a fair sprinkling of genuine humour, but tainted with
too many indelicate allusions to her profession— a common fault with
those practising the art of midwifery, and too often unredeemed by
Peggy's sense and kindness. She had lived in this old house for up-
wards of fifty years, and had been the village nurse to gentle and
simple, for thirty of the same. With her lived her father—the oldest
man in the parish, and whom now the parish supported, by affording
him employment in breaking stones to repair the highway. It wan
but little an old man of eighty could earn, but Peggy added to it as
much as her scant earnings would permit. Old Roger Styles might
be seen, in all weathers, in seafaring costume, his tall body terribly
bent, his aged eyes protected by a deep shade, at work in an adjacent
quarry.
The parish would have supported him without this labour, but
Roger was like his daughter—he loved an independent crust—it was
better to him than the buttered buns of charity. He once owned a
small farm in the parish, but misfortunes overtook Roger ; his wife
died—his cattle died—and blighted was his corn. He was deeply re-
spected, and many volunteered help, but Roger's independent soul
spurned it.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
91
A churchyard is not ordinarily chosen by lovers in which to hold their
place of meeting. Yet, to some minds, the place of bones, and skulls,
and epitaphs, has peculiar fascinations, and to none more so than Mr.
Drakeford. Often here, unknown to any but himself, would he stray
morbidly among the graves, and feed his melancholy. But he had
never before this night escorted Ruth Lee here,—indeed, it was sel-
dom he was ever seen abroad with her, though he loved her to dis-
traction. His pride was too considerable to be seen walking with a
village-girl; and it was at constant war with his choice, and be-
came a great source of the irritation that exhibited itself so remark-
ably in him.
Love,like faith, is beyond human control,and not to be reasoned upon.
We love often without knowing why or wherefore. The heart is mys-
teriously and irresistibly moved towards objects with whom, in com-
mon, there is no harmony of mind, disposition, or station. In Ruth's
92 tom rox; or, tab
case, no doubt, it was her beauty first disturbed the cold heart of Mr.
Drakeford. He had often seen beauty allied to intellect, grace, and
fortune—but it made no impression on him—he  slept the next
night well; it harmed not him. But, ah! the luckless Sabbath when
his eye, for the first time, fell on simple Ruth, standing and worship-
ping God in an obscure corner of the parish church. ; her sweet image
made such a commotion in his heart, that he knew neither peace nor
rest until he had declared his passion for her. For months, his out-
raged pride held him back from the pursuit of Ruth—for months, his
reason used all arts, and subtleties, and sophisms, to wean him from
her—but his heart had closed upon her beautiful image, and defied his
pride and reason.
But it would be vain for a Detective to stop his stofy for a disqui-
sition on love. Like dreams, the cause never was, nor ever will he
accounted for.
While Mr. Drakeford madly loved Ruth Lee, my readers, no doubt,
have discovered, ere this, that he had only inspired her with fear for
him. Never did her heart beat one chord of affection towards her rich,
mysterious suitor, and she entertained him only in obedience to her
mercenary mother's will. But it must be said, in Widow Lee's favour,
that she had no conception of the suffering Mr. Drakeford caused her
daughter, and that, like every mother, she was only anxious to see her
advantageously married. Mrs. Lee was beginning to wake up to the true
state of afihhfs. She was now alarmed for her daughter's personal
safety, arid this disturbed her to the quick, for she loved Ruth more
than silver and gold. Again, her feelings had been deeply wounded
and outraged by  Miss  Drakeford, whom she had proved to be a
greater tyrant than her moody brother. Indeed, the unamiable cha-
racter of this proud, churlish old maid, was well known to her  friend
the rector, as well as to his parishioners. This Christian gentleman
and his meek wife were constantly intruded on by their rich neighbour
to pour out her troubles upon. Indeed, they were never safe from
the presence of this miserable old maid, who, at breakfast, dinner, tea,
or supper, was daily to be found at the rectory, seated in the family
easy-chair, with her arms at rest, as if she were the mistress of the
house, discussing the affairs of the parish, or begging the rector's advice
and assistance in some imaginary offence received from a parishioner.
But my present business is with Ruth Lee and Mr. Drakeford;
and here, in the pretty churchyard, I fiud them walking side by side,
the latter occasionally taking Ruth by the waist and pausing, while he
passionately addressed her. When Mrs. Lee and her son saw them,
they ensconced themselves at a distance, where they could see all,
while themselves were screened by a large yew-tree from observation.
 And so you fear me, Ruth? said Mr. Drakeford, musingly,
with his hands in meditative rriood behind him.
REVELATIONS OF A REVECTIVE. 98
!  You have not treated me kindly, said Ruth, looking on tha
jrour.d.
 Do not avert your face, Ruth, except it is your wish to avoid
lie, be jealously added.
 I am tired, Mr. Drakeford, 
"Tired! he angrily exclaimed, loud enough for Tom and his
'other to hear.  Weariness never finds an abiding place where love
jists. He turned as pale as the moon that silvered over the grava
*oy stood by.  Tired ! Oh ! Ruth Lee, how little knowest thoS
iat 'tis to love. Time, alas ! is all too short for the intercourse of
94
TOM lox; OB, TH*
hearts that beat in unison. But your heart is estranged from me—yoa
do not love me!
 Why, sir, since I've known you, I've scarce had time to ask my«
self the question. I have known more tears than love. I am always
displeasing you—so it is better for me, and for you, that I should not
love you.
 You displease me only, that you do not show me love enough.
In love, I'm covetous and miserly. Is it a fault in me to love you
overmuch ?
 I thought love was always kind, tender, considerate, and un-
slfish, said Ruth.
 Not when opposed, retorted Mr. Drakeford;  then it becomes
allied with wrath, and sometimes hate. Once awaken jealousy in a
loving heart, and no tiger is half so fierce. These words also reached
the ears of Widow Lee and her son, and the latter proposed that he
should go and bring Ruth home ; but the Widow hesitated.
 Our minds are not alike, sir, said Ruth; "and you should show
more sense than to court me. Mr. Drakeford groaned; and, after a
while said—
 Squire Mowbray's fairing has changed your feelings fbr me.
 I am not a child, Mr. Drakeford, replied Ruth, with spirit,
 but although I have never tasted, or thought upon the fairing, it
certainly was very kind of the Squire. It showed he thought of me
more than those who say they love me.
 Ah, Ruth, you simple girl! there is an insidiousness in the
Squire's kindness. That paltry fairing was to reach your heart. You
should have spurned the offering.
 I would not for the world have done so.
 And for why, pray ?
 Because it did not merit such resentment.
 Indeed you are considerate about wounding the Squire's
feelings, he tauntingly replied.  Ruth, we must part—your heart
is not with me.
 Oh, we had better, sir, she quickly responded.
Mr. Drakeford had not the slightest intention of parting with
Ruth, and he became distracted at the delight she could not help
showing when, with hasty speech and jealous feeling, he proposed it.
Taking her by the wrist—
 No, Ruth Lee, we will never part ! I will be as one of the dead
beneath my feet, ere I will relinquish you to Squire Mowbray.
"Why, sir, you talk as though the Squire had made proposals
to me, or that I had avowed affection for him.
 Actions speak louder than words, Ruth. It may be even
unknown to yourself, but that man is silently and surely acting upon
your heart.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
95
"Oh, no, sir—I assure you.
"He is, I say! and your mother favours him.
 She would not be so presumptuous. He is our landlord—
He is your lover, Ruth I he passionately interrupted her.
 But let him beware—let you beware ! People say I am stern and
proud. True; I am—and decided, too. I can love and I can hate—
strongly, too. And better for the man who stands between me and
my affections that he had never been born !
Poor Ruth became dreadfully alarmed, and turned her steps to-
wards her cottage-home.
 Do not hasten, Ruth, but hear me. "We move in a solemn place,
and words should not be lightly spoken here. I have broken through
the pride of station and the pride of heart, and confessed my love for
you. Your beauty has wrought a miracle in me, that I conceived
nothing human had the power of doing. Ere I saw you, the blandish-
raents of women, equal in station, fortune, and education to myself
made no impression on me. My books and seclusion were my
paradise. Think, then, Ruth, how pained, how galled, how unhappy,
how tortured I must be to think—aye, to know, that the love I bear
you is barren in producing any attachment from you. My God ! he
exclaimed, lifting his stern eye to the fair and lofty moon;  what a
wretched fate is mine, to be encompassed and controlled by a love
that brings me nought but misery !
 You will be miserable—and you make me so, too !
 The old tale, Huth, shuffling off the burden from ourselves to
others. I make you miserable !—let us analyse the cause and effects
of each other's conduct.''
"Not to-night, sir; I cannot stop. My mother will be wretched
at my absence.
"Tut, tut!—our relations are more important than that of mother,
and must have precedence.
 I would rather you returned with me, and speak with my
mother, than that we longer tarry here. It must be eleven
o'clock.
 Love never counts the hours, Ruth. There, go! and when you
pray to-night, ask forgiveness of Heaven for having killed with cold-
ness a human heart.
Near by the plain gravestone of Ruth's father they paused.
Their presence disturbed the slumbers of a solitary sheep that lay
among the tall grass, who skipped, bleating, over the graves to nestle
in another part of the churchyard.
 Walk with me, sir, to 'my mother's, said Ruth, much pained
at the anguish pictured on Mr. Drakeford's countenance.
"Not I! Your mother's tongue has been too merciless on me
and my sister to give her again the opportunity of lecturing me or
98 TOM FOX; OB THE
dictating my line of conduct towards her daughter. Both of you fail
to understand me. On my soul, I would rather put to sea in some
lonely vessel, without chart or compass, and drift to some desert island
or be cursed with aches and pains to the end of my days, than endure
the torture my love for you has brought me !
"What do you mean, Mr. Drakeford? This is not the way to
make me love you.
"To make you love me is beyond my power ! But you might
have some consideration, some commiseration, for the being whose
happiness your beauty has wrecked, and not so openly show the
world that you are regardless of me. But let it pass. Be the
Squire's bride—
"You are mad, Mr. Drakeford. I would not presume to have
such thoughts,'' said Ruth.
 Swear that you do not love the Squire! and he grasped Ruth'*
wrist so tightly that she screamed.
"By golly, mother!'' exclaimed Tom, "I shall stand this 110
longer. And he suddenly emerged from his hiding, and leaped
grave after grave until he came upon the scene, where his sister stood
trembling before the fiery eye of Mr. Drakeford.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
97
 Get thee home, Ruth, said Tom.  Your mother is crazed
ahout thee !
"I fear there'll be murder now, said Mrs. Lee, wringing her
hands, as she slowly made after her determined son.
"What means this impertinent intrusion, sir ? demanded Mr.
Drakeford, haughtily.
 Just this, sir, said Tom;  that it is high time Ruth and her
mother understood your intentions. I don't know much, but I have
just sense enough to see that you and Ruth will never agree, and that
you had better waste no more time in endeavouring to join together
what God meant to keep asunder.
 Insolent varlet! exclaimed Mr. Drakeford, seizing Tom by the
collar, and shaking him.
 I knew there'd be murder!'' said Mrs. Lee, coming up at
the moment Tom was dealing a blow at Mr. Drakeford, which brought
him to the ground.
 I never knew any one who struck Tom Lee have a better fate,
said the young countryman, in triumph, and with a far better countc-
nance than that given him by the village artist in the portrait of Tom,
which adorned the best parlour mantelshelf, and which might have
done as well for Old Nick as Tom Lee, presuming the former to have
assumed the dress and character of an agricultural labourer.
Mr. Drakeford soon grew tired of companionship with mother
earth, and gained his feet. Mrs. Lee and Ruth urged Tom to beg
hie pardon, but he declined to do so.
tom fox; ob, the
 The assault was not mine, mother. Mr. Drakeford collared
me, and shook me—and the king shouldn't do that.
"The fault was mine, said Mr. Drakeford, coolly, and signifi-
cantly added— Time will right it all. There is plenty of room here
for more burials. Thus saying, he quickly disappeared among the
graves, leaving the Lees to wend their homeward way.
Ruth slept uneasily that night. Subject after subject chased each
other in her dreams. Mr. Drakeford's feeling about Squire Mowbray
had made a deep impression on her, and she dreamt that she became
the Squire's wife, and was happily walking with him ,in lady attire, iu
an enclosure of a moor.
It is said that we must turn dreams upside down. But Ruth
Lee lived to realise hers, as the sequel will show,
Tom was pugilistically haunted in his sleep. Recent events had
bo influenced his brain, that his dreams betrayed him into the happy
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
belief that he was champion of all England, and that ho had a
 set to  in the gloves with Mr. Drakeford, for a hundred a. tide
Poor Mrs. Lee did not long sur-
vive the shock her feeble nerves had
sustained. The recent scene in the
churchyard, combined with the dark
character of Mr. Drakeford and his
darker words, acted unfavourably
upon her enfeebled constitution and
her advanced years, and within a
little mouth death snapped the silver
cord, and Tom and Ruth were
shedding tears of sorrow over her
grave.
Mr. Drakeford took this oppor-
tunity of endeavouring to effect a
reconciliation with Ruth. But Tom
would have no more trouble at his hands, and made Ruth return
his bland note of condolence on her mother's death.
"He has our mother's death to answer for, said Tom; "and if
you give him the slightest encouragement you are no sister of mine.
Ruth, who had no love or regard for Mr. Drakeford, had no scruple
in obeying her brother's decision, and the letter was returned him-
The position of affairs with Ruth and Mr. Drakeford soon became
known to all the village, and could not well be concealed from Squire
Mowbray, who, to the surprise of everyone, except Mr. Drakeford,
(who had foretold the Squire's affection for Ruth) at once made
overtures to the rustic beauty for her hand.
 You could not have failed to see, Ruth, that I have always had
great regard for you and for your family. I am only too happy that
your rejection of Mr. Drakeford gives me the often-desired opportunity
of asking you to be my wife. What say you, Ruth ?"—taking the
hand of the blushing maiden in his.
 I'm sure I hardly know what to say, sir,'' said the simple girl.
 Give consent, Ruth, and we shall be as happy as the day is long.
We shall shnt this little cottage up. and you shall be my wife, and
Tom my friend and brother. Silence gives consent, Ruth. We have
known each other for years, therefore the days of our courtship need
be few. I saved your life once, Ruth,—you remember, don't you ¥'
 Yes, sir, that I never can forget, nor ever have forgotten. But
I really feel unworthy, Squire, to be your wife.
 A good woman is worthy to be the wife of any man. You will
not find me hard to please, Ruth ; your beauty will ever keep me irt
order. I shall at once set about preparations for our wedding. The
H
100
tom ro:-; ; en, the
old church bells shall ring ever so merrily, and old and young sbflU
rejoice in the good fortun tof Squire Mowbray.''
l< But what of ;Mr- Drakeford said Ruth.
"What of ihim,. (Ruth ? Why, we will put him in such good-
humour that«he shall,jive you away, and dance at the wedding. Eta?
Ha ! ha !—And if he wont, why, then, he wont, and we must do
without him. He has been morose, unkind, and overbearing to you,
and he deserves his fate. Thoughts of him must not cloud our joy.
He loved you well enough, Ruth, no doubt—but he loved himself
better. But it is poor joy t-o triumph over the misfortunes of another.
Selfishness is its own curse, and brings its own reward. The man
who does no good gets none. Drakeford is a hermit, and has no
business with a wife; and. if he knew how little adapted he waste
make a woman happy, he would never invest in a plain gold ring.
Ha ! ha ! he would think this the height of impertinence on my part
—and perhaps it is. So, to my own affairs. You will be happy -with'
me, Ruth, wont you ? You shall have all my fortune, and all ffiy
heart—eh, Ruth?
In this fashion the Squire continued to court Ruth Lee, and ob>»
New-year's Day the old church bells did ring merrily, and on a New
Years-day Ruth Lee became the loving bride of Squire Mowbray.
Never did the old bell-ringer pull the ropes of Walcot Church with
so much joy as on the marriage morn of Ruth Lee with Squire Mow*
bray—and he had been bell-ringer to that old church, man and hoy,
for forty-five years,— and had rung in many a wedding, and tolled thi
bell for many a funeral. His wife, as well as her weary limbs would
let her, came up the half-rotten belfry-stairs with a jug of spiced ale
for her good man, and the clean, clear-skinned old soul had pinned'a
white favour on her faded brown silk bonnet. She placed the jug on the
floor, while she seated herself, panting and asthmatic, upon an iron-
bound chest, which, from its secure appearance, might well be supposed
to contain some precious relics, or gold and silver—but it was nothing
more than the bell-ringer's cupboard. So lost was the old man in his
joyous work that he did not notice the presence of his wife, nor did be
Miiell the spiced ale she had kindly brought him,—a rare thing, for he
had a good scent for his wife's home-made cordials.
'' Why you'll pull the bells down, Simon, said Simon's wife, with
a quiet smile.
 What, are you there, dame ? Pull the bells down ! I only wish
I had a better peal, for the good Squire's.sake, and for his pretty little
Ruth, too ! I want the old bells to say, and show, how much I blest
them ! Here's to their very good health 1 As he was about to lift
the mug to his watering lips, to his mortification the handle came efl,
and the spiced ale flowed over the belfry floor The old man WM
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 101
dreadfully discomposed at this mischief—not so much for the loss of
the ale, but that he conceived it foreboded ill-luck to Ruth and the
Squire.
 And God forbid that! he ejaculated;  for they are the best
couple I ever pulled bells for !
 The jug was cracked, Simon, said his less superstitious wife.
 I know it was—but to think of its coming apart as I was about
to drink their good health! Now mark—you smile. Ah ! dame,
you always was an unbeliever in omens. But I'm a trifle older than
you, and have a trifle more sense. If it hadn't been for our dif-
ferences upon dreams, ghosts, and omens, we should never have had a
word since poor Bill Cave rung a stave for our wedding,
 Well, well, we'll have no words now, will we, Simon ? So I'll
away, while you ring on, and make another pint for thee. Don't fret,
good man, Ruth and the Squire shall be happy, in spite of the spilling
of the ale.
 I fear, said Simon, prophetically, and at once rang away with as
much enthusiasm as if the ale ran warm round his heart, instead
of wasting its fragrance an the belfry floor.
lo2 tom fox; ox, the
But another mishap occurred on the wedding-morn—Robin the'
Chartist, and his little fellow groom quarrelled whilst preparing the
horses, which the Squire and his new bride were to post to London
with, for the joys of the honeymoon. Had Simon known this at the
time he lectured his unbelieving spouse, he would indeed have been
concerned,
 Goodness, gracious! what a sight for a weddingF' exclaimed Mrs.
Mayflower, the Squire's respected housekeeper, as the boy groom
came into her presence with his eye bandaged and his arm in a sling.
 Yes, he's done for me this time, Mrs. Mayflower, said the
diminutive groom, coolly.
"Who?
 Robin. I and him have had a tussel about the horses the Squire
should post with. I persist it was only right a pair of white horses
should be got ready for the post-chaise.
 Well ?
 He told me to mind my own business, and said ' one master
was quite enough for him, and more than he liked at all times.'
'What, Robin!' I said, 'ill-tempered on master's wedding-day.' ' I make
no differer.ee in days/ said he,' not I. 'Tis I that must ride post, and
I'll have the horse, that's most oomfortable to me, so couple Black
Jack with the white mare.' I refused, for I like to pay proper respect
to marriages.'' *
 That's quite right—you deserve a wife, you do, said Mrs. May-
flower.  He's a surly, discontented man, is Robin.
 Well then, as I say, we had a tussel, and he threw me violently to
the ground, and one of the horses stepped on my arm,— and the
doctor fears that I shall be some time before I gain the use of it. But
what's put me out most is that he rode out of the yard on the black
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
103
horse, in spite of me. 1 hope master will discharge liim—he's past
all bearing with.
 He's independent without a farthing to support it. Poor Bar-
bara will have a pretty life of it, if she marries him.
A day or two before the wedding, the Squire said to Tom Lee—
"Now, Tom, my boy, in a few hours your dear sister will be my
wife, and all I have she will share. I have now a favour to ask of
you, which is, to accept this cheque on my bankers, in order that you
may becomingly equip Ruth for her bridal.
Tom, independent soul, put the cheque from him.
"Not so, Squire ! We are not so poor but that we can trim oft
Ruth on that occasion. I don't say it will be very fine ; hut it will
do to he married in, and you can make a lady of her after. Thank
you—
 There, there, no thanks! said the Squire.  You are an obsti-
nate fellow. I had seme delicacy in presenting it to Ruth ; but I
made sure I could manage it through you. But let her come as she
will—in russet, or what she likes—she will be welcome to my heart,
rom.
The Squire and a friend or two set out together for the church,
while Tom, with Ruth on his arm, was not long behind. Tom treated
himself to a new suit of blue, and Ruth looked sweetly pretty in her
new straw bonnet trimmed with pearl-white ribbon, and a lavender
silk dress. At the altar of Walcot church, she and the Squire now
stand side by side, where Miss Drakeford's "friend, the Rector, makes
them one. While the primitive ceremony was going forward, brother
Tom nodded, and bowed, and blushed, and smiled, and pursed up his
lips, his grey eyes protruding from their sockets—now fixed on the
Rector, now on his new-made brother-in-law, now on his simple-
minded sister, by whose side he stood while bestowing her hand upon
the Squire. Ruth made her responses so faintly, that, when the
Rector put forward his ear to catch her replies, Tom nudged her
elbow, and said—
 Speak up, Ruth ; no one can hear you!
The ceremony over, the bridegroom claimed his bride, and, ou
foot, the whole party walked back to Ruth's new home, where she
was pleasantly received by the housekeeper and a female friend of
Squire Mowbray's, who prepared her for her honeymoon-journey to
London.
There go the bells again! and every heart in the village beats in
unison with the joy (hey expressed. No! not every heart. There
was one that was much and peculiarly troubled—there was one that
beat with a strange mixture of love, hate, wounded pride, and revenge.
These were the emotions and feelings of Mr. Drakelord on Ruth's
marriage-morn. Every sound of those bells lacerated his heart and
104
Tom fox; os, tub
made him mad. The night before the wedding he roamed about the
dreary heatli on which his house stood—his eyes now resting on the
frosty, twinkling stars above, now on the ground. He sighed—he
groaned heavily—he knitted his bushy brows, showing the terror of
his mind. He rambled miles that night—and while he rambled he
meditated murder.
 My interest in life has now departed ! They that havo destroyed
it rriust suffer also. I will not be made sport of by mortals lower than
myself! Life for life! They've taken mine! and, as sure as the stars
shine above me, I'll be requited! I've no relief but in revenge !—mow
the sweetest, only passion left me. Fear! I've no fear, no pity, no
love, no remorse left. Gone! all!—all swallowed up in revenge!
How I did love her once ; but I wakened nought but fear in hef.
Now she may fear me ; for the devil has set my heart on fire, and
nothing but revenge will quench it. God ! I never thought, when first
I saw her in the church, that she would prove my evil genius. Ah,
Ruth! I believed you had more pity than to serve me thus ; me! who
never slept without imploring all the gifts of heaven on your head—
who never dreamed, but your image mingled in it—who never woke,
Without accusing myself of not being kind and tender to you. But,
now, ah ! yours will be a short-lived joy, as mine will he a short-
lived sorrow.—That's my consolation!''
Thus soliloquised Mr. Drakeford on the marriage-eve and marriage-
morn of Squire Mowbray and Kuth Lee. But they heard it not—
thought it not; it harmed not them ; and, amidst the ringing of bells
hearty greetings, and joyous acclamations, llohin drove the happy pair
to London; and Tom Lee, in his suit of blue, by request, accom-
panied them.
 By golly!'' exclaimed Tom,  shouldn't I like to in:ict Mr.
Drakeford now!
"Hush, Tom!'' saidIluth.
 Let us cultivate ' a heart that can feel for another,' *' observed
the Squire.
The party made the best use of their month in London, and ex
jilored everything that was to be seen. Never a night did Tom miss!
from the theatre or some popular place of resort. "By golly! to'
use his own favourite expression, London did surprise lum. He was
thunderstruck with everything—Tom was lionising. Parks, palaces,
churches, and theatres, the lord mayor's coach, the myriad lamps
illuminating the streets, the bridges, the shipping on the Thames, the
thousand vehicles crowding the thoroughfares, each arid all served tie
excite the wonder and admiration of the young farmer, — the sentinel
at Buckingham Palace, the policeman correcting broom-boys with hi?
statf, and the hall-porter at the clubs. '
revelations of a detective. 105
Tom never failed to pause and scrutinise. Above all things, he
found out a skittling-house, where the pins and ball represented comic
faces.  By golly ! Tom often played here—and often dropped hia
money amongst the sharps that surrounded him.
106
TOM TOX ; OK, THK
The M Cries of London, too, equally surprised and puzzled him.
Indeed, they have puzzled wiser heads than Tom Lee's. I am a good
deal about town myself, and, as the reader knows, was born in the
heart of it; yet there is many a  cry that is quite unintelligible to
me. But these noisy street-merchants, they can make themselves
understood enough to earn plenty of money; they are clever, pushing
men of business: if they only cultivated temperate habits, they would
be a wealthy class, but they contribute too much to the stores and
rollers of John Barlevcorn.
Tom could not understand a word that the rabbit-man
said, and wondered how others could; nor was  Clo!
OleClo! more intelligible. My readers maybesure,
when they remember Tom's enthusiastic admiration
of the country fair, that the London theatres occu-
pied a good share of his attention. It was not so
much the Shakesperian drama as spectacles that
Tom revelled in. At Astley's, for example, his plea-
sure know no bounds. Three times did he go to see
one piece— the Battle of Waterloo, the last scene
of which he applauded to the very echo. Some of
the scenes in the  Nautical afterpiece drew tears
from him; and he loudly shouted '' Bravo! Bravo!
when the brave Jack Tar hero came down upon a
body of French pirates, shot them, and waved the
British standard over their dead bodies.
Tom had a patriotic soul; and while, as we have seen, he was
most enthusiastic in his applause for England's triumph over the
French, he was but little moved by the action of another piece—a
Venetian love-story ; and while one grand duke was claiming the
hand of another grand duke's daughter, Tom left the theatre, regard-
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 107
less whether the love-stricken grand duke bad his claim realised.
Tom's impression was that the lady did not seem to like her suitor,
and that the grand duke her father, with a feather in his cap, was
about to tell him 60, and that before long there would be a "jolly
row in the house.
CHAPTER V.
OU are mistaken, if ever woman wu
in ibis world, said Peter
Patterson, Mr. Drake*
ford's bailiff and general
.manager, as lie and Mrs.
I Riley, the liouse-keeper,
ait over their comlortable
' morning repast in thesnug
' kitchen.  You are mis*
taken—man's love is more
deep and constant than
woman's. Andlhavemy1
misgivings whether Mr. Prakefurd will
ever overcome the deception lluth Let
has practised upon him.
"Then we must agree to differ, Peter;
my experience is dead against your no-1'
tions of man's love. And as for Ruth
Lee deceiving our master, I can't say I
see it. It shows me that she is a very honest, proper young woman,
and that she wouldn't barter her heart and affections for all our
master's wealth. I honour her for it. But as for master never over-
coming it—rubbish! he's too much pride to fret about any woman,
much less any in Ruth Lee's station in life. And if he never doei
forget her, no one will be the wiser for it. He does not wear his heart
in his face.
 I am astonished at you, Mrs. Biley ! Why every one noticM'
the change in Mr. Drakeford. He is passionate—
 When was he otherwise?
"He is contradictory—
 That's no change.
 He finds fault with everything-—
 And did he not always ?
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 109
"les, yes, but still I say there is a great change in him He
tanps and stares, and starts at the smallest sound. I know he feels
is disappointment deeply, and to tell you the truth, I pity him. It's
y opinion Ruth Lee—I suppose we must now call her Mrs. Mowbray
-will have much to repent of.
"I hope I may have nothing
lore to repent of than Ruth
,ee. I'll tell you what it is,
'eterPattetebti—you have been
long time with Mr. Drake-
ird, and know his ways, and
-»6rhaps'understand him better
,nen anybody else, — but ia
;ober truth, I neither like him
or his prudish old 'sister. As
.ttle Jerry, the stable-boy, said
0 me the other day, there's
-omething about 'em both that
m't human 
 Jerry is a lad more influ-
need by beer than reason,
hit why do you remain here,
Urs. Riley?
''Ah! Mr. Peter Paterson,
hat's another thing, quite. Ne-
fflsity makes one acquainted
Jithstrange bedfellows. I'm a
one woman, and housekeeper's
itnations aint going every day.
 We shouldn't speak ill of the bridge that carries us over; not
hould we, Mrs. Riley, speak ill of those who give us our daily bread.
Vdlive well here, have good wages, and I think the humours of those
rfio employ us should meet with forbearance and consideration.
While this conversation took place, Mr. Drakeford sat alone in
lis small bat well-furnished library, nursing his grief, and smarting
inder the pain of his humiliation. He eould find no rest for mincl
T body; sometimes he v/ould seat himself in his well-cushioned chair,
ben he would wildly pace the room ; sometimes he would seem in
'.eep prayer, anon he would burst out into wild, violent imprecations on
he heads of those who had caused him such anguish. Indeed Mr.
Jrakeford was on the verge of madness. His reason toppled on its
brone, and threatened to leave him a pitiable wreck, dangerous to
imself and to others. With his disturbed eye resting on a brightly-
urnished pistol, that seemed to invite his hand to murder, he thus
Sve utterence to his outraged feelings:—■
"Oh, that Mowbiay stood before me now! What miracle could
110
TOii fos; on. run
save him! A little time—a little time—but minutes to my poor int.
patient soul have grown to hours. When will this cursed month
die out? too soon for them, too slow for me 1 One thing alone Ilijt
for —the world may say a wretched guilty thing—but the world Qtq
never know how much I've been wronged, how dearly I did love her
But what's the world to me? If I fear not the mysterious future,
the pettv, miserable present by which I am encompassed is hardly
likely to influence my actions. Let them die! my heart has sworn to it.
Miss Drakeford here made her stiff, stately, and abrupt appearance
in the library. The precise old maid had been disturbed in her closet
by her brother's loud speaking to himself, while thinking over
some pleasing flattery, that her  dear friend the rector had bestowed
upon her, and while comforting herself with a morning tonic, that
he had kindly7 presented for her weak nerves.
 What ever is the matter with you, Mr. Harry Drakeford?
she petulantly inquired.
 Nothing to cause you any uneasiness, sister. You know lean*
not bear to be intruded on in my library.
 Yes, brother, but you were speaking so loudly that it wasquita
alarming. Indeed your conduct lately has been very strange and
noticeable. You cannot expect that it should escape observation
Really, brother, I would not compromise my pride and dignity
so much as to let the world know that you had been weak enough til
fail in love with a cottage-girl.
 Pride and dignity! Oh, sister, you talk like one whose heart
was closed against the best sympathies of our nature. Pride! tell ma
no more of it—too much already have I sacrificed to it. It is inimical
to happiness, and gives exquisite pain to those towards whom wedifr
play it ; while it deprives ourselves of a large portion of the enjoy*
merit which life offers to us in a thousand different forms, however
disguised in its own majesty or littleness. We must away with pride
or away with happiness. I see it now—alasl too late, Oh, sister,I
cannot tell you how mean and pitiable I appear to myself. Somewhat
I blame you for it.
 How so, brother?
 You have fed my pride—made me believe that my love for Roth
humiliated me.
"And so it did, brother. The rector and every one expressed
/unci) surprise at it.
"They will live to express more surprise yet, he said, lookioj
significant!}' at the pistol that lay on the bookshelf.  I have beead
fool !—a wicked fool, sister!—wicked for daring to interpose my pril
between my heart and its affections.
M Do not upbraid yourself, brother. She is married—*'
"Hush! he interrupted with a sigh. "The wound is too-
to he opened so abruptly.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. Ill
■nxk servant here announced that breakfast was prepared.
ftsAfter some kindly persuasion, Miss Drakcford got her distracted
[Other to leave the library for the breakfast room, which commanded
Vpacious view of the desolate moor on which tho house stood.
How differently passed the hours with Squire Mowbray and his
j#Vely bride! Oh! it was a happy, joyous time with them, and better
3ian all, their happiness sprang more from their own feelings of love
tDd affection towards each other, than the gay scenes which London
jjpened up to them. The Squire became quite a man of fashion,—
{rew a moustache, and escorted his gentle Ruth amidst scenes that
112
TOJl Fox; OR, Till)
dazzled and bewildered her. See how carefully he hands her froit
the opera to the carriage! But there were times—for they possessed
hearts that could feel for another—when Mr. Drakeford and his cnwf
disappointment occurred to their memories, and they would interchangi
kindly words about him, and put their trust in time to obliterate io£
his galled soul remembrances of the past. I
 When we return home, said the Squire,  we will invite him to!
the Priory.
 I should almost tremble to meet him again; and yet I deeply feel
for him, said Mrs. Mowbray.  But he would not come, I'm sure
of that. '
 By golly ! Squire, exclaimed Tom Lee, rushing into the apart-
ment of the hotel where sat his sister and her husband; "by gollyf
I never seed such a thing in my life before ! i
 What's the matter, Tom? inquired the Squire, while Ruth's black)
eyes filled with surprise and wonder at the excited state of her brother.)
 I don't know how many people are killed! What a place Lon-
don is, to be sure! Something happening every minute!
 But what is the matter, Tom? again inquired the Squire. i
 Why, Squire, what do you think? '
 I can't think—tell us, Tom.
"Well, I've just been through Smithfield, and seen such a sight!
I shall never forget it! A bull went raving mad, and gored the people
right and left! I
"Oh, Tom ! exclaimed Ruth.
 Ah, but he did though. He tossed one urchin into the air like,
a snowball. The big hospital, hard-by, is full of dead and dying!1
Dang my buttons! I had a narrow escape myself. You haven't been
through Smithfield yet, have you, Squire?
 Not yet; and, upon my word, from your description of it, it is
not likely to tempt me.
 Oh, but you must go there, arid Ruth, too. Hundreds of thou-
sands—tens of hundreds of thousands of cattle, to be seen there oil
market-day. I never seed such a sight! Really London is a won-
oerful place. I only wish, Ruth, our poor mother had been with ui
—wouldn't she have been pleased?
Ruth dropped a tear at the mention of her mother's name.
 I declare, Ruth, said the Squire, "brother Tom is making!
better survey of London, and will see more, than we shall.
"Why, I'm on my legs from morning till night. I see more that
way than you can do riding about in a carriage. By golly! though
I near got into a bit of a scrape coming home. Ha! ha!—I caul
help laughing though, and so I did at the time.
 Let us hear, Tom, said Squire Mowbray, who took in Gail
pleasure in the fresh, simple, and unaffected character of his rusti
brother-in-law.
JA4 TOM FOX ; OR, THE
 Well, I don't know whether or not you've been over Waterloo
bridge?
 Yes, we rode across it yesterday ; a very fine bridge it is, too.
 Oh, if you only rode over it, you won't be able exactly to gee tlh
force of what I'm going"to tell. You know you have to pay a ha'penny
to cross. Well, it's a very awkward thing to know which way to
turn the machinery that lets a Lody through. It seems to me to tarn
all kinds of way—e very way. in short, but the way you want it.
Well, just as I was bobb ng through, up comes a gentleman, freebiD
liquor, and tries to get through. By gclly ! I'm sure 'twas the sanN
man who nigh escaped being gored by the bull in Smitbfield— I
particularly noticed hitn. Well, I was pushing one way, aud bean*
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
115
other; 1 laughed, and he swore ; and the more he swore the more I
laughed. One of the gates got between his legs—off goes his hat, and
he went flat upon his back. Well, when I saw this, I got through
and helped him up, when he threatened to give me in charge for
assaulting him. I told him it wasn't my fault he couldn't get through
—nor more it wasn't. But while I said it, I'm bothered if I could
help laughing, so he made aim at me, and caught me in the ribs. I
ooaldn't stand that, Squire, so I at him again—and thousands of
people got round us, and two policemen came up, and he wanted to
give me in charge. But they soon seed how it was, and marched him
off to the station-house as drunk and incapable, while I walked off.
Mr. and Mrs. Mowbray laughed heartily at Tom's recital—and
Tom himself joined them, saying that he should never more forget
Waterloo-bridge.
"You are, indeed, seeing life in London, Tom, said the Squire.
"No good coming without you do, rejoined Tom Lee.  I have
seen more this day or two than I have seen in all my life before. And
what heaps of money a fellow may spend here! Such a place for clothes
and jewellery.
 Have you fallen in yet with the London sharpers, Tom?
 I have lost a handkerchief or two; one I know while looking at
a punch-and-judy show; I could have almost sworn to the fellow who
took it—he stood by me smoking a short pipe, while the handkerchief
was passed from one to another like a flash of lightning. 1 charged
him with the theft.
"My good man, he said, "you are mistaken this time. I'm a
poor working man, and have too much regard for my family to turn
thief. You have very much hurt my feelings by thinking it was me.
"I'm very sorry, I'm sure, said I, "for it is not in me to hurt
any one's feelings. But I could have sworn it was you until you
spoke.''
 Why, bless you, it aint the first time I've been suspected; it is the
dodge of these London pickpockets to rob gentlemen when they stand
by the side of a poor working man, that he may get the blame of it.
I was prosecuted once, but the gentleman found out he was wrong,
and gave me a sovereign for the mistake he had made and for my loss
of time, and the magistrate told him to be more careful in the future
than to charge a respectable man with robbery.
 And so I suppose, said the Squire, with a smile, who knew a
little more of London life than T om, both from books and observation,
 he persuaded you out of your opinion ?
 Why, what could I do? He assu-red me it wasn't him, and that
he was a poor working man, and that he had too much regard for his
wife and family, and a good deal more that 1 forget. I was sorry that
I had hurt bis feelings, and I gave him a shilling in recompense. And
he and the punch-and-judy man went away together-—
116
TOM FOX; OR, THE
 To laugh at your innocence over a glass of ale, said the Squire,
heartily laughing, and Ruth could not refrain, while Tom's lookl
showed that he thought that he had been imposed on.
 They certainly did go to a public house, for I saw them.
"For your own sake, Tom, said the Squire, still laughing, "I
vlace—isn't it, Tom?
 Don't torment him, Mr. Mowbray, pleaded Ruth, yet almost
enjoying the fun as much as her good-tempered husband.
 Never lear, Ruth, said Tom, "the Squire's jokes don't hurt
me. I'm cn the winning side, after all, pulling from his fob a silver
watch as large as a saucer.  I wasu't very green, Squire, when!
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
117
bought this beautiful silver watch for five pounds! feel the weight ot
'un, Squire!—every gentleman in the room said he was as well worth
ten pounds as one penny was worth another!
"You bought it at an auction, Tom? said the Squire, poising the
weight of the shining watch.
'' I did. It's the first watch I ever had, and I was determined I
would have a good one ! What are you smiling at, Squire? There's
nothing wrong about the watch, is there?*'
 You've been done again, Tom. Ha! ha!
"I hope not, Mr. Mowbray, said Ruth, in pity.
"No, I've not, though, persisted Tom. ''Why, there were two
Jews, always good judges of gold and silver, bidding against me; but
I was quicker then they before the hammer went down. After I had
bought .the watch they came round me, and offered me a pound for my
bargain. 'Not a bit of it,'said I. I wasn't green enough for that, Squire,
anyhow, Its a real downright bargain. I know I was so delighted
with it, that I treated myself to the play, and a fine play it was too.
I'm bothered if ever I saw such a capital thing.
"Aclever thing was it, Tom?
 By golly! it was. I should just like you to take Ruth to see it.
 But where and what was it?
 It is called ' Sacrilege, or the Terrible Doom.' The scene where
the gamblers were turned into ghosts was wonderful fine.
"We must take an opportunity of seeing it, said the Squire,
feeding Tom's enthusiasm for the marvellous and exciting which he so
much revelled in.  I and your sister went to the opera, to hear the
famous Jenny Lind.
"To tell the truth, Squire, I don't care a brass farthing about the
vperer—it's too squally for me. I like more sensible things.
 Every one to his taste, Tom. But now about your watch, friend,
■—'you have been completely taken in. It is hardly worth as many
shillings as you have paid pounds for it.
"Eh?—what?—eh?—None of your jokes, Squire. You won't
persuade me to that, nohow. Why, all the gentlemen in the room
said I had a flaming bargain.
"The gentlemen in the room, Tom, were hired to play off upon
the occasional flats that are trapped there. The auctioneer and gentle-
men, Tom, are one lot, a bad lot, and cugbt to be knocked down.
You have been attending one of those pUces called ' mock auctions'.'
 That be all mighty fine, Squire. But surely I've got eyes in my
head—surely I can see that that's a watch.
''True, Tom, but not a silver watch, but a trumpery—
"Eh, Squire, take care, for I'm determined to prove whether th(
Watch be a solid silver watch or not. I very much respect you, bu
in point of silver and gold, I shall take the word of a respectable Jev
'before all the Gentiles in the world.
lis TOM FOX; OR, THE
 The respectable Jew—a very rare and scarce animal—was in-
terested in selling you the watch, Tom—
 No, Squire, no. He stood apart, I do assure you.
 Tom, my boy, you are done. Don't grieve, or feel chagrined,
you are not the first.
 I'm not done; the watch is a good, handsome-looking watch.'
 Yes, but not a grain of silver in it. But no further words; let
us on with our hats, and wo will away to a chronometer makers, who
has an excellent shop in the next street, and settle our dispute. •
"What should a chronometer maker know about a watch ! ex-
claimed Tom, adjusting his long-napped beaver over his confident
brow. Tom was most vehement in their walk that the watch was
everything that the mock auctioneer affirmed. w
"That's good, Tom, a chronometer maker b a watch-maker,
exclaimed the Squire.
 Or,, well, I wish people would call things by their right namMi
then people wouldn't he so confused. But never mind that now.
I'll bet you a crown, Squire, that he says the watch is genuine silver.
"You have been robbed enough, without my betting you whenl
know you would lose. No more words, Tom, but let us away ail
decide our dispute. Ruth, love, I shall return in ton minutes, anil
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
119
I'.shall not forget you at the jeweller's. If, Tom, you prove m®
wrong, I will buy you a gold watch and a chain to the bargain.
London is a wonderful place, Tom—ha! ha! come on 
 And if I be wrong, Squire, said Tom, passing with a step of
assurance, a stout well-laden traveller, who gazed with admiratior
upon the bright display in the chronometer maker's window,  if
be wrong, dang me, I'll never trust my eyes again, nor ever moiv
believe in the honesty of Jews.
The fate of the watch was soon decided. The shopkeeper to whom
the appeal was made scarcely deigned to examine it—indeed it was
annecessary, for his keen eye saw at Once it wa3 a  duffer' of the
worst description.
 London is a wonderful place, Tom, said the Sqnira, rather
qnizzingly.
' i "For cheats, and thieves, and rogues! exclaimed the young farmer,
#bo deeply felt his mortification.
■ "These watches, sir, said the shopkeeper, "are manufactured
on purpose for mock auotions, where an impudent auctioneer, with
more gab than honesty, and who is ably supported by hired scamps,
who congregate in the room and pretend to be buyers, does his best t»
!<lttpe the unwary.
 D'ye hear that, Tom? said the Squire.
 I hear, but can hardly believe it, said Tom.
"Perfectly true, sir, I assure you; your watch 13 not worth five
farthings. There is not a grain of silver in it.
The Squire consoled Tom for the deception practised upon him,
120
TOM FOX; OR, THE
by buying him a real silver watch and chain, and also bought his yOQOg
bride a pair of exquisitely-wrought bracelets.
Tom was very proud of the Squire's present, but, alas! he was not
fated to possess it long. He went that night to a public concert room
to hear a song, and smoke his pipe. The Squire, of course, was too
much occupied in attentions to his new-made bride, to companion
Tom about town, therefore he was a great deal left to his own tastes
and discretion.
The chairman of the concert, Mr. John B—11, was somewhat
renowned for his singing and facetiousness. His  Pretty Jane won
the hearts of all who heard him, and while he was presiding over the
harmony of the evening, no happier man was to be found. The house1
was in Bow-street, and the frequent haunt of "Detectives and
others connected with the law courts. Mr. John B—11 himself
enjoyed a snug pension for his long services as a  Detective, and
had been engaged in numerous cases of importance. When I first
knew him he was a young man of extreme activity : he was a'
little man, but a good-looking little man, and had a remarkably
fine crop of black hair, which was always in order—very regular
features, and a full, dark eye; while the gold chain across his watered-
silk waistcoat, and a snow-white, stiff-starched collar, contrasting
well with his somewhat sallow skin, gave him a very gentlemanly
appearance. Indeed, he was known amongst us  Detectives as
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
121
"Gentleman John. But his chief charm was his temper, which he
never lost. He was very useful at the General Post-office I have
heard him say that he has discovered and transported upwards of
forty dishonest postmen. Directly any one was suspected of pick-
ing letters, he was handed over to Mr. John B —11, who was
generally successful in "bowling him out. I have said before, he
was passionately fond of singing, bagatelle, and of the fair sex;—for
a good song, or a fine woman  Gentleman John  would count no die-
tance too long. He was a gallant of the first water.
While travelling in pursuit of a wide-awake tradesman, who had
absconded with his creditors' money, and whom he took snugly en-
sconced in a first-class carriage bound for Liverpool, hence to the States
—(see my portrait of Mr. Theophilus Brown, alias Rudolph, alias
Kingsley). coming from the neighbourhood of Plymouth to London in
the steamer, he met with a handsome, fashionably-dressed young lady,
who was on her way to Australia to be married.
She was quite unprotected, and a young  snob made impertinent
advances to her; but "Gentleman John, directly he saw the snob
was an annoyance and a nuisance to her, lie "bore down upon him,
and became the respectful guardian of the lady, nor did he lose sight
of her until he had fairly seen her shipped for her destination.
But  Gentleman John, in his admiration of the fair, never forgot
what was due to them. In rendering all homage to them, he never
said a word that would bring a blush upon Virtue's cheek. He was
tender in the extreme to woman ; and wherever and whenever he
found her in danger from assault or annoyance, he was always ready
to protect her. Many a lance has he broke on their behalf—many a
cruel wrong has he redressed for them. Having a wife and daughters
Of his own, he was ever alive to the wives and daughters of others.
Tom Lee was much captivated by the jokes, son<ys, and anecdotes
which followed in quick succession from the "chair. Tom seemed
in such good humour, that Mr. John B—11 called on him for a
song. Tom. nothing diffident, struck off  The lads of the village,
and concluded by drinking the health of the chairman and company
in a stiff bumper. But, oh! the sequel to the stiff humper. When
the concert was over, our lad of the village met with a lass of the
po^oi, who, while making love to Tom, eased him of the Squire's
present.
It was now that I made the acquaintance of Tom Lee, and heard
from him the whole story of his life, including his sister's connexion
with Mr. Drakeford, and her subsequent marriage to the Squire Mow-
bray. Tom, when he found he had been robbed of his watch, became
very resolute to find the thief and bring her to justice. He gave
notice of his misfortune at the station-house, and the case was given
into my hands, and I and Tom went a little bit over Loudon to find
her. In our rambles I told Tom a good many  dodges, and showed
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
Stan a good many  dodgers  that infest London. As we passed ono
of the theatres, I pointed out to him three seedy dramatic authors.
"Authors! Tom was indeed astonished, and observed that they were
no better dressed than he was; to which I could not help saying that
they had worse clothes, but better heads. These men, Mr. Lee, earn
a great deal of money, but spend more; therefore, they are always
ifoor—always in debt—and make an annual visit to the national
whitewasher's. I was obliged to explain my meaning, by saying that,
jtrhea they had accumulated so much debt, they petitioned the In-
"Movent Debtors' Court (for it was rarely large or important enough
Nbcthe Bankruptcy Court) for relief from their duns and burdens. I
;pointed out the centre figure—he with his hands thrust into his
^pockets, and looking somewhat like a man who had made no use of a
sknife and fork fcr a week—as the author of a piece that was then
having a very long run. Tom having seen the author, expressed
much curiosity to see his play, and that evening we went. It was an
Oriental piece, and Tom was much pleased with the scenery, espe-
icially Ihe moonlight scene in the last act, where the kneeling ueroine
swore, fey her lover's sword and the moon above, that, when the steru
Turk charged her with infidelity, he charged her falsely.
After the performance we walked on through Temple-bar, where
Totn paused, and I told him that when the Queen came on a visit to
the City this gate was fastened, to show the supreme right of the
citizens over royalty; that the Lord Mayor always met Her Majesty
here, handed her the keys of the City, and many other things to in-
terest a countryman.
"Why, there's the very cabman, exclaimed Tom.  who drove
me and the woman who robbed me to her lodgings! And he kept his
fiager pointed at a burly, gin-blossomed-faced cabman, with a full
124 tom tox; or, the
trimmed coat, who was waiting for a fare near by St. DonstUl'iv;
Church.
 Indeed, said I,  then I'll soon plump upon the woman.
"He seemed to know her very well, for I saw them whisper
together.
"No doubt I replied; ''cabmen and prostitutes are often'fit;
league together; they work in pocket, and many of them live to-
gether. Did the cabman drink with you ?
 No.
126
TOM POX; or. TOE
44 Did you hear what the woman whispered ? 1
 I didn't hear what she whispered, but I heard her say, 4 Driven
Bill, to the old house at home.' 
I walked up straight and took his number—not but that he was
pretty well known upon all the ranks, and known for a few things
•if a suspicious nature, but he had always managed to escape the law.
 What's up now? inquired cabby, eyeing my making note of his
number.
 A little affair about a watch, said I.  1 'suppose you never
saw this gentleman before ?
 I might, and I might not: seeing so many gemmen, how is it
likely I can tell? Lor', your friend isn't the only gemman in London.
 I suppose he was the only one who was robhed of his watch by
a woman you well know, and whom you drove, at half-past one yes-
terday morning, to the ' Old house at home.'
 The old house at home ! Well, I have heerd of sich a song, but
can't see what's it to do with this gemman and his watch. To end all
this palaver—I warn't out last night.
 Enough. Upon that assertion the affair shall rest until I have
made inquiries. If you were not out, you could not have driven this
gentleman ; and if you were, you have told a lie, and I shall imme-
diately arrest you on suspicion of having conspired, with others, to rob
him of his watch.
"Who are you? he blustered.
 A Detective officer, I replied.
He muttered something—I know not what—but it was clearly
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 127
evident to me, from his manner after I had disclosed myself, that he
fU the man.
"And, pray, what kept you from going out yesterday?''
"Who said I warn't out?—I'm not to be cotch'd that way,
guv'ner.
"You are prevaricating. Just now y<$r said you were not out.
ifith your cab—but you know I could disprove that; afterthoughts
you think best, and now you want to back out of that assertion. So,
you were out?
"I'm always rig'lar at my bis'ness. Couldn't afford to be absent
from the rank.
 Now, drive us to ' the old house at home, Bill'—you know well
enough where—or I shall at once take you into custody. You are
prepared to swear, Mr, Lee, that this was the man who drove you and
the woman?
128
TOM FOX; OK, TDE
'' I could swear to him amongst ten thousand, replied Tom, COB*
fidently.
I mounted the box with  cabby, while Mr. Leo seated himself
inside. "Bill pleaded that he was waiting for a fare, but I in-
sisted he should drive on.
 Where?
 Mind, now, I stand no nonsense, said I.  Drive to the house
where, at half-past one, you drove the gentleman inside and a womsn
to. The woman you know well enough, for she called you Bill. Any
further shilly-shallying or delay, and I take you direct to the station-
house.
He drove us in the direction of Charing Cross, but he had not
driven far before Tom Lee popped out his head from the cab window,
and shouted  Hoy!— there's the woman who stole my watch! She
leant upon the arm of one roue, while she chatted to two others,—all
evidently on the spree. I at once jumped from the box and took her
into custody, while her companions skulked off as fast a3 possible.
Poor creature! she seemed almost too heart-sick of life to deny the
charge, and with cut resistance I placed her in Bill's cab, and drove
her to Bow-street station. She had some shame left, for she dropped
a tear or two while the charge was being made, and on her exarnina-
tion pleaded "guilty, and was imprisoned six months with bard
labour. The watch had been pledged for twenty-five shillings, and
Tom had the satisfaction of getting the duplicate. He redeemed the
watch, but nothing told to the Squire, who had already fun enough at
Lis expense.
Mr. Lee was very grateful for
the trouble I had taken in the re-
storation of his watch, and gave
me a hearty invitation to Walcot
bis native village, and more sub-
stantial still, he presented me with
a tortoiseshell snuff-box. As long
as he remained in London, I didn't
lose sight of him ; lie liked me for
showing him about, and I liked
him that he paid for everything.
Amongst other places I took him to
Bridewell, and pointed out a covey
that I had placed there for stealing
pocket handkerchiefs. Tom, having
been robbed of his own, had hut little sympathy for the poor wretch
while undergoing his sentence, but inwardly wished that the scamp who
had stolen his was enjoying also a week at the  mill.
After our visit we pulled up to lunch, after which wo made way to
the Tower, in the neighbourhood of which I had business. Going along
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 129
the M.inories I stumbled over a very old friend, yet a very young boy,
 You see that child, sir, I said to my companion, pointing to a little
thivering Irish boy, with a man's long-tailed coat upon iiis narrow
shoulders, scuffling along the pavement in slip-shod shoes.
"Aye, said Tom,  and what an odd. howdacious youth he looks
like.*
 True, he does, and he is audacious, and, sir, I fear we should all
have been like that poor boy, had we had the same painfully miserable
•iroumstances to dead with. His father was transported, so was his
130
TOU FOX; OR, THE
mother; and he, when only two years old, was left to the care of a sister
who ended a degraded life by hanging herself, in a fit of drunkenness,
to her bedpost, leaving the youngster (then only a little more than
three years old), crawling and crying about the room all night, while
his prostitute guardian grinned in death upon him.
 Eh! by golly, I'll give 'nn a penny! exclaimed Tom, wboo«
feeling heart was touched by my truthful recital.
 Well, sir, I continued,  when the babe was found, and his
sister cut down and buried in a pauper's grave, the poor child was
moved from parish to parish, and the magistrate had to inter-
fere with these tender guardians of the poor and homeless, before
he could get an asylum anywhere. But the cold harsh treatment
he received at the union, combined with the seeds of crime which he
drank in with the spare supply of his dissolute mother's milk, made
him, directly he could well toddle alone, follow the trade his father,
and mother, and sister, and the whole of his family connexions had
so well instructed him in, and he tried his nimble fingers at thieving
for a livelihood.
"What's his name? inquired Tom.
 He never had a name, hut he answers to Slyboots. They can
do nothing with him now; he has been imprisoned and whipped, and
whipped and imprisoned, I know not how often. See how he runs from
inel he knows me, and thinks I have a charge against him. Here,
Slyboots, its all right, the gentleman has a penny for yon.
 Twopence! twopence! Til give him, cried Tom.
 Tell the gentleman, Slyboots, where you slept last night.
 In a boat, yer honour, off Tower stairs; and the night afore, on
the workhouse steps; and the night afore that on som6 sheepskins,
in Leadenhall market; precious cold it was, I can tell yer honour.
Slyboots shrugged his shoulders.
 And your breakfast, Slyboots, where did you get that?
 Breakfist!—ah!—yer honour's a chaffing on me now. I should
like some, jolly well, I know.
 Go and get some, boy; here's another twopence for thee,*' sr.id
Tom.
 Ah, yer honour, if everybody was as goodnatured as you, there
would be no little wicked starving boys like me, said Slyboots.
The young thiefs words reached Tom's heart, it was intended that
they should.
 Plenty of truth in that, I said aside to Mr. Lee.
 I like this boy, by golly I do, Mr. Fox, said Tom.  I shonid
like to do some good now I've come to London— He paused, then
'•poke to the boy— How would you like to be a farmer?
 J'd like to be anything that would get me honest bread, replied
Slyboots.
 I've a good mind to try thee, said Tom.  It would be some
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 131
satisfaction to a fellow to save that boy, and make a man of him.
What d'ye think?
*' A very praiseworthy action on your part. The boy has brains,
and! really think, with careful judicious treatment, he might be made
something of. Mind, it will be no easy task, plenty of patience and
forbearance will be required-''
"I will be a good boy. Mr. Fox—-I will! Give me a chance, and
you'll see.
 I don't know what the Squire will say, but never mind, I'll give
the boy a trial, and it shan't be my fault if you don't turn out a tramp
after all,
K
132 tom fox; Or, tub
Mr, Lee at once took Slyboots to a cheap clothiers, and had him
neatly attired, and the rags in which he first made his acquaintance
were thrown into the street.
 Fine feathers make fine hirds, said Tom, turning round and
round the charge he had so generously undertaken, for my admiration,
The poor boy smiled—smiled like a boy—but stood so still, looking
from one to the other, afraid that it would be a liberty to move.
Then Tom fed the boy at a neighbouring coffee-house, and then handec
him over to my care until ho was ready to start for Walcot. I was
much impressed with Tom's practical philanthropy, and did all in my
power, when he left me alone with the boy, to draw him to a sense
of the good that had been done for him, and begging him to repay
Mr. Lee's kindness with honesty, industry, and gratitude. I like tc
do good as well as Mr. Lee, when I have the opportunity. I took
him to my lodgings, and placed him under my motherly landlady,
who, after she knew the affair, treated the boy most kindly. Knowing
his past miseries, it really was very grateful to my feelings to see
Slyboots decently clad in trousers, belt, and pinafore—to know that
he had lived well without thieving for it—to know that he had a chance
before him. One evening I could not help sketching a scene in my
landlady's parlour, where Slyboots stood on the carpet, with a happy
face, relating some of his dismal history to the little master of the
house, who sat in an arm-chair deeply interested. I submit the scene
in order that the reader may contrast it with the picture of master
Slyboots, on page 129.
"I wish I could read, mister, said Slyboots, to the little gentle-
man in my landlady's arm-chair.  Does it take long to learn r
 Don't it, though! It just does. I've often been thrashed over it.
"Crikey! exclaimed Slyboots,  then I shouldn't like to leara,
if it gets you a thrashing—not but what I've had enough of that sort
of thing. I've been whipped in the prisons, I have — whipped
naked.
"Prison! exclaimed the little gentleman.  Why, what a wicked
chap you must have been ! Whatever had you been doing to get into
prison?
 I knows—but I was hungry and couldn't help it, said Slyboots,
betraying some shame.
 Tell us, said the voice from the arm-chair.
 I had been thieving—I had, said Slyboots, watching the effect
of this dreadful disclosure on the occupant of the arm-chair.
 My ! have you been a thief ? I wouldn't thieve.
 P'raps you would, if you had nothing to eat without taking
what wasn't your'n. P'raps you would, if you had been left to shiver
In the streets without nothing to eat, nothing to wear, and nowhere to
' sleep, and no one to tell you better,—and no father nor no mother,
and the peeler always a-driving on vou about.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 133
"Prisons are jolly dark, ain't tliey?
 But hunger ain't afeard of 'em. If they'd been ever so dark, I
could not help thieving for my victuals. But I'll never do so no
more, now I've fallen into kind hands.
Here little gentleman's mamma entered, and stopped the con-
versation.
The day now soon came round when Squire Mowbray arranged
his departure from the Metropolis. Unknown to every one but Robin,
the postilion, Tom placed Slyboots at the bottom of the box-seat,
taking care to place plenty of food within his reach.
Squire Mowbray's return home was announced by the ringing of
bells, and the congratulations of rich and poor.
"What are the bells ringing for? inquired Mr. Drakeford of his
servant Peter.
 For Squire Mowbray's return, sir, replied Peter.
 Hum!—the people seem mad about Squire Mowbray. The noise
distracts one. I may go and return—no such welcome for me.
 It is in token of his marriage, sir.
"Who asked you what it was in token of? angrily inquired Mr.
Drakeford. "Think you these horrid bells distract me less, that I
know they ring in token of his marriage?
"I meant no harm, sir. I thought perhaps you might have for-
gotten the'marriage—
 My memory needs no instruction from you, sir, he sternly in-
terrupted.
 I regret I have displeased you, sir, said Peter, about to retire.
 I have'a task for you,—remain awhile. Yes—no, no, never mind,
—I will ring when I am ready.
Mr. Drakeford sat in troubled mood. During the absence of the
Squire and Ruth, he had grown somewhat calm, but their return had
brought back, in all its venom, the old hate and determination to be
avenged. But how?—there lay the burnished pistol ready for any
purpose, or for any hand to discharge.  Why not challenge Mow-
bray to a duel? he meditated.  It is too uncertain: I might fire and
misg—he might spare my life and fire in the air. How could I bear a
life bestowed by him? God forbid! No, no, sure work of it; he must
die, if I die for the deed. But how? He paced the room, in deep
deliberation of the question. Far into the night he pondered, when
sleep came over his distracted brain, and he sank in troubled slum-,
ber in the library chair.
C II A P TEE V1.
E A D E R ! — no, that's too abrupt
— I will call theo kind, indulgent,
patient reader,—I feel 1 owe you some
apology for appearing betore you in
the uncourteous manner I Lave
pictured myself at the commencement
of this chapter. But if you will
please remember I told you at the
commencement of my Revelations that
I would tell you the truth, the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth—
and the truth is, since my last chapter
was crowded on your attention—I
am not an idle man—my official
duties have been very intense ; indeed,
I have been on a suit of great public importance, and have only just
returned to town, care-worn, clothes-worn, and travel-worn, from its
pursuit. My landlady said that, when she opened the door to me, I
looked more like an itinerant pedlar than a respectable Detective, and
became dubious as to the propriety of giving me admittance. 1 had had
rough handling from the four felons in the annexed pencilling, especially
from the tall savage in the foreground of my picture. Those des-
peradoes had thrown the provinces into a dreadful state of alarm.
Every night some terrible burglary was committed. Leeds, Man-
Chester, and Liverpool, had received visits from tnem, and they were
 taking the whole of the Northern Circuit. As soon as I scented,
them in one place, they were oil' to another Several of the LondDtf
"force were in pursuit of them ; but it fell to my lot to capture
them. I first came up with them in the most dread and dismal spot
it was possible to conceive. For the reader's better understandings
I submit a sketch of this lovely place, and ask if he would like to havft
encountered four burglars there? They were on their way to Leedfc
I was close on their heels, just by that solitary tree, when I saw theOj
and they saw me. They were coming lazily along one road, while I
was meeting them from the other ; and had I not receded, we should
have met face to face at the point where one road diverged from thl
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
135
ether. I turned my back upon them, and walked in the oppo-
tite direction, but not at all losing sight of them. The tour soon
came lip with ine ; and I feigned such innocence—such simplicity—
all the while thinking deeply how to effect their capture, without too
much hazarding my life.
"And where are you a-travelling, young man, this darksome
night? inquired the tall bravado, in low, gruff tones.
"Me, sir? returned I.
"Why, you have'nt got not nobody with you that I can see, he
Mid, in a quarrelsome spirit; it was his game to have a row.
"Oh no, sir, I'm quite a lone traveller, I answered.
;  And where are you travelling to ? and where have you travelled
from?
v  I'm going to Leeds ; I've heen to Ileadingly, to show a gentle-
loan a pistol; but he didn't like it, so I'm taking it back to my master.
I'm a working gunsmith.
'  That's very strange!'' said the little burglar,  for our trade lies
Something in that way.''
'  Take heed, and whisper low, Bobby Bruce, said my tall com-
panion, correcting the communicativeness of his fellow-burglar.  And
SO you've got this 'ere pistol about your
■  Yes, sir, I'm sorry to snv; these gentlefolks give poor tradesmen
K) much trouble.
136
TOM FOX; OK, TIIE
 Out with it—let us look at it. If it's good for anything, perhapi
I may buy it of you.
"Walker! I said to myself, but instantly produced the weapon,
which, as well as the night permitted, he attentively examined.
 What's the ready-money figure?
 Well, as it's likely to be left on my bauds, and as I'm but a poor,
man, you shall have it for thirty-five shillings
 And what's the credit-figure?
 I'm sure gentlemen like you don't want credit, I simply replied.
revelations of a detective. 137
 Can you shoot?"'
"Me, sir? No, sir.
 Then, as I can, and you cannot, the pistol is of use to me, and
none to you; so, perhaps, you'll make me a present of it.
"I shouldn't mind, I'm sure, sir, if I was as rich as the lone old
gentleman, who don't live far from here.
 And who may be this lone old gentleman? they pretty well
all inquired together.
 He's a miser, I said, exciting them still further.
"A miser, eh? and lives alone, you say? said the tallest, in hia
imagination grasping the old man's gold.
IS8
TOM FOX; OR, TUB
 Oh, a dreadful old skunk, worth no end of money, I reiterated.
 And lives alone f' said Bobby Bruce.
 Oh, it would cost too much to keep anybody. He has a deaf
old woman living with him, and who lives about as hard as himself.
I met him this afternoon, returning from market, on a broken-down
horse.
 Well, you're a-chaffing on us now, young man. Who ever heard
of a miser keeping a 'oss !
 Ah, but, you see, I said,  it is the horse keeps him, more than
he keeps the liorse ; for, when he's done with him, he turns him loose
on the common or the roadside, to choose his food from the brambly,
berry-covered hedges.''
 But what does he want a horse at all for? inquired another
burglar.
 That's what I want to know, said Bobby Bruce.
 Why, don't you see,]' said I, "he has a good deal of house property,
and it lies miles apart—some of it right into Leeds—and every day he
rides past every house to see that his tenants are plaj'ing him fhir.
"Oh yes—I see! said the burglars.  But, I say, there'll be heaps
of money there for somebody, when old Skinflint dies. I 'spose he's
his own banker.
 How?
 Why, I mean he keeps his money in his own possession.
"Every farthing, you may be bound, I replied.
"Don't you think such a useless member of society ought to be
killed? said Bobby, sounding my morality,
 I do, certainly, and his money distributed in hands that would
do some good with it amongst the poor.
 Ay, to be sure; you'd like to have some of it, I daresay, a poor
man like you?
"Ah, a little of it would do me and my little family a world of
good, I snufilingly said.
"It would do us all good, eh, comrades? said the tall burglar.
"How far are we from where this dreadful creature lives.
 About two miles the other way, I replied.
"Well, are you game to make one in taking a little liberty with
. le miser's money-chest?
I pretended that the proposition took my breath away.
"I'm sure—I don't know—I never—did do such a thing! But
there—he's only a miser.
 Only a miser—that's all, they all said in encouraging tones.
 Lead us back to the miser's house, and we'll manage the business.
Were you ever in the bouse?
 Often, and know every part of it.
 Well, you shall be the leader. Lead on, that's a good young
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
139
man. Come, there's the moon peeping out to lend us a light for the
job. I 'spose he's snooring by this?
 No doubt—for he never burns a candle.
 There are five of us—so I 'spose there'll be no need of this?"—
tapping the pistol he took from me.
"Oh, no—he's a feeble old man; and besides I won't be a party to
violence, not for all the money in the world. Leave it to me, and I'll
manage the job.
"We will we will! they all assented. Onwards we tramped,
until I Drought them up to the house of a friend of mine.
 Now, gentlemen, you hide by these two trees, while I run across
(he common to the house and reconnoitre.
The arrangement was acceded to, and I hurried off and acquainted
my friend of the trap I had laid for the burglars, and explained to
him my design, namely of getting them into a room of the house,
then turning the key on them, while we loaded guns and pistols (which
my friend possessed) to make them surrender. My friend compli-
taented me Dy saying it would he a clever capture, and heartily
volunteered his assistance, and enlisted also that of two stout serving-
men. Hurrah! this done I hastened back to my hopeful companions,
and told them that everything was still. They chuckled with joy
wnile they stealthily followed me. I told them they had betterletme
have my pistol back, if I was to be pioneer, and in case of the old
man waking. Iq a moment my pistol was restored me. I lead them
; toa door which was purposely fastened, and the four of us set to
; work to remove the obstacle. This accomplished, we got into the
^passage—then got them into the room I had prepared tor their recep-
sfion—and then I turned the key upon them, while my friend, his
aervants, and myself, after a minute or two returned with loaded
weapons, entered the room and made all four prisoners.
It would be impossible to describe the horrible passion that sud-
denly mantled on their countenances, and I purposely refrain from
relating the oaths and imprecations they showered on my poor head,
14-0 tou rox; or, the
when they found I had so cleverly secured them. This was the most
clever capture I ever made, and it did not pass unrecognised by the
authorities.
"Bobby Bruce gave me a brutal kick on the knee, while I
strapped his wrists with a strong cord, and reduced my clothes to the
tattered state in which I returned to my landlady. Having corded
all four prisoners, while my friend and his servants pointed their
guns at them, I got a chaise cart that night and drove them off to
Leeds.
Glad indeed was I when I lodged them in the prison, and I went
to bed in a very excited state, for it was only my ingenuity had saved
my life. Had I single-handed attempted to have arrested them, I
should have been  done for, to all intents and purposes. Only
snatches of sleep could I obtain, which was far from refreshing, for
ghastly dreams passed through my disturbed brain. Strange to
say, I dreamt the very dream as already related at page 55, where I
thought I was married to "Miss Charlotte, (that delightful little
creature always colours my dreams—what can be the meaning of it?)
and that after emigrating to the Backwoods, one Sunday dinner-time
we had some of the  real natives make an untimely visit to us. I
arose, and at once committed this singular apparition to paper with my
pencil, and the following picture is about as faithful a representation
of the horrors I suffered iu imagination, as it is possible to depict on
paper.
When the burglars were put on their trial, there were at least
eight serious cases against them, in most of which violence had been
used. They were transported for twenty-one years.
Now I have given the reader the cause of my irregularity—good
and sufficient I hope—I shall continue my narrative of Ruth Lee, or
Mrs. Mowbray.
It was some days after the return of Squire Mowbray from his
honeymoon-tour in the Metropolis,'ere Mr. Drakeford could shape
Lis course of vengeance. Although he exhibited less passion outwardly,
it burned with the old intensity within. Sister or servant could rarely
get a word from him. He was deeply, wretchedly absorbed in one
subject, and he saw no other solution to it than by murder. Murder!
the very word does make one shudder—but Mr. Drakeford hung
upon it, night and day, with dreadful familiarity. "He must diel
were the terrible words that ever and anou audibly escaped him, and
were alway present in his thoughts.
Miss Drakeford was very cold of nature, and the little warmth of
feeling she possessed she bestowed upon herself. She saw with small
concern her brother, day after day, the victim of his grief; but all the
consolation he got from her was '' that he ought to know better than
exhibit such feelings for a cottage-girl, especially now she was the
TOM FOX; OR, THE
wife of another. Then would she return to her closet, and in
Pharisaical complacency, over the tonic''her friend the Rector had
prescribed for her, "hope that she should have more control over her
marry the best man in the kingdom, therefore it was no use for the
gentlemen to try to persuade her.
But Mr. Harry Drakeford was not made of the same imbecile
stuff as his sister ; although he possessed all her abominable pride,
he had better intellect and warmer affections. But he had no disci-
pline of mind—no control over his passions,—and would allow no
barrier to his gratifications.
While all this misery was passing in the mind of Mr. Drakeford,
nothing hut joy was going forward in Squire Mowbray's house. In
token of his marriage he had feasted the gentry, his tenantry, and the
peasantry. Mr. Drakeford had received the heartiest invitations to
partake his hospitality, but he had obstinately, but courteously
declined them.
revelations or a detective. 143
One day it came to Mr. Drakeford's knowledge that the Squire
was called to the chair of an agricultural meeting of a town hard bv,
and that his road to the meeting lay past his house on the moor. He
saw the Squire pass on horseback on his way to the meeting, and he
at once determined to lay in ambush for his return,
The snow was falling fast—Walcot Church struck nine—when
Mr. Drakeford issued forth from his lonely cottage to the desolate
moor.. He wrapped himself in a cloth cloak, beneath which he con-
cealed a pistol. He directed his stately steps in the direction of the
road the Squire could only take in his way home from the meeting he
was attending. Arrived about half a mile from his house, Mr. Drake-
ford halted before three or four trees that clustered together on the
now snow-clad moor, and there patiently kept watch for the Squire's
passing. The heat of rage and passion within defied the cold without.
His dreadful errand eclipsed all other feelings, and sustained his heart
against the merciless night.
How little thought the meeting, when proposing Squire Mowbray's
health, that, ere Walcot Church struck eleven, their respected Chair-
man would be weltering in his blood upon the moor! How little
thought the Squire, when'he took an affectionate leave of his young
wife at home, that his bloody remains would be presented to her
at night! But such was his cruel—such his undeserved fate. No
man was more loved or honoured than Squire Mowbray, whose heart
was full of the finest sensibilities, and the sweetest charities. To the
poor he was a constant friend—to his equals a delightful companion—•
and always exhibited the most patriotic feelings towards his country
and its institutions.
Amidst the heartiest cheers, and blessings, and hopes for him and
his young dame, Squire Mowbray vacated the chair, preparatory to
his taking horse for his journey homewards.
 Gentlemen, he said, with glass in hand,  one bumper at part-
ing. I could only wish that these friendly meetings were oftener..
They have a tendency to knit together the hearts of men, and what-
ever contributes to that should always be studied. Our last meeting,
I remember well, was presided over by Mr. Drakeford, and I heartily
regret that he is not with us now. He is a good fellow enough, when
drawn away from his books and studies. He makes a capital speech,,
and can sing a capital song, two things you have been deprived of in-
your chairman this evening. Gentlemen, it is a sentiment I know
you share with me, never to forget the abseut;and I therefore propose
that we drain our glasses to the health of Mr. Drakeford.
The Squire's generous bidding was responded to, and the meeting
broke up. The Squire lit a cigar, and, with his horse, made towards
home, with what haste the slush and snow would let him. When he
canie near tc the trees where Mr. Drakeford kept watch, he was some--
TOM FOX; OB, THE
what startled at the approach of a human figure to his horse's head,
and more so at sound of the word, "Villain! wliich was heightened
by sight of a pistol levelled at his heart.
 Who stops my way? exclaimed the Squire.
 One you've deeply injured.
"Drakeford, by the voice, said the Squire.
 Yes, he that "you have robbed of all that made life worth having.
"I am, indeed, surprised! And would you sink so low, thus
•cowardly to spill my blood? Oh, Drakeford, you are possessed with
an evil spirit 
 The evil spirit was conjured up by you, who stole the love of
her who should have been my wife.
 Tut, tut—be calm, Drakeford. I wa3 her own free choice. As
long as your engagement lasted with her, I never, on my soul, endea-
voured, by action or word, to take her from you. Come, be a gentle-
man, Drakeford, and do not commit a deed that would damn you
here and hereafter.
 I fear it not—no torments cau exceed those which now I suffer.
"Will you lessen them by killing me?
 Why appeal to a man whom you have bereft of reason?
 Not for myself I appeal to you, believe me, but for her sake
whom you profess to love. For her sake, spare my life.
"Her sake! reiterated Mr. Drakeford! "She who so grossly
deceived me! She who would have given me her hand, while her
heart was yours!
 You wrong Jier, Mr. Drakeford—you wrong my wife, said the
Squire.
 Wife!'' screamed Mr. Drakeford in such shrill cadence that it
echoed demoniacally across the moor. Then quickly followed tho
shot that bereft the Squire of his life, and without sigh, groan, or
speech, he fell from his horse to the snow. The poor animal, in terror,
flew with frantic speed across the wide moor, and, riderless, soon after
gained its home.
Tom Lee happened to be spending the evening with his sister
during the Squire's absence at the meeting, and when one of the
servants announced  that Master's horse had returned without
master, he exclaimed—
 By golly! I 'spose the Squire's had too much wine, and tumbled
off on the moor. Light up the lanterns, lads, and let us away to seek
the Squire. Mind, not a word to my sister—she would go into fits!
Tom and two servants set forth with lights, in search of the
Squire. In passing over the moor, looking attentively to the right
and left, they encountered his murderer. At first they thought it was
the Squire, and Tom was terribly disappointed when he found it
was not.
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 145
 You don t happen to have seen the Squire ride this way, sir ?
inquired Tom, not for the moment recognising to whom he was
speaking.
"Why should you inquire of me concerning the Squire?
evasively replied Mr. Drakeford.
"Nooffence, said Tom, now discovering it was Mr. Drakeford
whom he was addressing. "You see, sir, his horse has returned
without him, and it has given us a bit of alarm. Tom then went
forward in his search, remarking to his companions on the strangeness
of Mr. Drakeford being abroad on a night like this.
 Eh ! discovered already,'' mused Mr. Drakeford, quickening
his steps to his house, attaining which, he sought his library, and
there re-loaded his pistol, which he placed by his side, and sat down
and commenced quickly writing.
Tom had not gone much further before the dread secret was dis-
closed. The dark moor—the leaden sky—the snow-covered ground
—the three men and their lanterns, pausing with horror-stricken
countenances over the bleeding body of the Squire—would have made
a picturesque subject for a skilful artist.
In mute astonishment the men stood motionless, while their
lantern's glare shone upon the placid face of the poor young Squire.
"Oh, my poor, poor sister! exclaimed Tom; "she will break
her heart.
 But be ye sure that master's dead ?  suggested one of the servants.
 Dost see the blood ? said Tom, pointing to the Squire's breast.
"He's been robbed and murdered.—No, not robbed, for there hangs
his watch and chain. He has been murdered; and I know the
villain who has done it.
The three men raised the Squire's body from the snow to their
shoulders, and with funeral pace walked across the cold, cold moor.
It was an affecting spectacle, to see the body thus borne along, on
the right shoulders of the bearers, while their lanterns hung in their
left hands. The cold cheek of the Squire leant against Tom's cheek.
They spoke not until they faced Mr. Drakeford's cottage, when Tom
paused, and pointing to the solitary house, the light of a lamp stream-
lug from the library window, said significantly—
 Here lives the murderer of my poor sister's husband!
But see! who is this distracted creature that rushes across the
moor, and accosts the mournful party. It is poor unhappy Mrs.
Mowbray, the young wife—now, alas! young widow. After her
brother had left in search of the Squire, she had learnt from a maid
servant that the horse had returned without its master, and that blood
Was on its mane ! Without waiting to dress herself for the inclement
Bight, and without bonnet, she went in pursuit of her brother, and
came up with him ut the skirts of the moor.
tom rox; or, the
"Where is Mowbray, Tom?—where is my husband? she
frantically inquired.
"We have the poor Squire here, Ruth—but he is dead!' replied
Tom, with a choked utterance.
Ruth gasped and shrieked—Oh! such a shriek, that it reached
the ear of Mr. Drakeford, who seemed for the moment to be roused to
consciousness of his crime, and mentally asked himself,  What have
I done ?
Tom released himself as a bearer of the Squire's corpse, to support
his sister, who had sank, fainting, on the snow. In fatigue and sorrow
the party reached home, and the Squire's body was placed on the
large1 hall table. Ruth was supported to her chamber, and Tom
hurried off a servant for the Squire's doctor : nd lawyer. Both were
soon on the spot, and the former, after pronouncing the Squire as dead,
immediately addressed himself to the unconscious state ot Mrs Mow-
bray—but with poor success. Tom acquainted the lawyer with his
suspicions regarding the Squire's having met with foul play from Mr.
Drakeford, from the fact of his having met him on the moor, and his
well-known enmity to the Squire. The lawyer thought there
certainly were sufficient grounds for interrogating Mr, Drakeford,
although, he added, he could scarcely think it possible that the gentle-
man could be capable of such a crime as murder. The lawyer took steps
that night to investigate the case, and himself and a constable called
on Mr. Drakeford. It was sometime before they obtained entrance,
and ere the library was reached, the report of a pistol met their ear.
 A life that has ceased to be beneficial to others, or afford
pleasure to its owner, should be extinguished. These words were
found hastily written on a slip of paper on the library table—
evidently written when the lawyer and constable were knocking at
thetdoor, for the ink was still wet when they entered the library, and
found Mr. Drakeford sitting in his chair with a pistol-shot through
his brow. Fortunately for the public satisfaction, amongst Mr.
Drakeford's papers was found a written confession of the murder, and
the wrongs that had led to it. An inquest was held on both bodies.
A verdict of wilful murder was recorded against Mr. Drakeford ;
while on the murderer and suicide the verdict was (I never could see
a reason for so favourable a construction of his crimes), that he died
by his own hands, in a fit of temporary insanity. '1 hey were both
buried in the same churchyard—but while the grave of one was
execrated, the resting-place of the other was often watered with a
mourner's tears.
The last act of my story, perhaps, is the most melancholy. Mrs.
Mowbray never recovered the shock her nervous system had tus-
tained. Hopeless lunacy assailed her; and under the watchful a n',
assiduous care of her medical advisers and her brother Tom, she v/a
ksvelations of a detective. 147
placed in a private asylum for the insane. Nothing evit* escaped her
lips but what had reference to her lamented husband:—
 My poor, dear Mowbray! When will he come again? How
' wrong to keep me waiting so long for him ! Philip, has your master
come yet? Then would she wander abdut the garden grounds, and
gather a bouquet for her expected husband. This being her chief daily
routine, her room would be covered with flowers, and smell as ^wcct
as any garden.
Xi
148 TOM FOX ; OR, THE
In lier case madness was mercy. Had her mind been permitted to
dwell on the truth, instead of insane dreams, 3he would have been tor-
tured beyond endurance. Her widowed heart would have been con»
stantly contrasting the blissful past with the wretched present. The
happy memories of her courtship—those day3 so precious to the lover
—the happy moments she would wile away with Squire Mowbray,
would be rudely snapped by the knowledge of his dreadful death by
the cruel hands of his hated, misanthropic rival, Mr. Drakeford. Had
her reason not departed, with what poignancy the recurrence of that
brief scene with the jealous murderer of her husband at her cottage-
door would, ever and anon, come fresh upon her! He accused her of
speaking to Squire Mowbray.
 Dear me, said Ruth Lee,  I suppose there is no great harm in
it, if I did return the Squire's smile.
 Just this harm,'' said Harry Drakeford, in cold and bitter tones,
 that it will cost him his life.
Ruth interrupted her lover's speech with a piercing scream.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
148
The mental condition of his sister was a sore affliction to her
brother—other relatives she had none. Nothing was lost sight of that
could by any possibility relieve her oppressed brain: but, alas! all was
in vain.  The silver bowl was broken.'
The roses that grew on her cheeks had given place to the lily's
fairness. Tom frequently would walk with her through the garden,
and try to direct her thoughts by talking of everything that at one
time interested her. But she seemed scarcely to know him, and
rarely responded to anything he would talk about.
 O dear! 0 dear! I wish Mowbray would come—these beautiful
flowers will all be withered if he does not hasten—and I should so like
for him to see them.
The name of her husband's murderer never escaped her lips.
Tom had the solo management of the estate and other properties
that the ill-fated Squire left, and he became a very important man,
and a man much beloved. The poor found in him as good a friend as
the Squire, and the gossipping paupers often discussed his good quali-
ties, and prayed blessings on his head at the "Union door.
During all this time of trouble young Slyboots was going on well,
and repaying with gratitude the good nature that had lent him the
helping hand in the days of his crime and misery. Tom Lee, to his
honour be it spoken, treated the boy like his own son—indeed, had
adopted him as such. He had him baptised in his own name, and
while at school and at home, answered to "Master Lee. He took
well to his school, and soon his old '''vernacular gave place to
language more civilised. Great love sprung up in his heart for his
adopted father, and he grew up a boy that Tom had much piide and
pleasure in calling  son.
Tom (I suppose we must now call him Mister Lee) and his adopted
son often made a pleasure trip to the Metropolis, and they never
omitted to make a call on myself, to cicerone them about. I made a
point of never referring to Master Lee's past history. Sometimes he
would do so himself, with delicacy of feeling, but it was only to thank
his benefactor, for  plucking him as a brand from the burning, and
me, for encouraging Mr Lee to do by him as he had done.
Master Lee was somewhat fond of dress, and his father (virtually
he was so, and a good father, too) furnished him with means to gratify
his tastes. The young dog must always have things in fashion, and
he was also careful to have them fit him well.
Look at him now—with what particularity he scrutinises the fitting
of a new coat in the tailor's glass! Not only in his clothes, but in
everything that had reference to the make-up and tastes of a young
gentleman, he was most scrupulous.
Of course, the theatres, after good eating and drinking, were the
Chief attractions to Master Lee and his father, and, generally I might
150 tom rox; or, tux
be seen in the boxes with them. Mr. Lee's ruling passion was gruj&
spectacles and horsemanship. Madame Sacchi and her inimitable
equestrian feats afforded great pleasure to the country visitors, and!
father and son, while they were wonder-struck at Madame's clever
achievements, laughed loudly and heartily at the facetious Clown. They
were also very attentive to the drama, entitled,  The Gold-diggers, of
the Murder Avenged, the improbable story of which may be told in
few words:—
Four diggers, having been unsuccessful, banded themselves together
*o waylay, murder, and rob those whom fortune had favoured. By this
means they became very rich; and when suspicion made the place
almost too hot to hold them, they embarked for England. The vessel
that wa3 freighted with the tour scoundrels, in a dreadful storm, went
352
TOM FOX ; OR, TUB
to the bottom, taking with her three of the murderers and all their
ill-gotten wealth. The fourth, after buffeting with the waves for
hours, found himself, a helples3 wretch, upon a foreign land. Penni-
'less, and by the aid of charity, he got by some means (the play was
not particularly clear upon this point) to Paris, at the time of the
last revolution, and while the jealous feelings of the French were
much exasperated against the English.  A has les Anglais ! was
inscribed on their banners, and they pursued all the English residents
there at the time with considerable rigour. The shipwrecked gold-
digger and murderer came in for his share, but his rough temper
'•o)iId not brook it, and while one of the Revolutionists was ordering
• -■! '.ut of Paris at the point of his bayonet, the Digger resented it, and
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
153
•threatened to cleave him with his pickaxe, when the other fiercely
stabbed him in the back. Such was the retributive justice, as shown
in the drama.
TOM FOX ; OR, THE
I recollect, on one occasion, I was escorting Master Lee and his
father through the Green Park, when something occurred that afforded
me ineffable pleasure. A little, ragged urchin—as ragged and de-
proved as poor Slyboots once was, and quite as friendless—had tres»
passed on aristocratic paths, and was being brutally pursued, stick in
hand, by the stern liveried park-keeper, when Master Lee interfered,
and begged him to have mercy on the poor boy. The park-keeper
 W ho are you ?
''I once was a ragged, friendless, houseless, starving little boy,
like him vou were about to chastise, and should have grown up so,
hut for these kind gentlemen-'—pointing to Mr. Lee and myself.
 It appears to me, young sir, said the park-keeper, before Master
Lee could finish what be was about to say,  that you have retained a
deal of that urchin's imDudence.
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
155-
I here interfered, and told the park-keeper he was somewhat too
fast. And to save him the trouble of asking me the question that he
Asked Master Lee, told him who I was, and told liim a few brief par-
ticulars of Slyboots' history, and that a fellow-feeling made him plead
for the young and unfortunate.
 My orders are to keep the park free from young pickpockets,
he said.
 Yes, yes; but your orders can be obeyed without knocking a
boy's bones about with a heavy stick. The blows I myself saw ad
ministered.
 You are mighty sentimental, Mister Detective, he said.
"Are the sentiments good? that is the question. If they are, I
should advise you to emulate them.
This ended the conversation, for the park-keeper walked one way
and we another. Master Lee took the hand of the boy he had saved
from the stick, and  questioned him the story of his life.
He found that it was, in most respects like his own ; that from
infancy he had been deserted by parents he never knew, and left to
.the tender mercies of a cold world. The two boys walked together,
while I and Mr. Lee walked behind.
"Do you know, Mr, Fox, said Mr. Lee, "that saving that boy
from ruin has afforded me many hours of pleasure. I only wish I
could persuade rich folks to do as I have done. What a different
world it would be!
 Rich folks, Mr. Lee, I observed,  are too content with giving
money carelessly to Institutions and Charities, which is often spent by
some dissipated Secretary, through whom the money passes, than ap~
portioned to the use of the poor creatures for whom it was benevo-
lently given. I knew one or two cases of this sort. Oh, sir, the
extravagance in the management of our public charities is almost in-
credible. The manager of an institution I know—a good man, too—■
spends half the subscriptions in pulling down and building up the
offices—carpenters, plasterers, and painters are never out of the place
—while the Institution is always in debt, and public appeals constantly
being made for funds. I should rather, sir, were I a gentleman, see
my own alms given, than entrust my charities to be tampered with
by others. The secretary of another institution defrauded the place
of upwards of three thousand pounds in one year. Donations poured
into the place, and he, instead of entering tliem in the books of the
society, put them in his pocket. I was called in upon this case, and
found that he was pursuing the most fashionable habits, unknown to
any but himself and his gay companions. When charged with the
embezzlement by the honorary secretary, he leant against his office-
table, smiling in the old gentleman's face, and assured him in the
blandest manner, while his exquisitely-frilled shirt sparkled with a
156 TOM fox; or the
diamond pin, that he had only borrowed the money, and that his rich
uncle would instantly make it good. But the rich uncle didn t see
it, and declined to interfere. The secretary fled, and I was pat upon
the scent to find him.
"And how did you succeed, Mr. Fox? inquired Mr. Lee.
 You shall hear, sir. I knew he was young in crime, and I
made sure that he would direct his steps to Liverpool, and take the
next packet to America. I was right, sir. Went on board the packet
—which some of us always make a point to do, to see after some names
on our books—saw this unworthy secretary cavalierly smoking a pipe
while promenading the deck. When I made my business known"—
"I suppose it put his pipe out? interrupted Mr. Lee.
 Not a bit of it, sir. Singular to relate, he went off into a fit of
laughter. Such a display of levity to me was unaccountable at the
time, but, subsequently, I discovered that he was subject to what wae
termed hysterical laughter, and that, when particularly excited, he
went into those fits, same as a woman might go into hysterics from
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
157
excess of grief. His was grief, but it outwardly showed itself ia
laughter. He begged me to take him to his rich uncle, for he was
gure, when he saw him so beset with ruin, ne would make good his
defalcations with the society. And so it proved. These facts, sir,
have shaken my faith in the management of public institutions.
 Again, there are sometimes started, in London, institutions, on
purpose to swindle the charitable. I remember, not long ago, three
clever, gentlemanly rogues, put forth a clever prospectus to trap the
credulous and charitable.
 They pretended (as soon as sufficient subscriptions could be
raised) to organise an institution for the religious care and education
of orphan children. Indeed, the whole prospectus was pervaded with
a sanctimonious expression, well mixed with Scripture texts, such a3
*'Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not. For
H time the cheat went on flourishingly. The aristocracy, the chari*
158
TOM fox; or, the
table, and tho foolish, poured in alms for these three rogues to fatten
on. Never an orphan child was to be seen at tho place, flow they
must have chuckled as the guineas tumbled in! How they must have
ridiculed the old ladies and gentlemen who were so zealous in the
bebalf of orphan children! 4 Well, Mr. Roberts,'' I can fancy the su«
perior rogue in the arm-chair saying to him who has ju3t appeared
in his room, 4 and what did the lady visitor require ?' 4 Only to drop
hor guinea,' was the quick reply. 4 God bless her!—she must be a
godly woman!' was the chaff kept up. 4 You did not omit to ask her
kindness in distributing a few prospectuses for us, to her charitable
friends?' 4D—n it, she asked for them, replied Mr. Roberts. 'Better
than all, I gammoned her to become one of the ladies' committee when
our organisation was complete. She was highly flattered—was the
old soul—and talked so lovingly of the children.' ' Ha! ha! ha!' all
joined in the laughing chorus. 4 But I bad another tender-hearted
woman call to-day,' said Mr. Roberts. 4Well?' inquired the delighted
chairman. And Mr. Roberts chinked five sovereigns in his hand.
4 What beautiful music, Roberts! Play us another tune. Well,
gentlemen, if our orphan children flourish as well a3 we do, they will
do excellently well—bless their little hearts ! But come, friends, the
day is fine, and our funds high, I propose we do a little whitebait at
Black wall?' Carried unanimously—you may depend on that, Mr.
Lefe. But, like everything else in this world—4 'twas too bright to
last.' The bubble after six months burst, and the rogues were sum-
moned—but the rogues made off to concoct other vilianies. So you
see, Mr. Lee, people should look well after the charities they subscribe
to. But, as I said before, I would be my own almoner, and so make
sure that my charities were not abused, and that they found their
way to the objects I intended them for.
 I hope I shall not be understood as decrying the aim and purpose
of the London charitable institutions. I have every possible respect
for them and their noble objects. Some of them—our hospitals, for
example—are, morally speaking, the grandest in the world, and de-
serve the support of the rich and the blessings of the poor. It is the
extravagant, and frequently unbusiness-like management of many ot
them that I much wish to see altered, in order that their noble objects
may be more widely diffused. God forbid that I should say one word
to injure them, or to shut up the hearts of the benevolent from cheer-
fully and liberally supporting them. All I want is that the public
eye may always have them in view, and sweep away their abuses.''
44 Aye, to be sure; that's right, Mr, Fox, said Mr. Lee.
44 One of the sconndrels I have been speaking to you about fell
into my bands a few years after. He was reduced to accept service
in a gentleman's family, as butler. Here bis dishonesty received
new temptations. The plate dazzled his eyes, and his fingers hitched
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
159
to get it in his possession. One day ho decamped with it,—bnt I
ttaced him, and brought him to justice. He got three years for it.
I . While the conversation recorded above was kept up between myself
^ Mr. Lee, I observed Slyboots—Master Lee, I mean—in earnest
tUk with the ragged boy. I saw money pass from his purse to the
icjStstretched hand of the poor boy, and I heard him tell him to call
lit his lodgings, and that he would not lose sight of him.
I am happy in being able to close my chapter with the  Revelation
iSso pleasing a character as that of Mr. Lee and Slyboots. It shows
few much good one individual can render to another. "Where
ffiere's a will there's a way. Let my readers never forget that—
aid never forget to seek to do good.
'^'Methinks I hear some of my readers exclaim—those who know
tithing of the sweetness of doing good— What a moralising humbug
Hftt Detective is! I care not—I have had my say, and I make my
tow.
CHAPTER VII.
SOCIETY lias at length been serr-
ously called to that plague-spot
of great cities, the  Social EviJ.
Evil, indeed ! And none but ^
Detective knows its magnitude.
His avocation as a crime-hunter
brings him in contact with this
sin of sins, when it is obscured
from the public eye, and takes shelter in its own
polluted refuges. Regardless of being stigmatised
by mankind, sentimental or "beery, I, Tom Fox*
Detective, being of sound mind, do affirm the
 Social Evil to be the greatest of evils. I have
seen it wrapped up, and I have seen it in its naked-
ness—I have seen it drunk, and I have seen it sober—I have seen it
rich, and I have seen it poor; but I have never seen it without the
reflection that it is the cuise of the age.
I was very glad indeed to bo present at the recent  tea and toast
meeting,'' convened by ministers (who are not always engaged in sucb
practical Christianity) (or the regeneration of these  Fallen Angels.
The press may heap ridicule on the attempt, if it pleases—(and it
pleases to do many unaccountable things, and not the least remarkable
of its anomalies is the encouragement it gives to quackery and hum-
bug, in its advertising columns)—but I say that it was a step in ad-
vance when these poor victims of man-kind were brought together and
appealed to in the old tones of love, which have never rung on their
ears since the downward step was taken.
Depravity assumes many forms, many disguises ; but none so
pitiful to the eye of virtue,—so abhorred by the public mind,—so cor-
rupting in its influence,—so antagonistic to a country's welfare,—so
blighting to the influence of youth, as the woman who has lost her
shame; as she who, from whatever cause, lewdly stalks forth by night
and day, gaily decked off in borrowed dresses, feathers, paste-jewellery,
paint-plastered cheeks, flicking her perfumed handkerchief in the face
of some susceptible passer-by, and with other unseemly overtures
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
161
lnres him to a neighbouring house of ill-fame. Perhaps some youth
who becomes so enamoured with the tricks of the harlot, that he robshis
friends or his employers to support her ; perchance her wiles and
smiles entrap some weak husband from his fidelity to her home, and
once having forfeited his honour, he too becomes the harlot's victim.
I will now give the reader a revelation from my note-book of two
.sisters—Jane aud Mary Chester—whose fearful annals on the pave
will show more of the horrors of the Social Evil, and the causes that
1 led them to its membership, than any reflections upon it. I shall blend
, jny facts into the form of a story, which, I think, will give them an
additional interest.
 Is this the house where the old
gentleman was murdered ?
"Yes, and his body lies in that *
room, where the yellow blind is pulled i fjy,
;2own. i^/'f 
"Serves him right, for going to
{nek a horrid house !'' remarked
le old lady, who made one of
'g crowd that had been attracted, from
morbid curiosity, before the door of a
small house of ill-repute, in anout-of- 1 <
the-way street, at the west end of Lon-
don, to gather all the information
Concerning the murder of a wealthy
:old farmer, which had just been dis-
covered. The
aged lady spoke
so loudly, so ex-
citedly, that the
crowd encircled
her, and poured
a torrent of ques-
tions on her,
thinking that
she knew more
of the matter
than they.
 Who's done
it r asked a
/ ^ young clerk,who
Was wending his way to his City office.
 My eyes ! a murder ! exclaimed a butcher's boy, whose tray
proved a great nuisance to the crowd he made his way among.
162 tom fox; or, the
"Has he been robbed as well as murdered? inquired a woman
with a child in her arms.
 Is it a bad house? demanded a stalwart man, with a long whip
in his hand, and who had pulled up his waggon of coals outside thft
crowd. When he had satisfied himself of all  perticklers  he an$
his mate adjourned to a neighbouring "public, to talk the matter
over a pint of "arf an arf.''
M I know no more than you do about it. said the old lady,
earliest opportunity she could get to reply.
The crowd increased—every one that passed paused befora
decent looking house, but a house known in the neighbourhood as 0 .
J
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
ef accommodation for the gay yet unhappy members that contribute so
largely to the  Social Evil  of the Metropolis.
The attention of the crowd was diverted by the entrance into the
the narrow thoroughfare of the street-
newsman, who got a living by selling
 Last Dying Speeches under the
gallows, and when nothing extraordinary
enough occurred in real life, he would
readily invent something to excite the
imagination and tastes of the credulous
and ignorant. He limped slowly along the
street, with an illustrated pamphlet in each
hand, and several copies stuck under each
arm, crying with a loud, sing-song voice,
''Only one a'penny ! a full, true and
particular account of a dreadful murder
and robbery of a wealthy farmer by two
gay women! &c. And such indeed was
the sad, unexaggerated truth, and the man
succeeded in selling a great number to the
excited crowd by which he was surrounded.
It was deep in the autumn of the year,
and the keen cold wind which moaned
through the branches of an elm that was
planted in the grounds of a public-house at
the corner of the street, scattered its yellow
leaves over the heads and at the feet of the
tnob who congregated round the house in r~ -
which Murder reigned. '
All eyes were now cast in the direction of myself, two policemen,
and a woman, who hastily came down the street towards the ill-fated
house, but the crowd was so compact and close, that it was with
difficulty we could penetrate it. The woman was middle-aged, and
there was considerable disturbance betokened in her dissolute-looking
countenance ; the rouge that had been thickly laid on the previous
night, had been partially washed away by her tears. She
looked like a woman of fashion that had dressed in extreme
haste, and while everything she wore was of the gayest cha-
racter, there was a dirty, faded, and stale appearance about her.
While her bonnet was of a rich velvet, her hair was uncombed, and
looked as if she had just risen from her pillow; her rich large-pat-
terned shawl, too, was in strange contrast with dirty unlaced boots;
nor was there much harmony with glittering rings, and fingers that
were shaded with dirt, and a face agitated more with alarm than
Sorrow. She was the landlady of the house,
 Stand back! stand back !'> cried I to the crowd, pushing aside
164.
tom rox; or, the
two gaping,wonder-struck coun- ggk.
trymen, equipped with agricul-
tural implements, who pressed
on our heels as we waited at
the door of the house, while the /v^SfY
■woman let us in with her latch- j§» Jr i
key. _ jflWtWi?
"Stand back! I again fsty \\ v;
shouted, now obliged to use my dsL <; 3^ If
stuff on the heads of some of [l(
the mob who made endeavours tfi,
to follow us into the house. The «£ (|Tn , 1L'
doctor's brougham now came WW?. CH
rattling along, and dispersed Hp!
the crowd before it. I, the wm*^
landlady, and doctor soon found our way to the chamber of horrors,
and the window-blind was drawn up for the admission of light for the
careful examination of the murdered.
A dismal sight presented itself! I will save my readers the pain
of description further than by stating that an elderly gentleman, with
short silvery hair, lay on the carpet, cold in death, and bathed in
blood that flowed from a gaping wound in his skinny throat. That
he had struggled for his life there were evidences to corroborate; his
veiny hand clutched the carpet as if he still held his murderer, and
the toilet water-bottle and soap were on the floor. He lay in his
shirt, while his handsome suit of clothes, with the pockets turned
inside out, were scattered about, some on a chair, some on the floor.
It is painful enough to behold the passions of the young leading
them to houses of ill fame ; but when we find men there whose feet
are tottering to their graves, our disgust and indignation know no
bounds. Can there be a more pitiful sight than to see a man, whose
very brows are grey with age, dallying with a lewd woman? What
more sorrowful—more contemptible—than to find the hoary-headed
walking in the paths of shan.e and criminality?
 He is dead, said the doctor, as he knelt down to examine the
nature of the wound.
 Oh! it will be the ruin of me, blubbered the gay landlady.
"I wouldn't have had such a thing happen in my house, for the
world.
 Who slept with him? I inquired.
"Two girls brought him here at about twelve last night, and
engaged the room; and they all seemed happy enough; and the poor
gentleman sent the servant for a bottle of wine, and some walnuts—
and there is the shells and the empty bottle. I never saw a person
so merry for his years—he took a girl on each knee, and sang, ' How
happy could I be with either.'
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 165
 Was he sober ? asked I.
 Well, I should say, not quite, hut still there was nothing par<
ticular to notice.
 Did you observe whether he had a watch or any jewellery?
 Oh, yes. I saw a gold watch and chain, and a valuable mourn-
ing-ring; and when he gave the girl the money for the wine", I saw
his purse was full of money.
 Did you drink with him?
 I did. Oh, I won't deny anything at a time like this.
 When did you discover the murder?
 Not half-an-hour ago.
 It is now nine o'clock, I said to one of the officers.  Who
slept in the house last night ?
 Well, besides me and the servant, who slept in the back pavlour,
and the poor gentleman and the two girls, who slept in this room,
there was two men, who was waiting for two women, took the first-
floor front; a man and woman slept in the second-floor front: and
another couple in the second-floor back.
 Do you know any of the parties? I inquired.
 Oh, dear no ; I should have a large acquaintance if I knew
•everybody who came here. One of the men who took the first-floor
front, I noticed had a cast in his eye.
 What time did the girls leave who slept with the murdered
man ?
 That I don't know; but my servant says she heard them leave
about six in the morning.
I conferred aside with the surgeon, and then, after obtaining from
the landlady and servant a further account , of the  Jadies who
they supposed had slept with the farmer, their dress, their height,
their ages, their features, and their complexions, one of my men quitted
the house, but soon returned with a parish shell, in which the ghastly
tody was placed, and, followed by the crowd, was conveyed to the
public-house at the corner of the street for immediate inquest. Of
course, the showy landlady and her servant were summoned to attend
the coroner, and were subjected to a searching investigation. Nothing,
however, was elicited that could criminate either of them with the
murderous deed, and they were left free to pursue their detested
course of life.
When the fat and tawdrily-dressed landlady returned to her
"virtuous home, she and her slip-shod, all-of-a-heap servant, or
drudge, sought the room that had so lately been the scene of in-
humanity- °When she again cast her large grey eyes on the blood-
stained floor, she clasped her hands together, and exclaimed to her
attendant— , , .
 To think, Hannah, that this mess should have been made in my
166 tom fox; or, this
best room ! I hope to the infernal husseys may he found and
hung for it! Why, look here—there's blood on the best counterpane!
there's blood on the carpet! there's blood on the chair-cushion! Oh,*
my! oh, my! oh, my! there's blood everywhere! Get some gin,
Hannah; I feel so sick. Do you hear, fool! get a pint of gin, anU
don't stand staring there like a jackass in a field.
 Don't be passionate, mum—I didn't make the messyrt nil
Hannah
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 167
 Who says you did? You'll have to cleau it up, though.
44 So I 'sposes, she sullenly observed. 44 I wish the old sinner
had been in afore he'd com'd here!
 And so do I, Hannah, and the girls with him.
44 Ah, missus, it'll take a sight of soda to wash that away, point-
iug to the bloody spot where the corpse had lain.
 Get the gin, Hannah, for I'm sick to think on it ! exclaimed tho
landlady, taking from her gold-bound porte-monnaie a crown-piece.
"Ha: this is the very coin the gentleman, whose blood lies at your
feet, Hannah, put into my hand as a present for the room. Take
it, and spend every farthing of it"—dashing it with disgust on the
floor. «4 Buy brandy, Hannah—gin won't be strong enough for a
time like this. If they asks you anything at the public, best be
mum;—know nothing ;—it's a ticklish time, Hannah, and the least
said the soonest mended. Be quick, for I've not yet had a drop to
drink all the morning—and I'm blest if I'm not afraid to stop in the
room by myself.
The red-armed, blotchy-faced, big-bosomed, thick-lipped, sleepy-
eyed drudge, with a bottle under her dirty apron, and her two heavy
gold drops in her long red ears, went her errand, and soon returned
with the  O-be-joyful'"—their slang term for ardent spirits.
 That's very welcome! said the landlady, after tossing off a glass
of the spirit.  Now help yourself, Hannah. Lord! what would poor
creeturs that is in trouble do without a drop of drink? I'm woman
enough for anything now—that is, I shall be after a glass or two
more. Here's to the speedy discovery of the murderers, Hannah!
tossing off a second glass.
 And may I be at the hanging of 'em, responded Hannah,
tossing off her second glass.
 Hanging's too good for 'em, said the landlady, filling her third
glass. 44 "Pon my soul, Hannah, I can hardly believe that the two
young creeturs that the old fool came home with could have done
such a thing.
44 Don't I though, responded Hannah.  I seed enough of their
conduct to show me they were not chickens about town.
"Was the gentleman in liquor, do you think? inquired the
landlady, showing symptoms that the brandy was doing its work on
the brain.
 He was much on, missus—I seed that direkly I opened the
door, for he chucked me under the chin, and stroked my nose.
 It's all a mystery to me, Hannah—a deep mystery. I can't yet
see the occasion for the murder.
 You must be in a fog, then. Didn't they rob him?'
44 To be sure they did—in that observation you are perfeckly
correct. But I maintain there was no occasion to murder the old
168 toh fox; or, the
soul—they might have had his swag without that same doing. Depend
upon it there is a mystery in this affair. Take anothev glass, Hannah,
and I'll have another glass; a drop of spirit calms me. It's been an
awful fright to me, Hannah, and the end of it will be that I am a ruined
woman. You know what a good trade I was doing—beds full from
morning to night—beds from attic to kP">hen—all let at good prices.
And although I say it, mine was as resectable a conducted house as
any house of its kind in London. And the girls knew that same ;
and, for the matter of that, so did the gents who come with them.
The accommodation was good—everything clean—and you always
kept a civil tongue in your head. But nobody will e*^icome again,
and I shall be ruined.
Here the wicked old woman broke into loud laments, and fits of
sobbing.
 It will all blow over, missus, said Hannah, coaxingly. "I'll
soon get the house to rights, and the girls will bring their gents as
reg'lar as ever.
 It's a marked house, Hannah, and you're an old fool for saying
that the circumstances will blow over. Look at it—look at the
counterpane—look at the carpet—look at the chair cushions ! 'Pon
my soul, if I stay here much longer I shall go mad. D—d if I don't
feel I had rather the wretches had killed me than have brought this
disgrace upon a 'respectable' house.
"Don't take on so, missus; we'll soon get up the 'spectabilityof
the house ag'in. Lord! a glass or two of gin to the young ladies as
use for to cum here will do that.
 You gallows fool! exclaimed the landlady, looking unutterable
things at her consoler, while her large breasts perceptibly moved up
and down as they peeped over her low dress.
"What for, missus? inquired Hannah, in the deepest surprise.
"'Taint the young ladies as we have to consider, it's the gents as
comes with 'em ! Think they'd trust themselves in a house where a
murder had been committed?
 Gents is not so particlar as you think for, missus. They'd follei
a woman anywhere.
"There's truth in that, said the landlady, filling her fourth glass
with neat brandy.
A large, sleek, black cat here walked in, and would have lapped
the dead man's blood, but the women hallooed it back, and the scowling
animal slowly retreated to the region below.
 I'm just thinking, Hannah, what a row there'll be about this in
the papers!
 Likely 'nough, mum: and p'raps the very men, if we did but
know, who writes 'em and prints 'em have been here themselves for
accommodation. We know who has been here—don't we, mum?
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 169
^  Hush, hush, Hannah—I know what you mean. Honour among
thieves—he paid us well not to mention it.
 Oh, that's all right, missus,'' said Hannah ;  but I nevei*shall
forget the bowl out as long as I live. I 'spose the parish clerk thought
we never went to church, and of course we could'nt know him. Ha!
ha! he was mistaken. I thought he would have died when I called
him by name
 All the world over—people cry loudest agin what they likes
most. But no mistake, Hannah, you always heerd me say so in ray
sober senses, ours is a wretched trade for women, and I'm sure if it
wasn't for a drop of spirits now and then to keep my heart up, I
should often have destroyed myself. What should we poor wretches
be, Hannah, without the comfort of the bottle?''
 It's too late to be virtuous, so we'd better not talk about it.
What can't be cured must be endured. We mustn't blame ourselves,
neither, missus.
"Who, then?''
'' Men! who hunt us for their pleasure, and then despise us. The
villain that sedooced me, tried twenty things before he succeeded; he
knew I was a poor orphant girl, and he pretended to be my friend: tkeu
the old game, promised to marry me—then led me astray; then I might
go to the devil for what my friend cared. And to the devil I shall
go; and as true as God's in heaven, the villain that sedooced me, and
then left me to be hunted down by the world, will be there to see me.
That's a comfort, anyhow.
However vulgarly expressed, there is so much truth involved in
Hannah's words, that I cannot resist pausing to remark upon them.
The sin of prostitution lies at man's door. Man is woman's snarer;
he lays traps for her with infinite cunning; catches the frail innocent,
feasts on her, then loathes her, and  whistles her off, and lets her
down the wind to prey at fortune.
The concert-room, lancing saloon, the town and country fairs,
tea-gardens, and gin-palaces, are the nets of man's invention, dex-
terously laid to entrap poor woman. The  Social Evil isman's evil;
by him it was brought into existence, by him it is nurtured, by him
it grows—and, to reiterate Hannah's words, as "sure as God's in
heaven, man will be answerable for it.
The two women, the landlady and her drudge, sat maudling over
the brandy until both were half intoxicated, when the former pro-
posed that they should have some tea, and wind up the auspicious day
in the gallery of an adjacent theatre.
While the wretched scene was being enacted by the two women at
the now notorious brothel, I and others of the police were taking vigi-
lant step3 for the capture of the murderers. Every wall, and every
hoarding of London, were speedily plastered with large placards, offer-
170
TOM fox; or, the
ing a heavy reward to any who discovered them, and a free pardon to
all except the actual murderer ; simultaneous measures were also
actively taken to discover who the murdered gentleman was.
At the end of the second day, a dissolute-looking young man, of
shabby appearance, appeared at the workhouse, and claimed the body
of the murdered as his grandfather, and to whom he was heir.
It transpired that the deceased
was Squire Hepburn, a wealthy
farmer from Kent. In life the old
gentleman heaped upon himself
all the luxuries the world could
afford, while to others he was pecu-
liarly penurious. He ate by him-
self—he drank by himself—he
lived on his estate by himself. He
formed no friendships — lie culti-
vated no affections. One passion,
for an old man, he possessed in
abundance — a passion that had
rioted in his blood from youth to
age—animal desire for women.
Many a young cottager on his
estate he had ruined, and left to
her fate. Oh! rare poetic justice—
he lived only to deceive and debase woman, and by woman his blood
was shed. He had married a tender-hearted lady, but his abominable
habits of life soon snapped the bond asunder, and the tomb received
her. She left a son to his care, but from his birth he was handed
over to stranger hands, and brought up at a low sum per week. The
cruel father virtually disowned him, and left him to grow to manhood
with the smallest possible assistance. He reached man's estate and
married, but a raging epidemic of the periou „wept him and his wife
to the grave. He left behind him a boy seven years old—William
Hepburn, the grandson and heir of griping old Squire Hepburn—
the young man who now stood at the workhouse door identifying the
body of the grandfather he had murdered!
Young Hepburn knew his grandfather well, for since the death of
his father he had appealed in vain to him for assistance. The youth,
William Hepburn, left so early to his own resources in London, it
need cause no surprise that he should associate with cunning lads and
wicked lads—with thieves and prostitutes—people who were  a-fly to
everything, and sturdy advocates of community of property. There
■were one or two of this confraternity of a more desperate
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 171
character than the rest, and knowing
young Hepburn's relationship to the
rich old squire in Kent, continually ad-
vised his death, arguing,"as the "old
buffer must go soon,  he might as well
go first as last. Ned Stammers—a
bull-dog faced man, who generally spoka
with folded arms—suggested "a noc-
turnal visit and a crack on the head,
and the job's done—and whose to know?
While Sam Johnson—honoured name—
 that he should be eased of his life on
the highway.
"Don't shrug your shoulders, Bill,
said Sam, to young Hepburn, as they
sat over their pipes and their beer ;  for if what you tells me is correct,
the sooner such an old as your grandfather is gone to kingdom-
come, the better for society. I should like to do the. job very much,
if I was paid for it, mind ye, and it was a reg'lar understood thing
among us all.
Little did the old squire dream, as he wandered beneath the rising
sun to see that all his labourers were at their early duties on lii&
wealthy estate, that a council of death was hatching his destruction,,
and his own grandson at the head of the council! Yet so it was.
I will now give a pen and ink sketch of Sam Johnson. He had a
ghastly cast in one eye, a pale long face, and very red thin lips ; tall
and consumptive in appearance, and consumptive in character, for he
seemed never to tire of eating and drinking—but he never fattened on
his food.
Sam Johnson, though a burglar and murderer, was a pleasant
fellow, and especially so with a quartern of gin before him, and a pipe
in his mouth. But when luck was against him, and he could not get
his  comfort, he was morose and ill-tempered; and when there was
a "job on"—as now, when he was inciting his wavering companion
to murder old Hepburn — he was grave, earnest, logical, and would
easily persuade any one disposed to sin, that it was  all right. He
was indeed a  character, and such he was designated by his  pals.
"I would murder him, said Sam,  because he is a miser—and,
in course, a useless member in society. I would murder him (D—n
it, there's a fly in the gin!) because he starves you—and the Bible
says, Life for life. I would murder him (Give us a bit of baccy, Bill,)
because you would then get all bis ehink, and it would be scattered
for the good of yourself and others.''
 There's no eetting over that, said a somewhat voluptuous
young woman, who leant her folded arms across the table, while Sam
172 TOM FOX; OR THE
poured out his oratory and his logic. This was Jane Chester, and
Sam Johrson was her "man, or *'bully, and Jane Chester was his
 woman, ar.ci nhe gave him all the produce of her prostitution, and
never dared to differ from him, or her jwiiifcd Ltcc j.ou.u »e decorated
ivS-th Uii eye of blackberry hue; for when SjrJ. abc-rc^ou himself to>
Jane's tender organ of sight, it was always in a striking manner. Jane
saw she had pleased Sam, and she resumed the trotter she had been
aagaged upon with additional gusto and relish, and toned her stomach
-yith a glass of gin.
14 I don't see it, Jenny, said Mary ChesL-r, who, in a happy state
S'.C"beer, leant her head and bonnet upon William Hepburn's shoul-
d'.iiff—for the same relationship existed between Ihese two, as between
Jane and Sam.
No pen could sketch greater profligacy than that which reigned so
Mumphantly here. The four human beings^-(if I must so dignify
lhsm)r—could fall no lower. Amongst themseh es, the mask was torn
eff—their wretchedness was naked. To sec these two abandoned
women (sisters too!) who at one time must have been shocked at an
aril word or gross allusion—whom their Maker aad created beautiful*
and who still retained marks of their beauty—to see them thus fallen,
10 depths almost too low to rescue them,—shored stir society from its
lethargy, until it had fathomed the cause of this monstrous  Social
Evil, and swept it from England's shores. But the chief cause fa.
ifenown—poverty and the cruelly low prices that yotmg girls and
Women receive for their unremitting labour,—these are the accursed
Causes of prostitution, which now by night and da$ fill the village, tho:
town, and the city.
Mary Chester advised William Hepburn not to be concerned in
. She murder of his grandfather. She  didn't see ife,
Young Hepburn, also,  didn't see it ; but hti wouldn't mind the-
UiV.rder if he was sure not to be  lagged  far it.
44Leave that to me, said Sam Johnson. 45 Kbst, let us all be in
sfct
"No, interrupted Mary Chester: 44 I'm Mnso jolly happy,—-
yet I'm none so tired of life as to be hung ov.f, of ft.''
"You're a fool, Mary 2 exclaimed Jenny,, ' See how jolly it
would be for all of us, if the old man was out of the way, and your
Sail had his property. You'd cut it fine enough, I kcr-v.
44 May be Bill then would out me, replied Liz.
44 That be I exclaimed her gallant protector- ;
441 like you for that, said Mary, patting young ? pburn's puffy*
< hseks, and playfully pulling his whiskers.
*4 Let's all be in it, reiterated Sam Joimsotlj41SL v jlose the affair
t >ci' half a pint of gin.
"Best leave mo cat,' said Mary Chested, 40."u! in one of my
8XVEI.A.MON3 CT £. SH'I^CTlt173
•fs'eiip-talklrj^ fits i'should blah the wTih '.e thing, and
v\y. ah1 V''
174 tom fox; ok, the
Let ns observe that Mary Chester was subject to fits of somnam-
hulism, and frequently rose from her bed in her night-dress, and
wandered down the old staircase, to the horror of any who had been
sleeping with her; nor could she he aroused to consciousness or
wakefulness until her naked foot came in contact with the stone pave-
ment, or some other particularly cold substance. Our picture ably
represents her in one of these unfortunate and dangerous trances;
another might have shown her sister Jane at a gay house of accom-
modation, in the purlieus of the Haymarket, dallying with a "swell
she had passed the night with, and who has just made her a present,
and is taking an  affectionate'' leave of her. This illustrated phase
of the  Social Evil would convey at a glance more than a pen could
portray in a volume. Of course, the presents the poor wretches receive
from their evil supporters are handed over to her fancy men for  gin
and baccy.
 Oh! that the gods would put in every hand a whip.
To lash such rascals, naked, through the street!
It is a singular fact, but nevertheless true, that the majority of
these poor fallen women form strong attachments to the men they live
with, and bear from them the greatest cruelties, and think nothing too
degraded to furnish them with the means to live in idleness and dis-
sipation. These  fellows  may be seen on the heels of their tricked-
out paramours, while they trace the paves of our great thoroughfares,
and as the women catch their victims, they (the men-monsters) hang
about the very door of the brothel to clutch the money paid them for
their sin.
William Hepburn had not much to say upon the subject ofhi3
grandfather. Oh ! that he could enjoy or reach the old man's wealth
without the old man's slaughter !
"You would never find me turning out of your bed then, Mary,
to let some ono else lie with you I I've heard, Sam, that he is the
richest man in Kent.
 And yotithe poorest man in London, sneered Sam. "Was I
you, Bill, it wouldn't be long afore I was the richest man^ in Kent
—'specially when nothing but an old miserly life prevented it.
"It's a fine chance, Bill, followed on Jane Chester,flinging the
bones of the trotter into the fireless grate.
"Let us hear, Sam, said Hepburn, "how the job should be
done.
"Don't hear nothing about it, said the somnambulist, "for you
shall have nothing to do with it.
 Don't let a woman rule you, Bill, said Johnson.
Mary darted a swift keen glance at the last speaker, and would
have flung the glass that stood before her at his head, had not Hep-
burn prevented her.
revelations of a detective. 175
You ugly wretch, what do you mean? she exclaimed. "I hate
Jenny .or living with and maintaining such a leary-eyed hound as
you?
Thats my business, interposed Jane. "He'll do well enough
for me.
"Haven t you an engagement to keep?'' said Bill to Mary, want-
ingto get her out of the way; for, silent as he had hitherto been, he
could not shut his eyes to the immense advantage it would bt- to him
were his grandfather dead. He was his heir, and he had often and
often secretly longed to taste the pleasures of wealth.
"I see, said Mary, "I'm not wanted. I'll be even with all of
you yet,"—and made a speedy angry exit from the room. But she/mc?
an afternoon engagement with a  gent, and she went straight to the
harlot's dresser to borrow her night plumes; for in the dirty plight
in which she left her room a dog would have shrunk from her.
When she had left for her velvet and feathers, the three, who were
pretty well of one mind on the subject of the murder, spoke freer and
holder.
"But what of Mary? suggested Sam Johnson.
 Leave her to me, said Bill.  When she's drunk I can'do any-
thing with her. Only let us see the way clear, and I'll go la for the
job. He's been a stingy villain to me and my father. Iiad lie done
his duty .
 But he hasn't, interrupted Sam, and I'm d d if I wouldn't
be one with him.
"You like Mary, and Mary likes you, Bill, said Jane; "and
you both do things spicy—you know you do. Sam's often heard me
say that you was born to he a 'gent.' And I know devilish well what
Mary likes—every thing tip-top. Nobby togs, plenty of lush, cutting
it slap at the Argyle and Cremorne, cards, theatres, and the races.
"Aye, aye, old gal, and you like these luxuries as much as Mary.
 Don't I, though! I just do, Sam, and I will chance my neck
for them. I'm tired of the streets, I can tell you. Bah! it's a sicken-
iDg life for a woman to be pulled about by every fellow she meets.
"Whew, whew, whew ! whistled Sam, "You are getting as
virtuous as Mary.
"I'm in—if yon can plan it neatly, said Hepburn.
"Your hand, old boy! Yours, Johnny! I know I can depend
on you, gal,"—shaking Jane's hand heartily.
The dreadful compact was made.
 Mind, if we succeed, its share and share alike, Bill ?
Hepburn hesitated.
 Oh, yes; share-and share alike, repeated Sam—and Jane Chester
backed her  man.
 Agreed; now for your plans, bam.
376 tom fox; or, the
 First of all, Mary must be made a party, or slio will have the
•pull on us.
 Well ? said Bill, paying tlie most earnest attention to Sam's
murderous stratagem, while Jane Chester paid equal attention.
 Mind ye, it's none so easy a matter to murder a man now-a-days,
said Sam; "it wants a little cutting and contriving, as the woman
said when she wanted to make a new gown out of an old un.
 But yo've got a plan? said Hepburn.
"Lord! don't be in a hurry, he replied. "Mind, you're all in
it—Mary and all.
 Score it down in writing, if you like, said young Hepburn.
"That would puzzle me to do, more than the murder; writing's
•a.thing I never was a fist at. No occasion neither, Bill, for that—
we shall have plenty of pull upon each other if things are not righteous
and above board with either of us.
Furthermore to the same effect was spoken before Sam unravelled
•his plan of action, which was simply this:—That Jane and Mary
Chester should wait outside the tavern, which old Hepburn used when
he came to London, and which was known to his grandson, and when
he was inflamed with drink, that they should entice him to accompany
them to the house where he was subsequently murdered; and that
when he slept, the women should give them warning, and they were
to enter and do the deed.
 But what if we fail to get him to the house? suggested Jane.
 Tbero's no fear there; for when he's in liquor he takes with the
first woman that offers—so the villagers say on his estate, said Hep-
burn.
The three friends having settled to steep their hands in an old
man's blood on the morrow night, anc! after another glass round, dis-
persed themselves to their different  callings. Jane Chester stepped
at once to her dresser's, and soon appeared in black velvet tunic and
flowing red skirt, then fluttered about the entrance to Her Majesty's
Theatre, as gay and happy as a gorgeous butterfly. The gin had made
her merry, and when she was merry she always sang, and pirouetted
on the pavement. Sometimes—well, often if the reader likes—she
took the glass too much, then she would do a little boxing, and a great
deal of swearing. Mary Chester was bad enough, but Jane was worse.
The only vestige left of their sex, innocence, and humanity, was, that
the sisterly feeling had not perished with their other virtues. They
felt themselves sisters—they clung to each other as sisters; and thdugh
they might now and then have a  tiff between themselves, they
would allow no one to insult or injure the other.
It was a cold, comfortless night, and Sam Johnson, while dancing
attendance on his  woman, buttoned his over-coat to the throat, lit
■his short pipe, and thrust his dirty hands into his pockets. Some-
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 177
times he and Jane might he seen for an instant exchanging a word
or two; at others he might be discovered in the centre of a group of
other "unfortunates.
Oh,happy chance for Sam—business turns by! The blandish-
meats of Jane—her tuneful  With a fal lal lal! With a fal lal lal!'
has won the admiration of Mr. Green, secretary to one of our charitable
institutions, who was  rayther  the worse for his after-dinner glass.
Jane twigged  the happy state of Mr. Green, and made much of
him, and still singing "with a fal lal lal! they adjourned to an
adjoining oyster-opener, for a few  natives"—then to the Argyle
Rooms for a dance and sherry-cobbler. They danced to very weari-
ness, and they drink to very drunkenness, and so happy they get, so
jocose, so obscene, so face-
tious, so insulting, that they
are politely ejected from the
room.
Thus Jane Chester, and
in a very similar manner
Mary, passed the night be-
fore the murder. Young
Hepburn's influence and his
gin succeeded with Mary,
and she made one of the
deadly party.
~ '■ -u  Well, the murder was
done, and  they were all in it. But it sat not easy on Mary's
mind, and her sleep was oppressed with a sense of the horrid deed.
William Hepburn had the old man's body removed into Kent, and
1 with himself as chief mourner—
"To mimic sorrow when the heart's not sad
fit was interred in the village church.
f The funeral over, it was arranged that the grandson and heir
[ should take possession—and he would have done so, but for a trifling
■ obstacle,—there was a ILatat ffiSJtll Hltif CTE^tSinnit in the
iway. Young Hepburn left his companions at a small public-house on
f the estate, one morning after the funeral, and set out over the heather
with a heart big with joy to assume mastery of the estate. Oh ! what
castles he built up in his imaginations as he hastily trod among the
heather! He would gamble, race,Jdrink, dress—he would But
his hand is on the knocker of the door, and the knocker knocked as
never knocker knocked before. So loud—so imperative was the
summons, that a respectable attorney, who happened to be there in
"the interest of the rightful heir or heiress, replied to it, leading by the
(hand Bessie Gordon, a maiden of sixteen—an illegitimate daughter of
378 tom fox; or, the
■Squire Hepburn, and to whom only a month before he had left the
whole of his large property.
"Who is at home here ? inquired William Hepburn.
 This young lady, sir, replied the attorney.  Pray, what is
your pleasure, sir ?
Hepburn was confounded, and stammered— My pleasure is to
take possession of the estate.
 By what right, sir ?
 By right of inheritance, to be sure. I am the squire's heir.
 Well, you might have been a month ago, it is true, for then there
was no will in existence; but since the execution of this parchment
deed, attested by indisputable testimony, this young lady became the
squire's heir, and is now mistress here.
 That be d—d 1 exclaimed the disappointed scoundrel.  That
won't do for me.
 That's to be regretted—but it will do uncommonly well for Miss
Gordon.
By the time the disappointed heir had returned to his friends in
murder, they were half intoxicated. When they learnt tbe news—
when young Hepburn, with hellish oaths, said there was not a d—d
farthing for any of them—it quite sobered them. The spirit-flush
deserted the cheeks of Jane and Mary Chester, and an ashy paleness
•overspread them.
Sam Johnson, for a while, was mute with wonder—then he drew
, the pipe from his mouth, dashed it to the ground, and swore that Hep-
imrn was playing them false.
 A d—d fine idea !—to murder a man—
 Hush! hush! said Jane,  we don't know where we are,
 I think it's me that should holler about it, said Hepburn; I've
lost most.
We forbear picturing any further the scene that ensued. Indeed,
we could not, without filling our page with slang and oaths.
The four made the best of their way to London; by the time they
reached there, they were all mad with drink, passion, and disappoint-
ment.
This night was to he the last of Mary Chester. After she and
Hepburn had slept some time at their London lodgings, the poor
woman arose sleeping from her bed, and talked of the old man's mur-
■der. Young Hepburn awoke, and followed her to the door and to the
top of the high flight of stairs. While she stood in this position, he,
seized with a sudden impulse of brutality, pushed the sleeping wretch
from the top to the bottom. She awoke no more, but gave a heavy
groan, ejaculated  Farewell, Bill!'' and died. Hepburn then, to
disguise the deed, placed a stool by her head, as an evidence that she
must have fallen over it from the landing. This, combined with her
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 179
known affliction of walking in her sleep, favoured Hepburn's inno-
cence.
But justice does not always sleep. iSTot many days after the parish
burial of Mary Chester, Hepburn and Johnson concocted a burglary
in a dwelling-house in the outskirts of London. I detected them, and
lodged them in prison. At .their trial it was proved that great brutality
had been shown towards a servant of the house who had heroically
defended his master's property. They were sentenced to transportation
for life, and at this present time they are working in the convicts*
gang in a foreign land.
^ Jane Chester was now left alone, and with the aid of dram-drink-
Sfflg she managed, poor wretch! to pursue her "calling, until time
robbed her of all her outward charms. Then, utterly slighted by the
world, beggared and sick, she gave herself up to misery and despair.
In an insane moment she sought the  Bridge of Sighs, and daiingly
look the life God gave her.
* A few nights before this, in an insane moment, she suddenly sprang
from her wretched couch, and, to the alarm of those who stood by, she
persisted she saw the ghost of her mother bec-koning her away !
CHAPTER YIIL
CAUSES that conspire to
the spread and augmen-
tation of the Socia] Evil
are very many ; but it is
my firm belief that its
chief supply is from
the necessitous amongst
women—from the over-
worked and under-paid.
Starvation would try
the virtue of the most
virtuous. Fourteen hours
a day of labour in a
crowded gas-lit room ; this multiplied by six brings it to 84 hoilrs
toil—for FOUR SHILLINGS !
Ponder on these facts and figures—not fancies—you that have
been sheltered from hard-pressing want on the one hand, and the
wily seducer offering luxuries and plenty on the other—then say
whether these poor girls are not rather entitled to your pity than your
indignation. Indignation ! reserve it for their employers—the bull-
necked Jew and the sleek Gentile—keepers of  Monster Marts, and
other swindling dodges—who have more compassion for the horses
ihey maintain out of this inhuman slavery than for the slaves them-
selves.
In their fallen condition I know them all, and have a voucher for
what I say. With but few exceptions—and those few the pampered,
over-fed, sensual servants of our gentry, who, thrown together, male
and female, with nothing for their hands to do or their heads to think
about, Lave no resource to pass away tbeir hours but in intrigue and
seduction—with but few exceptions, harlotry is fed from the streams of
needleworkers, who have no alternative between it and death. Let
our 650 members of the Legislature look to this crying evil ; let them,
remember that they are not sent to the House of Commons altogether
revelations of a detective. s81
for their  nonour, ' but for the people's good; let them not be content
with folding their arms and snoozing away their time on the benches,
and crying "hear, hear, to th«
sentiments of a  crack speaker,
but be alive to the evils about
them, and endeavour to redress
them ; and amoDgst those evils,
none so paramount as under-paid
labour—a source of ten thousand
social evils. On behalf of those
poor creatures let the old agitation of a  fair day's wage for a fair
day's work  be remembered, and when this is accomplished the
Social Evil shall dwindle into nothing.
The annals of the poor are too often kept in obscurity ; hence so
little progress is made towards their amelioration. Hard-hearted fashion
struts abroad in her plumes, her trains, and her mantles, forgetful of
the famished hands that weaved the woof, and sewed the seams. My
lady lives happily in her palatial home, unmindful, if not in ignorance,
of the wretched dwellings, and the half-starved countenances of those
martyrs of the needle, who contribute so much to her comfort and her
adornment. ,
Within the scops of these remarks, comes the  Trials of Agnes
Foster and Ellen Harris, whose lives, alas! through man's inhumanity
to man, were those of unmitigated misery and shame.
Agnes was left an orphan very young, and when her mother
had been a twelvemonth in her village grave, her father, a hard-
working, honest peasant, living in a rustic home, sweetly embowered
amid the Surrey hills, thought fit to bring home a step-mother. The
poor man did this as much for the careful bringing up of little
Agnes, as for his domestic comfort. And here began the misfortunes
of the poor little orphan, for instead of finding a second mother in the
■ woman her father had married, she found one who constantly ill-treated
her.
The unfortunate child was soon inspired with dreadful fear of the
fiend whom she was compelled to call  mother, and young as she
was, she sometimes, to escape Mrs. Foster's merciless disposition
towards her, found her way in tears to her own mother's grave. Her
father, too, soon experienced the sad mistake he had made, for the same
tyranny that was showered on the child, also fell upon the inoffensive
husband. This he cared little for in comparison with the sufferings
his child was compelled to bear. But his remonstrance was always
met with abuse, and additional cruelty towards "little Agnes.
Honest Foster placed his humble earnings at the disposal of his
Wife, who unscrupulously squandered them at the  Old Oak Tree,
182 tom fox; ok, the
a public-house that had ruined many a villager, and wrecked many a
village home, besides that of Mr. Foster's.
Year after year was thus wretchedly passed by Agnes and her
father, the former, oftener in tears than smiles, frequently wending
her way dinnerless to the parish school, while the latter showed every
possible evidence of a wife's neglect. When he drew a contrast
between his first and'second wife, the poor man's heart was Jika to
break. At length he drowned his cares too at the  Old Oak Tree.
Here wa3 another misfortune for Agnes. She had now no friend in
the world. Ill-treatment had destroyed the natural gaiety that
belongs to children, and although it had not wholly marred her
loveliness, it had stamped a dejection upon it that was really melan-
choly to contemplate in one of such tender years. After school-hours
she would roam the lanes until dark, and then slink home, where, in
all probability, she would find her father and step-mother drunk and
cursing and swearing at each other; many a time did the fiend,
merely to irritate the father, with a brutal blow, fell little Agnes to
the ground ; and often had she to fly for shelter to a neighbour from
her step-mother's vengeance.
Of course she was taken from school as soon as her little hands
could earn a penny in the fields. And Agnes, for her tender years,
worked hard indeed, and was proud beyond measure to take the
few pence to her cruel step-mother, never a penny of which was spent
upon the shoeless child, but was so much gain to the  Old Oak
Tree.
We will dwell no longer on the pitiable infant history of Agnes
Foster. Ere she was sixteen, her father died, and her unfeeling step-
mother was raving in the lunatics' ward of the parish poor-house.
In the lucid moments of the poor wretch—strange to relate—she
would inquire, in almost affectionate tones, after Agnes, and beg that
she might be brought to her. Once her request was acceded to, and
directly the lunatic saw her, she burst into tears, tore her hair, beat
her breasts, and showed other signs of deep emotion, but never spoke
a word to the child.
The lunatic mother, in a subsequent raving, in one loud never-to-
he-forgotten scream, expired. Oh ! there is a lesson—a common,
trite, stale, but truthful lesson—to be learned from this brief history.
Let the drunkard be assured that, sooner or later on his vicious and
intemperate course, lights a desolating curse. Nought, save sorrow
and ignominy, can possibly result from it. It brings the frown of
heaven in and upon that family, the heads of which become the
victims of intemperance. Believe any impossibility—believe that pes-
tilence cannot kill, that idleness leads to fame, that evil companionship
cannot corrupt—anything rather than that drunkenness does not
bring, in its deadly train, every crime that stains the earth !
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 183
With all her misfortunes, Agnes Foster, at the age of sixteen, was-
a girl pleasant to lock upon, and the miseries she had experienced,
combined with the amiability of her disposition, made her an object
of sympathy throughout the whole village. Homes were offered her,
but she felt to loathe the place where so much was known of her his-
tory, and where her memory would constantly be tortured by her past
snli'erings. She had good reason to be thankful for many an act of
kindness bestowed on her since her orphanage ; but she had a spirit
above eating either the bread of charity or of idleness, and she resolved
to leave the place of her birth, where she had outlived sixteen melan-
cboly years, and seek a better fortune amid other scenes.
Chance threw her one day in a pedlar's way—one who tramped to
London every week to buy his wares to retail to the simple villagers
—and he advised Agnes to go to the Metropolis, and engage herself
*sa Needlewoman.
"But who will engage me ? inquired Agnes.
"Plenty of people, replied the pedlar.
<  There, my girl, read that !"—holding up to the eyes of the poor
orphan a dirty handbill, from which he had taken some tobacco that
had been wrapped up in it, with the words, "one hundred hands
wanted to the mantle making, printed in large type, and iol-
lowed by the address and name where applicants were to apply.  No
fear of work, you see, in London.
Agnes could have jumped for very joy at her golden prospects.
Alas ! poor girl, little was she aware of the trouble tliat was before her.
"And who knows,'' continued the talkative pedlar, "but what
your pretty face may tempt the master's son to make you his wife ?
Ha! ha!—A plump, strapping, black-eyed wench like you, egad!
should marry well ! and I'll wager my pack but that you do marry
well! Egad! I must have a kiss!
he suddenly exclaimed, making an
■Onslaught on Agnes' cherry lips.
Agnes had no vanity, and,
'whether the pedlar was in jest or
Ernest in his matrimonial views
for her, his words had no charm
for her. A girl steeped to the
lips in poverty, and with a heart
half-broken by those who should
have been her solace and stay,
could not so suddenly lend her
ear to flattery.
 And you really think there
is no doubt of my getting employ-
ment, Mr. Crayshaw ?
184 tom fox; or, the
u Words are words, my dear, replied the pedlar.  Go where
the bill directs you, and you needn't fear. You will get up by the
train, and be set slap to work as soon as you get there.
Agnes forgot to ask, and Mr. Crayshaw forgot to tell, how much
she would get for her mantle-making. She expressed some fears at
the undertaking such a journey on such an errand, but the pedlar
pooh-poohed them all away, and enthusiastically cheered her to the
task.
 The poor should have no fear nor no feelings where the living's
concerned. God knows I can't afford to keep either. I have walked
eighteen miles this very day, and had more chaff and insult—but
there, it's no good talking; people, I find, when they lays out a penny
with a poor man will either run down him or his goods.
They stood at the skirts of a lane that led into the village ; but
while they had been talking, the stars one by one withdrew, and the
rain began to fall, which warned the weary pedlar and the orphau
girl to seek their homes, and with a  Goodnight! and a  God bless
you ! they parted.
Agnes soon reached her temporary home, which was at the straw-
built cottage of a good-natured peasant, who had known her father in
the days of his sobriety. "When she told him and his wife her con-
versation with Mr. Crayshaw, and her determination to set out for
London, they expressed much surprise. It was an event indeed!
London! the very name filled them with awe, and they did all they
could to augment Agnes* fears. What could a poor girl do in
London, where every person was rich and proud, and where, if the
streets were not paved with gold, they were crowded with palaces !
"More than that, said the peasant's wife,  how was Agnes to
get there !
That was a difficulty that had never occurred to the artless girl.
 Dang it! exclaimed the peasant, seeing that Agnes was in a fix,
 if the girl has a mind to go, she shall not be baulked for a few shil-
lings. One good turn deserves another, Bess, he continued, ad-
dressing his wife, who was soaping over the sunburnt face of a hardy
naked urchin on her knee;  her father, Josh Foster, got me many
a day's work, and lendedme many a shilling, when I was fool enough
to waste mine at the Old Oak Tree, and was hard pinched. So that's
another blessing comes o' temperance, that you've always got a shilling
or two to help a friend in his need.
 Oh, it's all true, father, what you say, said the wife, continuing
her soap-sud operations on the puffed-out cheeks of her boy,  and I'm
sure I've no objection, not the least, that you should help poor Agnes,
who I wish well with all my heart. Ah! if her father had never
married that wretch of a woman, he would have been living now, and
you, my dear, would never have been put to such straits.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
185
The poor girl, while the conversation lasted, rested her elbow on
the table, and her head on her hand ; and she endeavoured to staunch
her tears with her coloured handkerchief, but they would start in
torrents from her dark, glistening eyes, and sighs and sobs agitated
her heaving breast.
"I don't see why I could'nt walk.
 Why, what nonsense you be talking, Agnes ! interrupted the
peasant; "walk to London, and get there without a shoe to your
foot! There'd be no save in that—would there, Bess ?
 Lor ! no, father Give her the money and say no more
about it.'
'' Ay, to be sure ! But stop, I'll see her off by the train myself,
and pay all expenses.
"And don't forget to take some bread and bacon to eat by the
way, Agnes, said the peasant's wife.
"A good thought, Bess 1 said her husband ; "and to save time,
I'll cut it now. Accordingly, with his thickly nailed boots, he strode
across the kitchen to the cupboard, and brought fortli a dish of the
fattest of bacon, and a sweet smelling-loaf of the largest dimensions.
"There, Agnes, help yourself and don't spare it.
"I'm sure I shall never fox-get your kindness, said the orphan;
"and directly I get settled, I hope to pay it all back. She then cut
a small bit of the humble things set before her, and wrapped it in
paper, ready for her morning's travel. The bread and bacon was
Agnes' only luggage.
The orphan and her friends parted for the night. The former
when she reached her little loft, without undressing, threw herself on
the bed, and in dreams and fears, passed an uneasy night—the last
she was to spend in her native home. She arose almost before the
peep of morn, and from the cottage-window, looked forth upon the
hills amid which her wretched childhood had been passed. On her
right she could see the Old Oak Tree, with its crazy sign creaking
and blowing about in the morning breeze like a gibbet; while on her
left was the graveyard of many of its victims. As the time for her
journey drew near, her bosom heaved with breathlessness and fear, for
her undertaking now assumed a terror that it had failed hitherto to
do. She felt weary and faint, and would have lain down again, had
not the r.oble-hearted peasant warned her from below that the starting
time approached. Hastily she washed her face, and smoothed back
her thick black hair, put on her little black bonnet, and her small
black shawl—sad memorials of her father !—and then she joined the
peasant and his wife, who had pi-epared a cup of tea for her, of which
they heartily invited her to partake.'
 Now, Agnes, said the peasant in parental tones,  London,
where you be bent on going—as I've heerd say—is a very grand and a
386 tom fox; or, the
very wicked place. Good-lookiug girls, like you; as I've heerd say—*
are kidnapped, sedooced—
"lia', father, whatever are von talking about? interrupted liis
wife. "Agnes is'nt a baby! And as to wickedness, 'pon my life
there can't be more in London than there is here. Why, look at that
chit of a thing, Sally Reeves, walking about the village with the baby
she had by a married man, as bold and proud as a hen with one chick.
Then there's Agnes Worms—if time don't tell a tale with her, too,
I'm not your wife. Then there's—
 Stop, Bess !—you'll do Agnes more harm than I shall do her
good.
 Then you shouldn't begin such nonsense, father. I believe Agnes'
virtue will be as safe in London as here. A purtty girl is in danger
everywhere from you wretches of men.
 Why, what's the woman mean! exclaimed the peasant, resting
his hands on his knees, and looking chuffy in his wife's half jest, half
earnest face.  You don't mean to say that / ever sedooced a girl?
 The least said the soonest mended, replied the wife, tanta-
lisingly.
 No, but let's have it out, Bess, before Agnes goes. Did I ever
sedooce a girl?
 If you didn't—you wanted. One night when we were courting in
the hay-fields—
 Oh, that's what you mean?
 Let me tell my story.
 It's not worth telling—besides, Agnes' time is up, said the
peasant, anxious to avoid the exposure that awaited him.
"Don't speak to nohody, Agnes, said Bess ; "and if anybody
molests you, give 'em a good sharp answer—and you'll be] safe
enough.
 Oh, I'm not afraid of anything you've been talking about, said
the simple girl. "All I'm troubled about is, how I shall find my
way to where the 'hundred hands are wanted,' and what I shall say
when I get there.
 To be sure, it is arkard, said the peasant.
 And whatever should I do, if they wouldn't take me ? exclaimed
Agnes.
 Why, come hack again, to he sure, replied the peasant's wife.
''You'll always he able to get your bit of living by working in the
fields.
The peasant warned Agnes of her departure, and his wife invited
her to  go up and kiss baby before she left. Agnes sought the room
where  baby was deep in sleep—nestling in the sunbeams that came
in lines of gold through the casement—and left tears and kisses on his
unconscious cheeks. The affectionate  Good bye  was now spoken
revelations op a detective. 187
to the mother, 'who could not have clang more to Agnes had she been
her own child.
Good bye! crood bye!—what dreams and thoughts these simple
words can bring!
£ ®hadow, ^"S^L'ning with our years, across the heart they fling.
Jhe warmest wish—the fondest prayer—e'er tender'd yet on high—
All that we feel, and would express, are blended in—*' Good Bye!
 Don't leave her without a shilling or two,'' she said to herlius-
band, who was going to the train with Agnes.
You may be sure of that, Bess, he replied, as they passed from
the cottage threshhold.
They had not far to go; but on their way the peasant begged her
to take care of herself—to write often—and if she was not comfortable,
to return. Agnes thanked him as much as her limited command of
language would allow her—hut the few words she spoke were as much
from her heart as were those of the peasant and his wife.
Their way lay through the churchyard, and Agnes went straight
to the grass-covered heap of earth 'neath which her mother rested.
Who shall describe the orphan's feelings? She plucked a daisy or
two that peeped among the spring grass, and with all the sanctity
with which the superstitious preserve charms, she hid the flowers in
her bosom. The fond, the silent pause, she made at the door of death,
was interrupted by the imperative clang of the railway bell, and they
had to run to reach the station in time. The peasant, as heartily as
be could "lug out his canvas bag, paid her fare, and generously
gave her a crown piece for her pocket.
With a speed that filled the inexperienced mind of Agnes Foster
with great fear, she was borne past spots of beauty, and familiar
scenes that she grieved to part from, and a flood of tears suffused her
eyes, and escaped down her cheeks to the carriage floor.
Utter)*- bewildered—inexpressibly lonely—Agnes paused by the
parapet of London Bridge. And what scene that now surrounded her
could be more impressive—more wonderful—to the limited senses of
a cottage girl? On each hand of her there was the broad river,
rocked and ruffled by a brisk March wind, and bearing on its bosom
forests of ships laden with rich freights from every quarter of the
great globe! Then see what the great highway reveals to her!—
vehicles of every kind, from the nobleman's showy equipage aud the
people's omnibus, to the ponderous wagon, drawn by. liorses of
beauty, strength, and value, all mingling and commingling, so that,
but for the most consummate skill in horsemanship, nothing but
confusion could result. Nor did the stream of human life, hurrying
to and fro—(no pause—some rushing and bobbing in and out the
throng to catch the train—every countenance strongly stamped with
care and toil)—less inspire Agnes with awe and wonder.
188 TOM FOX; OR TOE
She felt herself an intruder on the great scene, and feared to move
a step. None of the vast multitude spoke to her, or noticed her, and
she failed in courage to ask her way to the spot where the hundred
hands were wanted for the mantle making.
Strenm of Life, where art thou flowing?
W'h ther wendestthou thy way 1
Why, oh why, so swiftly rolling,
Pausing not by night or day.
She had just determined to return by the next train, when her
pretty face, and its simplicity of expression, attracted to her sideaLon-
don "swell"—an idler upon town—a bore to his friend—a pest to
society—and a curse to himself. Smoking he was, of course, and
dressed, in his opinion, tip-top ; the peg-top trowsers were not in vogue
at the time, or this effeminate specimen of ?/iankind certainly would
have sported them.
 And what does my beauty think of the rivah he at length
.asked, looking blandly in Agnes' blushing face.
 Did you speak to me, sir? she timidly asked.
"Ah! your voice tells me you are from the country. Come to
town, I 'spose, deah, to see a little life in London—eh ?
 Come to London, please, sir, to get work.
 Pah! these pretty little fingahs were never made to work. Your
face is a fortune in itself. Gad! what teeth! Save us! what a plump
little breast! daring to place his hand upon it.
The offended girl knew no other way of resenting the stranger's
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 189
impudence, tlian by quickly walking away; but the importunate
scamp was soon by lier side, with the ivory handle of his light
cane to his lips.
 No offence, lassie, he resumed.  I'm going to indulge in
isherry and biscuit; will you join me, deah?
"I don't want nothing, sir, replied Agnes, quickening her pace.
 Hum!''paused this scum of mankind, looking after the young
girl he would fain have ruined; then he ascended the broad stone steps
of an adjacent hotel to sip his sherry, and deplore his chance for letting
the  gal so easily escape him.
Agnes now found herself before the King William statue, which
she gazed upon, wondering what it could mean, or who it could be.
A labyrinth of streets here surrounded her, and everybody seemed so
much on the rush, that she feared to inquire her way to the mantle
maker's.
"What should she do? was the perplexing question of the poor
orphan's mind, while the crowd of people hurried backwards and
forwards before her. She turned towards the railway station, with
the inclination to return from whence she came, when chance threw
in her way a young woman sauntering along—clad humbly like herself.
To her Agnes appealed to be directed to the mantle maker's, which
she found, by reading the hand-bill the pedlar had given Agnes, to
he situated in the neighbourhood of Holborn-hill, where she subse-
'quently paused in pity for the poor animals who had to toil up the
190 tom fox; or, tiie
steep ascent with their burdens. She tripped along by her side with
more confidence than she had felt since she left her native village.
As they walked along, Agnes told her story to the girl, and her object
in coming to London.
 They must have been fools who sent you on this errand, bluntly
said the girl, when she heard what Agnes had to say.  What do ye
think you'll get a week, after slaving early morning to late at night?''
 Enough to pay my lodgings and a comfortable living, I 'tpose,
replied Agnes.
"Why, you won't get a living, leave alone a comfortable living—
"that I know, said the girl.  Bread and butter, bread and cheese,
bread and onions, cup of weak tea or coffee, is the most a poor needle-
girl can pay for out of her earnings ; and as to lodgings, two or three
club together for a dirty room in a dirty court. Then, where's your
clothes to come from? You have made a precious mistake—except
you mean to do what half of us girls do.
 What's that?'' inquired Agnes.
 Ah! I know—perhaps too well,'' said the girl, with a slight
amount of shame betokened in her speech and countenance.  And
you'll have to do the same—or starve—for needlework won't keep
you;"—pulling her thin shawl tightly round her shoulders, and
smoothing back her well-greased hair. "Work as hard as you will,
at either shirts or mantles, dresses or shoe-binding, you could not earn
ninepence a day—four-and-sixpence a week! she added, scornfully
smiling.
There Is a smile which often plays,
With seeming gladness on the cheek;
• A smile which speaks an outward eas*.
Although the anguished bosotn break.
"But I think 1 could live on that, said Agnes.
 Perhaps you could, dear, said the more experienced girl, sar-
castically; "but I can assure you it wouldn't more than keep me in
clothes. Don't talk—you don't know nothing about it yet, and
it's a pity you ever should. But I'm going out of my way. Go
straight on till you come to the end of the street, then turn to the
right, and take the first turning to the left, and it will bring you to
Holborn.
Agnes entreated her to extend her kindness further, and she
generously consented, and they walked on together, of course talking
by the way.
"What a wonderful place London is ! remarked Agnes. "I'm
sure I never thought there was so many people in the world as I have
seen to-day. What place is that? looking with awe at the cathedral.
 That's St, Paul's—and if you like we will walk through it; it is
a little out of the way, but never mind that.
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
191
With great diffidence Agnes ascended the steps, while the girl who
was directing her went np the steps two and two, in the same un-
concerned manner that she would approach the gallery of a theatre.
As they entered the grand structure, the heavenly notes of the organ
poured forth a Psalm, which seemed to have little effect on either of
the girls—and the monuments to our heroes impressed themles3. The
marvellous height alone attracted them.
 Why, there was a man threw himself off from the top, once!''
said the London girl.
'* Lor'! exclaimed Agnes.  And was he killed?
"Smashed to atoms! was the reply. "But there—I don't think
anything of this place ; not half so much as the Eagle, or Highbury
Barn—there's some fun to be seen there; and such fine dancing!
 Can you dance, Miss?'' inquired Agnes.
 I should think I could. She must be a poor thing who couldn't
dance!'' And she felt almost tempted to show Agnes a step or two
from the Schottische or Yarsoviana on the Mosaic pavement of the
marvellous cathedral.
As they hastily walked through the sacred edifice—insensible to
the grand structure, and to the noble monuments on either hand—
Agnes again questioned her guide how she could afford to be so gay,
while her work yielded such a poor remuneration ?
 It'll frighten you to know ; and you would only blame me if I
told you. But I don't know why I should be blamed. I'm sure I
worked hard, and lived hard—my mother knows I did—to keep my-
self a honest girl. I suffered every privation—working my eyes out of
my head, and often feeling more dead than alive, while I dragged the
needle through the slop-work. But it was of no use ; I could not get
the barest necessaries of life, toil as I would. My best weeks—work-
ing by day and far into the night—sometimes all night—I could not
earn above five-and-sixpence. And how could I live upon that, I should
like to know ? Some of the needle-girls, dear, don't earn four shillings-
a-week, work as they will."*
* The following fully confirms the melancholy statement made to Agnes
''In the policereports of May 20th, one AnnSpettigue,in the employ of a Mrs.
Prrkes, of George-yard, mantle maker to the trade, stands charged with
stealing certain trimmings and fringes, belonging to her employer. The pri-
soner indignantly denied the charge, and the case was finally remanded till
further inquiries could be made into her character. In the course of the pro-
ceedings it transpired that this poor woman had mantles given her to take
■home to make, for which she was paid five farthings each, and three half-pence
for the best mantles, finding needles and cotton out of that. The prisoner
etuted that, working day and night, she could earn only 4s. 9d. per week. Mrs.
Parkes assured the magistrate that she paid her 2s. 6d. per dozen for making
mauiles, and that she herself only got 3s. per dozen from the warehouses,
192 tom fox; or, the
Agnes felt dreadfully discouraged at the recital of her companion,
and the high hopes she entertained of getting an honest and inde-
pendent livelihood by needlework were abruptly dashed from her.
After a dismal pause, she asked—
 Then how do you live V'
When this question was put, they had reached the terrible flinty-
looking walls of Newgate, and her companion, still fearing to answer
the question in a direct manner, said, pointing to the notorious gaol—
 Many a poor girl has been driven there—if the truth was known
—by the starving prices paid for needlework. That is Newgate;
and there are the chains that murderers are hung to; and that's the
church "—pointing to St. Sepulchre's— that tolls the hour of their
execution.
Agnes, with parted lips and wondering eyes, gazed on the prison
and the chains with a far deeper interest than she felt while visiting
St. Paul's Cathedral.
 I've seen many a murderer hung! said the girl.
"Goodness, gracious! exclaimed Agnes. "My heart would
sever let me see anybody hung.
 People in London are not so dainty. I had a heart once, as
tender as your own, as innocent as your own ; but poverty has so
hardened the skin of it, that it feels nothing, cares for nothing. Slop
girls' hearts must harden or break, I can tell you. You'll find it out
last enough—that is, if you are fool enough to try it.
"I wish I'd never come! sighed Agnes. "I feel quite famished
—I've had no food to-day. Where could I get a cup of tea? I am
tired and miserable.
 There's Smithfield—and not far from there I live, Come home
with me, and you shall have a cup of tea, and part of my bed, and I
will then tell you some of my miseries ; which I hope, for your own
sake, will warn you to return to your friends in the country.
Agnes, as they walked along towards the sempstress's home, ex-
pressed unfeigned thanks to the good-natured girl for her hospitable
kindness.
The day was fast departing to other realms. The busy lamp-
lighter flew hither and thither to illuminate the city for the night;
the jolly publican lit up his flaring gas, and the itinerant musicians
drew a congregation round his house, and made merry the heart.-, of
those within. Agnes' friend, observing that she was dreadfully
fatigued, proposed that they should refresh themselves at one of those
beer-houses—these ignis fatui of London. They were soon seated at
leaving a profit of 6d. only for the trouble and loss of time in obtaining the
work. The magistrate commented upon the snercilessness of such dealings on
the part of the merchants.''
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
195
jithe bright bar, and the draught of porter was very grateful to Agnea»
■Who was weary of foot and heart, and inspired her with new life.
It was here that she first changed the crown-piece that the good-
natured peasant gave her. Agnes had been too often at the bar of
the Old Oak Tree to be much alarmed at the shifting scenes that
■ now passed before her, and the oaths and indelicate allusions that
•assailed her ears; but she was made uneasy when a wretched woman
staggered in with a bony, dirt-begrimed infant in her arms, and spoke
jiamiliarly to the girl who had led her there; and more so, when she
•disoovered her to be the girl's landlady.
? "Ah, I've caught you, have I, Ellen Harris? she jocularly ex-
■ claimed to the girl.
"How many times have you been here to-day, MotherJ'owler?
/was the reply. BP
r "As to me, child, I shall never be able to do without a Tittle juni-
per. I have children so fast—as you know—that I should be drained
to pieces without keeping myself up. But just now, me and my old
man have had a shindy. He cams home drunk last night, and I'll be
even with him to-night. Give me another pen'orth, William.
; Here came in two ill-looking fellows who
.lodged at Mother Fowler's, and picked up
a living by exhibiting one thick head stand-
ing on the other.
Ellen Harris, in compassion for the child
in Mother Fowler's arms, interfered, and
persuaded her to return home with them,
and have a cup of tea. Agnes, perceiving
the woman staggered, volunteered to carry
the baby. Mother Fowler drew up her
tall figure, while the left side of her hair
escaped its binding from underneath a dirty
fly-about cap, and lay in straps down her
leathery cheek, and with the utmost con-
tempt,looking down on the overawed Agnes
said,—
"I'm not so drunk as you think, young
woman. I've had two husbands and ten
children, and no dear baby ever took hurt from me. I'm often drunk
—but I never lets the blessed baby fall. Ellen Harris knows that.''
Mother Fowler defended her parental love and care close by a
Well-known church, whose ancient doorway was sentinelled by a.
richly-liveried beadle, in anticipation of a vestry-meeting convened by
the rector, for the purpose of taking steps towards improving the moral
and social condition of the neighbouring poor. The reverend rectoi-
made his appearance, and was saluted by a how from the beadle as htf
194 tom rox; or, the
entered the low doorway, and walked with slow and stately step
down the corridor to the vestry-room. The burly butcher—who had
exchanged his greasy garments for his Sunday suit, his double chin
resting on his white necktie, while a great gold chain dangled across
his corpulent stomach, with his hands thrust into his breeches-pocket
—after a nod of recognition from the headle, followed the rector: then
came a publican—prime minister to demoralisation!—he stopped to
shake hands with the headle, and renewed a conversation on some
sporting bet that had been made that morning at the bar of his house
—the house that Mother Fowler had just left. When Ellen Harris
saw him coming, she slunk away in the shadow of an overhanging
tree attached to the church; for this publican vestryman—he who now
dared tc^ttt in council to improve the morals of the poor—was the
 protecwP' of poor Ellen, and still visited her, and meanly supported
her, but it was a part of the engagement, that when they met in the
streets she was not to speak to him. The third vestryman, whom we
shall stop to describe, was one of a different stamp to the butcher or
publican; he was a respectable-looking little gentleman, with a large
and liberal heart, and sincerely felt the destitution and depravity 01
the densely-populated parish; he was a partner in a eminent establish-
ment close by the church, and a patron of every effort for the enligbt-
enment of the lower classes, as well as a liberal supporter of the
parochial Sunday and day-schools.
Ellen Harris soon rejoined her friends, and the trio groped their
way through narrow darkened courts, flanked with tall, neglected
houses—the homes of the idle and dissolute, the thief, and the pros-
titute—to Mother Fowler's house, one room in which was devoted to
the purchase of rags and bones, and the sale of shrimps and perri-
winkles. Entering an open doorway, so low, that even Agnes, the
shortest of the three, had to stoop, to avoid contact with a black cob-
webbed beam, and after Mother Fowler had departed to her own
room on the ground-floor, Ellen and Agnes ascended a flight of dark,
steep stairs to the former's apartment. What a cheerless dirty sight
here met Agnes' eye! Oh ! the smell that burst from the little room,
when the door was unlocked. Ellen had left her bed as when sha
last reposed in it; and from the centre rose a lean, long-faced cat, that1*
was disturbed by their entrance, and
went to a brown pan of water to
slake his thirst; the four-post ded,
without top or curtain, was every
here and there stained with the
traces of a tribe whose haunts are
old bedsteads and dirty floors. We —-=====——_
have said it was a little room, but still there was a large and dreary fire-
place in it, and in the cold ashes beneath was Ellen's kettle, saucepan,
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE. 195
jjgjid gridiron, while on the top of a cupboard by its side, was her brush
fnd comb, the bread and butter, and the skeleton of a red-herring.
5ut Ellen had a good heart, and with a little song, she fell on her
knees, and with the aid of a lucifer and and a bundle of wood, the
fettle also soon began to sing. The faint smell of the room was now
tilled by the odour of smoke, and Agnes was requested to open the
jbaky casement. She did so, and gazed abroad from her high positior
"on the dirty, dismal street below. The night was dark, but the gas
from a large printing office opposite Mother Fowler's enabled her to
iake a survey of the loathsome locality. What a contrast presented
Itself to the beautiful scenes she had but that morning left! Instead
of the sweet odours of gardens—her nose was regaled with the steam
from boiled pork, faggots, and fried fish; instead of the qu$t lowing
of cattle from hills and meadows—her ear was assailed with the dis-
tressing noise from neighbouring
machines, and the uproarious low
beer.houses by which the neigh-
Ibourhood was peculiarly infested;
instead of the mill and the bright
stream, the picturesque church-
yard, and the cottage-dotted heath
—her eye was disgusted with tall
toppling dirty houses—a little dirty
old woman and a cockle stall—
gutters, whose course was inter-
rupted by the carcase of a new-born kitten or a rat,:—with ferocious
men, depraved women, and utterly neglected children.
"And what do you think of London? inquired Ellen Harris,
wiping a tea-cup with the towel she had just wiped her hands and
face upon.
 I don't like it at all, said Agnes, diffidently.
 Oh, you have'nt seen half of it, said Ellen with a chuckle,
pulling out of the table-drawer an old stocking to hold the boiling
kettle with.
"I hope ihe other half is better than what I've seen,'' ventured
Agnes with a gentle smile.
"Well, I don't know, I'm sure. Some o.f it is, and some of it
isn't. It depends upon taste, dear—don't you think so? Everything
seems dirty to you, I daresay?
 Very, said Agnes.
 Perhaps you will think better of it when you have had a dance
or two at the ' Barn' or the' Eagle. Come, come, don't be so dull.
Do you know, she abruptly added,  I begin to like you very much,
—you have got such a pretty face. My eyes! won't the girls and
the chaps be jealous of you!
190 tom rox; or, tub
 Oh, nonsense, said Agnes; "I'm sure nc one in our village
used to say that I was pretty. I wish that I was comfortably a
work, I know—I should be a deal happier.
 Stuff! put a little more sugar in your tea, and never bo miserable.
Look always on the sunny side, as my favourite song says. In the
morning I don't mind going with you to Ilolborn, where you expect
work, and if you can't get any there, there are plenty of other places.
Cheer up • •
 But don't you work anywhere? I should so like to work with
you. I should be so grateful, if you could help me! Do you work at
the mantles?
 No, thank you,—I have had enough of needle-work. I am .
book-folder, which is quite a trade.
But there,—it is only a little better
than other work, what with being
slack, and sometimes nothing at all
to do. But, I don't altogether
depend upon my earnings, for a gen-
tleinan pretty well keeps me. Oh!
don't be frightened, nor blush—most
of the needle-girls make a few shil-
lings that way. We think 110 harm
of it after a bit. I've had a baby,
and in that box is its dear little sock,
which I shall always keep as a
remembrance of it.
An organ-grinder came under
the window they sat at, and Ellen
tossed him a halfpenny, and told
him to play  Little Nell"—which —'
had been her favourite ballad ever since the death of baby.
Agues was alarmed, and determined to herself that she would re-
turn after what had now been communicated to her.
 Will you have any more tea ? Agnes shook her head. "Will
you have any more bread and butter ? Then I shall clear it off into
the cupboard, said Ellen,  and then I'll tell you a little of a
LONDON NEEDLE-GIRL'S STORY.
Open confession, they say, is good for the soul, and I only hope that
THE CONFESSIONS OF ELLEN HARRIS
will save yon from her shame and sufferings.
 My father was a waterman, and when the steamers ran up and
down the Thames it ruined his trade, and he found he bad more
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 197
Children than he conld keep, and so before we knew right from wrong
we had to keep ourselves. I never knew what it was to have a shoe
upon my foot before I was ten years old ; and nine of us—boys and
girls together—with our little black bodies and muddy feet, used to
lie about in our filth and rags upon the iioor every night, and in tha
jnorning we turned out like so many pigs, to pick up anything we
could find in the streets. There was no one to look after us—father
wouldn't and poor mother couldn't. She died early with a cancer ;
one after another, four of my little brothers and sisters followed her—
and I only wish I had been one of the four! The parish would rather
have buried the lot than helped ns to get our own living. I shan't
forget how the bit of bread was doled out to us by the officer; the
parish bread became at length so bitter, that two of my poor sisters
fled to prostitution before they were sixteen, rather than eat more of
it. They got quite smart—but I liked my virtue and my rags better
than their prostitution and finery. They laughed at me—and I wept
for them. And now I may weep for myself—for, in truth, I am little
better than they are, though I have striven hard to keep myself virtu-
ens. Well, as I've told you, they went upon the streets, poor girls,
and lived a gay life, while I found my way to a slop-shop and starved.
 Ah, my dear, many's the day I had nothing inside my lips but a
mite of bread, although I have worked twelve long hours ; and
many's the night when I've laid down to sleep that I have prayed
never to see the morning's light! I've tried all kinds of needlework
—shoehinding, millinery, shirt-making, dress-making, and mantle-
making, and I was considered a decent hand at all,—but it brought me
nothing but sickness and starvation! I was often tempted to follow in
my sisters' courses—hut I even preferred the misery I was enduring
to that horrid life. What could a girl do with four-and-sixpence a-
week ? To eke it out to advantage, two or three of us would club
together ; but if we saved a little that way, there was always a row in
the house about something or other; some would want coffee,
Jsme tea and some cocoa—some would want to go on a Saturday
night to a sing-song, some to the theatre, some to a dance, and
some to stay at home—(for most of the girls had chaps to go with, so
it cost them nothing.) Then, again, some of us would, be always sick,
and get into arrears for rent, and the others would have to pay; so
we had frequently to break up the club—and that sort of game
did'nt suit me, for I liked my bread in quiet, and so I determined to
live by myself, even if it cost a few pence more. When I wanted shoes,
Or a new frock, I had to go in debt for them, and pay for them hy
weekly instalments ; to keep my payments regular to the tallyman,
I had to pinch myself for food, and before the things were paid for
they were worn out, and I may say my flesh too. At length, while I
was at work at a place in Hounsditcb, through working late hour#
198
tom fox; or, the
and little support, I was attacked with brain fever—and without a
friend or a penny in the world. But the poor are good to each other,
and my landlady nursed me, and kept me for two months. "When I
got well, for rent, physic, and food, I found I owed her nearly two
pounds. It was enough to make me ill again ! I knew it could never
be paid out of mantle making! But I arranged with the good old
creature to pay off a shilling a-week, and I tried hard to do it. While
I was trying to pay this debt, working morn, uood, and night to pay
it—starving to pay it—a young man, a clerk in the Jew's Office,
pretended to pay his addresses to me. He was very kind to me—he
won my heart—and then he seduced me ! Wasn't it cruel? to think
the man who I would have died for should turn out to be the worst
enemy that ever crossed my path ! My God ! I shall never forget his
treachery. He paid the money I owed, and in my excitement of
being out of debt, and the drink he gave me at the tea-gardens, I
became drunk and stupid. This he took advantage of; while un-
conscious, he betrayed me to a house df ill-fame and there seduced me,
When a woman's virtue is gone, where is she? For weeks I was mad !
—hated the very light and despised myself. My seducer came again
and again to my lodgings, and wrote many long and repentant letters
before I would see him. But where a woman loves, what is it that
she will not forgive r He took another lodging for me, and we lived
together. But how brief was his love ! I had a little child, and he
deserted me for another girl. I had no remedy, and the workhouse
became my home. My pride would not let me sue the fiend who be-
trayed and deserted me—God, I thought, would do that ? and God did
do it—the wretch was transported for a rape upon a mere child. My
infant only lived two months, and when I was freed from the little
darling, I sought the workshop again. But after the trials my se-
duction had plunged me into, I lost all shame, and gave myself up to
anything that anybody proposed. When once a woman gives way,
she soon ceases to he particular. I cared nothing about work or debt;
but whereever pleasure was to be found, there I went, and could
always find a man to pay for me. Dancing and singing-saloons,
needle-girls pretty much live there. Poor creatures ! they can find
nothing better to drive dull care away. But when they grow a little
old—ah ! where are they then ? Men turn up their noses at them, and
they sink under starvation, and are buried in parish graves, or cut
short their miserable lives by drowning. Some of us are kept by one man
and others attach themselves to any chap that offers. I'll tell yon
all—I am now kept by a married publican, who meets me occasionally
at a certain house, for which he makes me a weekly payment and
this, with the trifle I earn at bookfolding, just keeps me in the bare
accessaries of life—which I hope to heaven will not be a long one.
 How, my dear, you have heard a little of my life, which, believe
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 199
me, is the true history of more than half the needle-girls of London.
Some, of course, do a little better, where they live at home with a good
lather and mother, who helps them when they cannot help themselves.
I only hope that if you do remain in London, that you will share a
better^ fate than mine—but, candidly, I see no chance but that your
fate might be even worse.''
Thus they talked far into the night. Then Ellen regaled the
friend she had made miserable by her melancholy recital, with some
bread and cheese, spring onions, and porter. Then the two undressed,
and went to the ill-furni3hed bed. But Ellen's story, like an ugly
ghost, haunted Agnes through the night, and sleep she could not.
She determined to return home again, and longed for the break of day
to retrace her steps to London bridge.
She communicated her determination to her friend Ellen, who
supported her in it, and kindly got up to get her a little breakfast, and
walked with Agnes to the railway station, who returned to her
native village, blessing Ellen, ami grateful to God who had thrown
her in her way.
Every one in the village was glad to welcome Agnes again, and
none more so than the good peasant and his wife, who had so gener-
ously protected her since the death of her unfortunate parents, and
had furnished her with the means of proceeding to London.
At length a good fate awaited her : she was employed by the wife
of a respectable farmer, whose son became so enamoured of her face,
and more so of her virtue, that he ultimately married her. She is
now the happy wife of a good farmer, the mother of three children,
and the generous friend of the poor.
Two years after this dismal relation of her past history to Agnes
Foster, the body of a young woman was picked up by a boatman
amongst the shipping anchoring at Rotherithe. It was conveyed to
the shore, and there the body laid in the moonlight until a stretcher
was brought to convey it to the station-house. In the pocket of an
old cotton "own was found a letter addressed to Ellen Harris: it was
; from the publican who had previously kept her, intimating that his
wife had found it out, and that he had promised never to see or
support poor Ellen again.
CHAPTER IX.
IS the darkest feature of the
j|v age—the progress of crime
—which now is conduct-
ed on such dramatic and
novel principles that the busi-
ness of society every now
and then is almost suspended
in the excitement which is
aroused by it. The wildest
fiction is distanced by the
dread realities of the news-
paper disclosures. Felons of
every dye—commercials wind-
l_ lers, despairing suicides, false
:^I^iiiPSIOICs<?c?ucers' blood-stained mur-
derers — abound on every
hand, and the great world we live in has
considerably increased in great criminals.
This, my last  Revelation, relates to the
career of a dishonest clerk, who, for two short
years of low pleasure, forfeited family, society,
and, dearer than all, his honour and bis
i freedom.
To philosophise upon such extraordinary careers as the one I am
about to submit to the reader would be vain and intrusive—his own
ntelligence will not fail to deduce a moral from a history so marked
with profligacy—and his own penetration will enable liim to trace the
tad effects to their sad causes.
It has been affirmed there is an age for everything, and a passion
to suit every age. Man is a kind of chameleon, who changes with
each lustre. From the infant in arms, who displays love of food and
of sleep, up to the old man bending beneath the weight of fourscore,
the stages of life are marked out almost as distinctly as the seasons io
an almanaek, or the hours on a dial.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
201
I am about to reveal the history of a young man, who, led away by
the allurements of tire glass—the witcheries of woman—the excitement
on  trumps  and billiards—the love of dress—the worship of theatres
and theatrical belles—and the passion for horses and the turf—tempted
bim to embezzle large sums and forge deeds, and who, by my instru-
mentality, was captured and transported.
Many of the leading trades in London concentrate themselves in a
particular district. Coachmakers abound in Long Acre, bankers in
Lombard Street", jewellers in Clerkenwell, booksellers in Paternoster
Row, and law stationers and law writers in the vicinity of Lincoln's
Inn and Chancery Lane. Now, as Chiffney, before he obtained an
engagement from the firm he so mercilessly defrauded, derived his
humble support from the uncertainties of law writing, which appear
never to have produced him more than a weekly average of thirty
shillings, he might constantly be Seen loitering about Chancery Lane,
trusting to the chapter of accidents that a job might turn up, Some-
times he was fortunate enough to obtain a few folios of some legal in-
struments to copy, and sometimes he was not. Ke has been known to
walk this lane for hours, with his hands behind him, and his head bent
on the ground, as if in meditation rather than in quest of employment.
Whenever he could conserve a shilling or two beyond the barest
necessaries, he would invest it in the pit of some theatre. It must
have been hard indeed if there was a new play te be performed, or the
debut of a new actor, but what the infatuated lover of these scenes
would he present. Chiffney was sure to be first at the pit-door on any
great expectation, and never was he seen to such advantage as when
within the precincts of a theatre. Joy suffused his face, and a sparkle
that was rarely discernible on any other occasion beamed from his eye.
Here he would stand for half an hour, waiting for the opening of the door,
in a mildewy, whitewashed passage, leaning against a battered-looking
dingy door, amidst a crowd of people, hustling and elbowing each
other. But this was deemed no discomfort by him, more especially
if any female happened to he near, that he might coquette with and
flatter, which his volubility enabled bim so well to do.
But see! the door opens—and Chiffney is the first to enter. One
instant he pauses, while his eager eye scans the area for the best settle-
rnent, then,, with a bound over the seats, he makes way to it. Once in
possession of his place, he would raise his hat, run his white fingers
through his hair, turn his back upon the stage, and take a pleasing
Survey of the place—which, not unlikely, a borrowed shilling has ad-
mitted him to—and enviously gaze upon the pretty belles that grace
the boxes around him.
 Ah! he mentally sighed, as be fixed bis sensual eye on a young
dame, exquisitely beautiful and superlatively dressed, while the heaving
of her discovered white bosom, as she carelessly throws her red opera
202
TOM FOX; OR, THB
cloak from her fair round shoulders, was enough to melt the most in-
sensible heart,— one thousand pounds a year, and you to share it,
methinks would make me happy. Had I the one, I would not despair
of the other. Women yield to money and sentiment—aye, I woulcl
win the affections of any woman with them. Would that I had as
much of the one as I have of the other, I would snare beauty as easily
as birds! But there—I've none! and all the things that make life
desirable are lost to me !
•' Oh!this poverty, he continued, folding his arms, while he still
leant against the partition that divided the pit audience from the
orchestra, it every way obstructs the progress of my ambition. For-
sooth, because I am poor, people falter in their faith of my abilities ;
"because I am poor, managers give me no attention, and my play, after
lying in their hands for months, is returned to me unread. This is a
state of things not to be endured much longer.
The play is over, and Chiffney reluctantly turns his tall figure on
the scene that has yielded him so much pleasure, and with afar heavier
step than when he entered, he departs. If his finances are low, he
wanders to his lodgings; but if he is in "feather"—if he had been,
working early and late at copying, and had received a more than
ordinary amount of money—why, then, after the seductions of tb»
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
202
theatre, he would seek fresh excitement at some sing-song tavern, and
eat his chop and smoke his cigar, while he listened to a song of
ribaldry; and from there, flushed with drink, and reckless with his
fete, he would wind up the night at the Casino, with some painted,
tinsel-dressed female habitue of a place that has caused hundreds to
curse the night that brought them there.
Mr. Ohiffney early assumed the aira
and graces of a gentleman, and ere
eighteen summers had passed over him,
he was in debt for things that his station
in life did not entitle him to indulge in.
No desire of his was baulked for the
want of money—he was called a clever,
promising young man, and credit was to
be found; the coat, hat, or gloves, did
not fit the less that they were not paid
for; and whether he had a pound a week,
or a hundred, he always dressed smart
and  spicy, and with him—as with
most others who run an account for
their wear and tear, nothing but
 the style  was entertained or tolerated.
Money or credit he schemed to support
his expensive tastes and habits; and
while he was comparatively poor, out-
wardly he wore all the signs of the man
of fortune,
\V hide Chiffney was little more than
youth, he had a strong desire for
joining in the dissipation of London
life, and the tempter fanned this desire
by filling bis imagination with voluptu-
, ousness, and lulling his trembling con-
f,) science by telling him it was necessary
for him to see and enjoy life in order
that, as an author, he might the better depict it. See him here, the
dupe of gambling knaves at a west-end "hell"—and this too, just at
the outset of liis eventful life!
About seventeen years ago, and when our hero was twenty years
of age, the  hells or gambling houses much abounded at the west-
end of the metropolis. But they were found to work such fearful ruin
and crime of every dye, that they called for the interposition of legis-
lative aid to put them down. The evil records of these places would
fill volumes. Many a nobleman has been reduced to beggary and
suicide ! and many a young man in the position of Chiffney could date
20b tom fox; or, the
his first step to transportation for robbery to the evil seductions of
gaming. The scandal of these proceedings rested with the aristocracy
of the period, who largely countenanced these infamous houses for
their own pleasures. It is well for the youth of London, that, owing
to the vigilance of the police under wise enactments, they are compa-
ratively swept away.
But hardly now is there a tavern to be found without, on entering,
your eye is attracted with the words  Billiard Room up Stairs; and
df you ascend to this place of ruin, who do you see there? Mostly
young fashionables of Chiffney's stamp—clerks and others em-
ployed at twenty shillings or thirty shillings a week, standing
round, with their cigars and grog, betting or playing. And,
mark, how well dressed they all are!—rings on their fingers, too!
How is all this supported? Oh, there is no mystery about it—only
study the calendars of crime, and it will be found that twenty per
cert, of our billiard  swells, with their  all-rounders,'' inacassared
hair, and jewelled fingers, sooner or later become criminals, and while
they stand weeping at the bar of justice they curse the day when they
became initiated into the mysteries of gambling and the excitements
that fiow from the glass.
REVELATIONS OP A DETECTIVE.
205
But gambling was not the primary sin of Chiffney. He had never
played much—he was too deeply engrossed with private theatricals,
dress, horses, and women. All these passions developed themselves
in his youth, and although he was at this time comparatively poor in
means, yet the qualities of his mind introduced him to society far
beyond them, and they were entirely forgotten in his lively wit, and
his easy, good-natured disposition. But he had an independent spirit,
too, and would rather have received a blow than be called a  sponge.
On this point he was extremely sensitive, and he frequently declined
invitations to a convivial meeting because he had not the wherewithal
to frank his own expenses. But his pursuit cf pleasure was even
stronger than his love of independence—had it not been so, he would
never have degraded himself, and this  Revelation would never have
been written.
Chiffney had soma fancy to become an actor, and has ou several
occasions appeared in private theatricals, and even on the public
boards, in the provinces.
Many of our best actors first tried their strength at a private
theatre—amongst others, Elton, John Reeves, and Harley. The whole
establishment of these places assimilates to a regular theatre, except
that the performers pay instead of the audience! and, judging from all
we have seen of the efforts displayed at private performances, it
would be an improvement if the audience were paid for sitting out the
play. A private theatre has its own manager, its own orchestra, its
own scene-shifter, its own wardrobe, its own scenery, its own wind,
its own thunder, and its own lightning. The company, too, invest
themselves with a professional halo, and indulge in the prestige of a
reputation, and no one did this more than Chiffney, although, judging
him as an actor, no one had a less right to assume the privileges of
one. After these performances were over, he would invariably
whisper oue of the fair actresses to accompany him to the saloon
attached to the theatre, and there, seated on a couch, would make
overtupes of love to her.
 Now, Mr. Chiffney, said the dame of easy virtue, who sat by
: his side, what is it yon have so particularly to say to me, for I have
i an engagement elsewhere?''
"I regret to hear that, love, returned my hero; "for I was
anticipating the delightful pleasure of spending an hour or two with
t you. I have ordered a little wine, and must entreat you to join me
^ in it. Tell me frankly—how did my performance of Jaffier please
i;y<>u?
 Did yon please yourself? But, la! how silly the question!—we
are all pleased with our own performances. Excuse me, sir,"—Chiffney
' ventured to embrace her waist— we are not sufficiently acquainted
' r such freedoms.
206 tom fox; ok, the
"Then I must pray the time to pass swiftly that divides me from,
them-
 Alas! then, for you, it is only the prayers of the righteous that
are heard, she retorted, smiling at her own sharp repartee.  But
come, sir, it grows late—what is it you had to say?
"May I ask the reason of your impatience?
 I have told you—other engagements.
 Sweeter ones, no douht, eh? He who played Pierre to-night—ohl
that's the man—your blushes tell me—waits to rob me of your
charming society. You are not my Belvidera.
 Because you are not my Jaffier, she rejoined with meniment.
 True—too true, sentimentally replied Chiffney.  But why
should we be deprived of the realisation of that bliss which we so
sweetly vowed to each other on the stage? Say—why should our
desires—
 A singular appeal, although in the plural number, interrupted
the witty belle.  Cur desires!—he! he!—but go on, I have given
you your cue.''
 Had I but your wit—
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE. 207
My wit,
Day the pit,
I a which I fell.
Forsake such wit,
I'm out of the pit,
Which leads to hell.
An impromptu, sir.
 And a clever one, too,'' said Chi fluey, who was sure to flatter
everything the fallen woman at his side said or did, be it good or bad,
stimulated only by amorous passions.  But I trust there is more
poetry than truth in your words, and that their dark import is rather
an offshoot from the brain than the heart.1'
She heaved a sigh, and then, as if anxious to conceal her emotion
from Chiffney, a forced laugh escaped her rounded mouth, and she
cavalierly hinted that she must make her exit if the wine did not
make its entrance.
\ Chiffney laughed too—cursed the tardy attendant—rang the bell
in haste, and, to show his obedience to her slightesb wish, satirised the
waiter for his forgetfulness in supplying the inebriating spirit.
^  I've been a-waiting for the money, sir, said the waiter.  You
[knows we've no license.
[  You gave me credit for more knowledge than I possessed, said
?Chiffney, carelessly flinging his last sovereign—and as careless where
.the next was to come from—on the table.  There, William—now
redeem the time. Stay, though—shall it be port or sherry, love?
"Better say some of both, said William.
 Your advice is impertinent, sir, remarked Chiffney ;  keep it
for those who ask it.
William was unused to reproof, and in revenge, looking significantly
at the lady, told her that Mr. Gurney Glindon was below. ^ The lady
showed signs of agitation, and abruptly rose to depart. Chiffney rose
also, and entreated her to reveal the mystery—to say what magic there
was in the name of G"lindon? that she should leave at its mention.
 For heaven's sake do not detain me! exclaimed the lady,
releasing her wrist from Chiffney.  I will wine with you another
n:ght, and then I will tell you all.
William here opportunely entered with the wine, and Chiffney
immediately filled a glass for the actress who played Belvidera to his
Jaflbr, and who was the mistress of Mr. Gurney Glindon, a gentleman
Ivho lived more by his wits than his honour.
"Mr. Glindon, Miss, said the waiter, "told me to tell you to
meet him round the corner at the Jew's, to dress for the masquerade
at Drurv Lane. Of course I didn't say you was with a gentleman in
saloon. 7
 \Vliv, what a changeable creature Glindon is, William! He told
208
TOM FOX; OR, THE
me, before I came bere, that lie would not go. But I am delighted
he has altered his mind. Won't you go with us, Mr. Chiffney? But
you must not know me until we get masked and at the theatre.
This was an invitation Chiffney was ill-prepared to accept,—and lie
never before so much felt the want of money. Yet he was puzzled
how to excuse himself without speaking of his little means. But
where vice prevails, the devil is quick to prompt means for its enjoy-
ment. Chiffney thought of his watch—thought how he might leave it
with the costumier for the loan of a dress—and, without further pause,
thanked the lady for her invitation, telling her he would meet her at
Drury Lane ; they then described the dresses they would go in, that
they might readily recognise each other, and unknown to Guvney
Glindon.
It was a grand masquerade night, and the door of the Jew COS-
tnmier was crowded wiih some of the  best mixed (to use a term of
trade amongst grocers); all eyes were on the dresses, high heaps of which
were piled on chairs, tables, and even the lloor : the dress of a prince,
and that of a peasant—the gown of a priest, and the grotesque habili-
ments of a clown—all reposed together in wondrous, peace'. There
was but little invitation to ease in this apartment, although it was
the principal one in the house, and the few ehairs that were there to
rest the masqueraders were more often used to support their costumes.
And the misappropriation was scarcely to be avoided, for the room was
small, and the Jew's stock large. On the little circular table lay air
elegantly-bound book of the costumes of all countries, from which tb»
man of pleasure might derive a hint  as to the sort of thing he wanted.
When the flattering Jew received the order to prepare the dress, hfr
Would exclaim—
 Vy, vat a taste you've got! The mosht beautiful ting I have fat
shtock! Tt cosht me pounds! Esther, my daughter, vorked the laco
collar to that dresh vith her own hands.
REVELATIONS OF A DETECTIVE.
20$
Or should the taste of the  gent alight on something in thissug-
gestive hook that had been previously selected, or that Israel did not
happen to have in stock, ho would exclaim confidentially—
 Fudge! fudge! fudge !—it vill not become you! Upon my vord,
you shall not have it—it isb so common! A figure like yours should
have a garment rich and elegant' Anybody should have it but you—■
for I like to see you veil dreshed! Dere! that's vat you shall have,''
—placing on the head of the  gent who was disposed to spend his
' money in being made a fool of, a hat something in shape of a common
■coal-scuttle, with a feather by its side that might have been plucked
"from a barn-door fowl,—"Roderick Dbu's dresh! Look in de glashi
Before they quitted the saloon of the theatre, Chiffney arranged
to dress as a debardeur, and the lady after the manner of Scott's Rebecca.
'• But though we shall thus be known to each other, said Cliiff-
iiev,  I see not clearly how I shall be the gainer by that—for Glindon
will interpose between us.
 Watch—he will forsake me in an hour. He loves wine better
than me or masquerades.
 Ah! he praised them too, once,'' she mournfully responded,
"and my full-fuitlied heart believed ho was sincere.
 Glad will the debardeur he when she comes, responded ChifFnev,
; holding her tightly by the hand, and gazing in her face with passionate
admiration.
eW-,man's small effects; but, small as they were, they were very
But who was Gurney Glin-
don? He was the dissipated
son of a clergyman, and at the
period of his broken-hearted
lather's death, he had contracted
debts wherever he could—not
debts arising out of any honest
enterprise, but those of "bun-
our,"—(oh! much-abused wok!)
•—as liabilities on the  turf
and other gambling transactions
are styled; and he owed for
wine, clothes, cigars, expensive
lodgings, and a vast number of
other luxuries,inevitable accom-
paniments of a "fast man's
life in London.
Immediately after the death,
of Glindon's father, he came os
his heir to take possession of th®
210 tom fox; or, the
welcome to the spendthrift at the moment, and he experienced less
grief for the melancholy event that made him possessor of them, than
ioy at the prospect of turning a hundred or two on them. The poor
clergyman was buried by his rake of a son in the same village church
where the former had buried hundreds of his parishioners, and when
this hasty rite had been performed, he summoned Solomons from Lon-
don, and sold him everything as it stood, books (scattered over with
many a pious observation), plate, furniture, family pictures (his own
when a boy, amongst the number), even the church robes of his father,
preserving not one token of remembrance of him who had but loved
him too well.
The Jew followed the spendthrift from room to room, and while
the former keenly valued everything in his practised mind, the heir
valued nothing, his only cry being,  There, now; you've seen it all—
you've seen it all; what will you give? It was the same cry even
when they stood before the very bed the clergyman had died upon—,
 What will you give? that is the question.
 I must be cautious in my pargains—I have pought too dear
lately.
When all had been examined, they adjourned to the little study,
that overlooked a garden Hervey might have delighted to wander in,
and there the Jew sat down at the table and made numerous figurings,
while the orphaned prodigal walked to and fro the sacred precincts,
whistling a tune, and reflecting how he should dispose of the produce of
his reverend father's home.
"Dare, sir—dat is deshum I vill give, said the Jew, at the same
time handing young Glindon a strip of paper with £150 pencilled on
it. "De tings are moshtly-books, and books are vorth nothing now-
a-davs, and de furniture is antiquated.
 Say ten pounds more, and we will crack a bottle over the bargain.
"Listen, my friend—
"I have no time now, said Gurney, seeing plain enough that he
should obtain no more from the obsequious Jew.  Let me have the
money you offered—my time is precious—I have engagements in
London.
The cash was paid, a receipt taken, and the young man at once
quitted his home for ever. When he had departed, the Jew chuckled
with delight at his bargain. *
"Von picture here is vorth all de money ! he meditated, smooth-
ing his grizzly beard.  Dis is how our people get rich. We are de*
'true heirs to half the Christian's property. One would tink dere
religion taught them to be foolish, instead of wise. He chuckled
■again and again, and then gave instructions to a Jewish attendant,
that he had brought with him, to take care of the place until he sent
revelations of a detective.
211
vans for the property. That same night the rectory was denuded of
all it containod, taken to the London market, and there readily sold
at twice their cost to him.
Often and often has Gurney Glindon laid down this cunning axiom
— One sovereign and plenty of pluck, enforcing the observation by
slapping his thigh or the table with his open hand,  is all the stock in
trade any man, with the spirit of a man, requires to live in splendour.
At one period of his career, Glindon married the widow of a Sir
John Jolly—and a jolly life he led her.
Her pain and mortification were too extreme, and people too
roughly dealt with her weakness and imprudence. While her husband
rioted in France, on the produce of her effects, she was carried to the
cold grave by the colder hands of charity.
Glindon's creditors became furious when they learnt he had left
England, and the sheriff's officer who held "executions against him
looked wretched in the extreme, when he called to arrest him and
j . ,. j wn. He threw himself into Glindon's arm-
fbakl leant his ugly features oa his ugly stick, and pondered what
212 TOM FOX; OR, THE
move to make. He knew his customer well, and knew how difficult
it was to find him. Once before he had made a continental chase for
him, after a month's scheming and contriving captured him, and lodged
him in one of the debtors' prisons. Glindon, in travel guise, when he
entered the unprepossessing place, told the gaoler there must be a
mistake about it. The gaoler replied  that it was the rarest chance
in the world that they made mistakes there
We must now see how these two worthies, Gurney Glindon and
Mr. Chiffney, formed their fatal friendship, but in order to do this,
we must retrace our steps to the Jew's house, where Chiffney and
Clara adjourned to dress themselves for the masquerade. They were
soon gaily equipped for the night's festivities.
Dressed as a debardeur, as we have seen, he went to the mas*
querade in the mean persuit of another's mistress—which, in itself,
was a breach of the thiefs maxim,  Honour among thieves. When
Chiffney entered the captivating place—this was the first time he had
C?en to a masquerade—he was wonderously pleased, and his imagin-
ation excited beyond description. For a time he even forgot Clara,
so lost was he in admiration of other fair masquers, who were whirled
hither and thither in the giddy dance. He was not long in making
overtures to a plump little figure habited as a Bavarian broom-girl,
and gallantly taking her by the hand, he led her forth to dance. As
the love of woman grew upon him, keenly he felt the insufficiency of
his exchequer, and promised himself soon to better it. With this hope-
fulness he led the plump  buy-a-broom  girl from the dance to the
"efreshment-stall, where he held with her a tete-a-tete over a straw-
berry-cream and sherry-cobbler. While he was thus pleasantly
engaged, and while his new charmer was making an inroad upon his
passionate and imflammable nature, Gurney Glindon's mistress, Clara,
accosted him with a gentle tap on
the shoulder. The debardeur turned
quickly round, and received  Rebecca 
with all the flattery of which his
tongue was capable, and another cream
jfif was immediately ordered, and a chair
quickly placed at her disposal, while
he himself took a place between the
Jewess and Bavarian, exclaiming, in
the enjoyment of the moment,
 How happy could I be with either!
while the buy-a-broom girl lively sang
the well-known context,
 Were other dear charmer away,
then tripped off upon her light heel and
* 4 * made a graceful exit, leaving Chiffney
nau Clara to the happiness of their repast and confidences.
REVELATIONS OP A DETECT!VP.
213
 This is happiness more than I expected, said Chiffney, in the
blandest tones, suiting the expression of his countenance to his flatter-
Jng words.  All the brightness of this place—all its music—was
' stale, flat, and unprofitable,' until now; but the magic of your
presence has lent such wondrous charms to it, that my imagination
seems wandering in a paradise. Oh ! the vast power of beauty!''
"Wine, you mean, sir, said Clara, with a look of significance,
that did not fail to make Chiffney understand the meaning it was
intended to convey.
•' No, I assure you, love, I have drank but little. I speak from
the delicious intoxication of love, which fills the heart until its
quick throbs move every passion of the soul.
 Your words might win over some village wench,—some silly,
credulous maid—but me—ah! I've learnt the world and the worth of
.words too well for them to move one chord of my heart. Words, false,
meaningless words, fatally deceived me once, and I do hate them now.
They lured me from the happiest of homes—oh! stupid, stupid fool
that I was! But there—I've been punished deeply for my folly.
This is not a place to sentimentalise. My word for it, there's
many a wretched heart standing up in that dance. Come, sir, I'll
make another. I can find no other relief from the bitter memories
which wake up and disturb my brain when I am still.
"Some time hence we'll join the dancers, said Chiffney; "I
would rather sit over our wine awhile—in truth, you have excited my
curiosity.
"You must learn to siubdue it, sir, said Clara, somewhat offen-
dedly.  My history would but pain you if you have any regard for
me, and if you have none, your curiosity should remain unsatisfied!
 Most true; but then I have a regard for you.
 Define it—no, I will for you! she excitedly added.
 Nay, nay, interrupted Chiffney, you would only judge of mine
from painful remembrance of the false regard professed by another for
>you. That would be unjust, would it not?
 Well—it might be so ; and I would not willingly be unjust to
any one, though I have had wrong and humiliations heaped on me,
euough to make me hate all mankind. Gloom is gathering over me—
I must dance it off. Come!
Chiffney drained the wine and accompanied  Rebecca, and while
they joined in the quadrille, we will give the reader a briet sketch of
Clara's history.
In the neighbourhood of the Tower of London was a dairy mpfe
than usually attractive. The ivy was trained round its Gottfic-front,
and the little enclosed garden was studded with statuary, and parrots
of every hue, from every clime, chattered or their perches. It was
an old detached house, and its age gave an additional charm to its ■
picturesqueness.
214 tom rox; or, the
In the year 1840, the  Oil Dairy  was owned by one David
Rees, and Clara (Gurney Glindon's unhappy mistress), was the dairy-
man's daughter. At this time she was sixteen years of age, and
notorious for her beauty. Every day brought forth a new admirer,
and every post a letter of love. The "fast men  of London might
constantly be seen peeping in through the small panes of the dairy
to see the "gal at the dairy.
Clara was somewhat superstitious, and was concerned that  Sdmfl-
thing would happen  if she heard the night howl of her father's dog,
or the tick-tick of the death-watch ; and for amusement sometimes,
and known only to herself, she would repair to the mystic abode of an
old fortune-teller near Tower-stairs,
"Ah! young leddy, IH not disguise wi' ye; but an ill destiny
will be yours.
REVELATION'S OP A DETECTIVE. 215
 fli&fc i» unkind of you to say so, said the simple Clara.
 Unkind ! sternly returned the prophetess, in accents that would
pRzzle any one who heard her to say whether she herself believed in
her art, or whether she knew herself to be an imposter— Unkind ! I
cannot alter your destiny—I can but read it.
"Tell me, whence comes the misfortune you predict for me?
'' Where most women's misfortunes do—where mine c^yne from—
irom man.
:/,s "But I know no man, granny, said Clara.
•I. Granny stroked the tresses of Clara, and called her "silly child.
"It is your destiny, I say, and you cannot avert it. More than'
that—it is your fate to love the very man who will destroy you !
 What! granny, exclaimed Clara, •' shall I be murdered?
 Aye, poor child—if heart-break—slow but sure—is murder.
It was about twelve months after the date of this romantic inter-
view, that Gurney Glindon, alias Mr. Courtenay, alias Mr. Romanoff,
first heard of Clara's charms, and it was not long before he introduced
himself to them.
216 TOM FOX; OR THE
But before this sad event in Clara's life happened, a serious dis-
agreement sprang up between her and her father, which led to
Clara's leaving the dairy, and procuring a situation in a West-end
cigar shop, where her beauty gave an impetus to the business.
The  gents, who sported themselves before her, and sent the
fragrant smoke curling from the affected corners of their mouths^
tempted her love with handsome presents of jewellery, with trips
and down the river, with invitations to the races, or a box at 'this
theatre—but it was  No, no, no! to all except Gurney Glindon. . J
The sad sequel to it all was that Clara fell, and he triumphed. Sbj|
had not long become his mistress, before the gaieties to which he hi*
troduccd her—the society he invited to his house—the extravagancy
and luxury with which he surrounded her—combined with then
shocking sense of her fall, tended quickly to corrupt and deaden all ;
elements of good with which so recently she was possessed. ;
The dance over, Gurney Glindon unexpectedly returned from
the adjacent tavern, and was angry with his mistress for delaying to
return home sooner.
Then he noisily called for wine; and no masquer could pass but
what he would intrude a glass on him,. Chiffney had that honour.
But there was one who passed along, fantastically dressed as a bravo,
who resented Glindon's drunken intrusion, and dashed the proffered
glass to the ground. Glindon soon took offence, and blows were
quickly exchanged, when Chiffney rushed between the assailants and
separated them, taking part against the bravo, for his hasty conduot,
in declining Glindon's wine in the unceremonious manner he did. The
police were called to the affray, and
: I the  bravo did heavy work upon the
>-v cheek of one of them, but he was ul-
timately lodged in the neighbouring
station, his masquerade dress ex»
 i, r! ^ changed for his own clothes, and in
'' / \ the morning he was brought before
I j a magistrate to answer for thff.
~D— sl®^shter on the policeman's check.^
He first had the audacity to deny it—'
but the plastered cheek was too strong
.3 against him.  Do not, sir, said the}
worthy magistrate,  add falsehood to'
your follies. The "bravo (who concealed his name) felt ashamed,
and pleaded intoxication. He should have had a week at the treadmill'
—but he was fined 20s., which was paid with a smile.
From this moment Glindon and Chiffney became fast friends.
Clara was sent home in the former's brougham, and the remainder of
tho night was spent in a debauch at a neighbouring tavern. After
REVELATIONS OR A DETECTIVE. 217
this they often met, end Glindon soon fathomed Chiffney's history,
and flattered him that, if he would attend to him, he would soon re-
move all obstacles to his fame and fortune. Chiffney, for awhile,
believed in Glindon, and fully entered into his large designs.
 What if they should fail? timidly suggested Chiffney.
 If they do—what then?—it will be the loss of those who trust
ps, not our's.
 But as to the future? inquired Chiffney, who was not so quick.
"Why, then we can begin again and again. Ha! ha! ha! Now
snow, when I determine on a thing, I set to work to doit,not employ
;he precious time in counting cost, or inviting giants to stride too re-
jion of my brain, which, encountered, dwindle to dwarfs. 1 luck
Shiffney!—pluck, my boy!—pluck always wins!
I will only dwell further on this ill-fated connexion to say—what
reader no doubt lias anticipated me in—the designs did fail, and
ifter Chiffney went through the Court, he found a friend who intro-
luced him, at a salary of two hundred a-ycar,' to an important City
firm; and as his character and merits became more observed and
ppreciated, be bad further trust reposed in him, and fifty pounds
icreased annual income.
Sitting in his well-furnished office, one summer afternoon, a dreadful
lought flashed across Chiffney's mind, that it would be easy to make
loney, and that, too, without discovery.
Visions of expensive gaieties—forms of fair women—fine horse3—•
iegant apparel—in short, everything that could enthral with pleasure
le sensual mind of man, rise before him, and lure him on to the
onsummation of his first dishonour. Once more, ere he left his office
ir that night, he calculated his chances, and settled in his mind to
irge a name to a deed, and then operate with it to a broker.
He forged the security, converted it into cash, and Chiffney afc
jngth became what be had often prayed to he, a man of wealth.
His first difficulty was to live the life of a man of pleasure, and
•et keep down snspicioi—i i 1 must be borne in mind that £250*
•early was all lie was I c m receipt of. He silenced suspicion
iy saying he had inherit 1 s i ty from the death of a relation.
CLiffhev's great emt n nfc passed undiscovered and be con-
inued to live for nigh two years, this useless, extravagant, criminal,
lanity-hiir life.
I "Coming events cast their shadows before. One autumn ingot,
Ifter the dqiartnrc of a supper party he gave at his house, and when
II was still save the seared leaves which were driven hither and
hither bv the whistling wind, and while the fairest of moons lit up
sith her neat! a light the sweet scenery around, Chiffney lighted a cigar
nd walked abroad with a troubled spirit, and full of tearful, imaginings.
! fjj'g ,"-;A-inr deeds and securities were inquired for! No language
"18 TOM rox; or, tiie revelations op a detective.
of mine could convey to the reader's mind ChifTney's appearance <
this inquiry.
At once he determined to fly from his crime—and this he did.
And here I was sent for, and after learning all particulars frot
those he had robbed, I pursued him and captured him in Paris.
Past all description must have been his feelings when, for the fill
time, he faced his Judge and Jury, in whose hands his doom nowre8ttt
The change in his position—-from masking it as a debardeur, or gipil^
his recherche dinners, to where lie now stood, at the bar of Newgjiil
before a crowded court, sprinkled with well-known faces of frigid
awaiting his trial, which terminated in being found guilty and foill
teen years' transportation—this change must, indeed, have been preg
nant witli the most exquisite pain and humiliation. :
Reader! here endeth my hook of "Revelations.'' The limits o
my little volume forbid further disclosures from the masquerade 0
.id'.ma & (iie, PriJilv,* M •v.dii?-*:**-.;, V/e»l SrmUifiilJ, EC