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PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, lidiigor House, Shoe Liine.


JACK SHEPPARD, by W. Harrison Ainsworth, Pages 1. 109. 221. 325. 429. 543

How to Feed a Lion, by Joyce Jocund, . . 23

The Crayon Papers, by Washington Irving, 24, 159

The Samphire Gatherer's Story, by A. H. Plunkett, . 33

Adventures of the Cannon Family, by the Author of" The Bee-hive," . 37

Old Morgan at Panama, ) \ r- v i 45

r™ ,-, 6 , /-, •> I by G. E. Inman, _

The Conqueror s Grandsire, ) .271

No Silver Spoon, by Thomas Haynes Bayly, 46

To a Lady Singing, . .50 Retiring from Business,

The Withered Rose, The Dead Bird, To Julia, To Alura, . Farewell Sonnet,

by J. A. Wade,


. 380 395 462 475 . 597

The Veterans of Chelsea Hospital, by the Author of" The Subaltern," 51. 450 Tales and Legends of the Isle of Wight, by A. Elder, 66. 253. 3G8

Adventures of a Maintop-crosstree-man, by Olinthus Jenkinson,

Barrister-at-Lavv, ..... 73

The Blind Girl and her Mother, . 78

Rambles among the Rivers, ) , ,,, , Mackav ' 79> 151> 20G

Ancient and Modern Mohocks, \ by L . . 357

A Lay of St. Dunstan, ~| 88

Ccelebs in search of a Cenotaph, >by Thomas Ingoldsby, . 3f>3

Some account of a new Play, j . . 639-

Colin Clink, by Charles Hooton, . . 96. 206. 414. 528. 623

To a Young Girl, by M. T. H. . . . .108

The Old Elm, by J. N. M'Jilton, . 140

The Dog Hospital of Paris, } , T 1 v Alknv 14*

Chronicles of the Place Vendome, \ y 381

Vincent Eden, or the Oxonian, by Quip, . .172. 341. 546

Recollections of the Alhambra, } by the Author of 185

The Enchanted Island, $" The Sketch-Book," . 274

Legends of the Lochs and Glens, communicated by the Author of " The

Subaltern," . . 195

American Niggers, . . . 262

The Hatchment, by Teutha, .... 286

The Spalpeen, . ] . 288. 396

Those sweet Days '. those happy Days ! >by P. M'Tcague, . 574

The Moonbeam, . J .614

National Songs, by Mrs. Gore, . . . 295

London by Moonlight, by Camilla Toulmin, . . 303

Character and Conduct of Louis the Sixteenth, by George Hogarth, 305

Baron Von Dullbrainz, by William Jerdan, . .316

Captain Jack, by a Colonist, . . 322

Mathews, John Kemble, and Mustapha the Cat, . . . 350

The First Farewell, . 352

The Grave ; from the German of Roscgarten, . . . 366

The Power of Beauty, .... 388

The Harem Unveiled, . . . 319

The Toledo Rapier, by It. B. Peake, . -. . 463.584


Moral Economy of large Towns, by Dr. W. Taylor, . 476. 575

The Reaper and the Flowers, by Henry Wordsworth Longfellow, . 482

The Patron King, by Mrs Trotlope, . 483

The Pyrenean Hunter, by the Hon. James Erskine Murray, 496

The Abbot's Oak, by Dalton, . . . 508

Remarkable Suicides, by Dr. Millingen, , . .516

Prospectus of a New Joint Stock Suicide Company, . . 540

Sonnet on the Anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar, by Edward Herbert, 542 Katerina, the Dwarf of the Jungfernstieg, . . . 561

Poetry . .583

Lines on a Spot where it is intended to build a Church, . . 598

Prospectus of on intended Course of Lectures on the Philosophy of Hum- bug, by Professor von Bibundtiicker, . . . 599 The Inquest, by Lieut. Johns, . . . 603 The City of the Doge, or Letters from Venice, by the author of " A Sum- mer in Andalusia," . . . . .615



Jack Sheppard and Blueskin in Mr. Wood's Bedroom, . Page 1

Jack Sheppard, in company with Edgeworth Bess, escaping from Clerken-

well Prison, . . . . 22

Audacity of Jack Sheppard, ..... 109

Jack Sheppard visits his Mother in Bedlam, . . . 133

Jonathan Wild throwing Sir Rowland Trenchard down the Well-Hole, . 221,

Jack Sheppard escaping from the Condemned Hold, . . 236'

Jack Sheppard tricking Shotbolt the Gaoler, . . 325

Mr.Mathews as Caleb Pipkin, in" " The May Queen," by W. Greatbach, 352

The Portrait of Jack Sheppard, . . . 429

The Patron King " Exquisitely beautiful !" by A. Hervieu, . 492 Jack Sheppard 's Escapes: ,' No. I. The Castle. The Red Room. Door of the Red- Room. A

Door between the Red Room and the Chapel, . . 543 No. II. Door going into the Chapel. Door leading out of the Chapel.

First Door between the Chapel and the Leads. Second Door in

the same passage, ..... 546 /No. III. Lower Leads. The Highest Leads, and the Leads of the

Turner's House, ..... 550








NEARLY nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepos- sessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych- street ; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation. The age of this individual could not be more than twenty-one; his figure was tall, robust, and gracefully proportioned ; and his clear grey eye and open countenance be- spoke a frank, generous, and resolute nature. His features were regular, and finely-formed ; his complexion bright and bloom- ing,— a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun ; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark- brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing re- vived in our own days. He wore a French military undress of the period", with, high jack-boots, and a laced hat ; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he; -had compjetejy.tjie air of a person of distinction. Such was the effect produced upon' the passengers by his good looks and manly deportment, that few especially of the gentler and more susceptible sex failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon the handsome stranger. Unconscious of the interest he excited, and entirely occupied by his own thoughts which, if his bosom could have been examined, would have been found composed of mingled hopes and fears the young man walked on till he came to an old house, with great, projecting, bay windows on the first floor, and situated as nearly as possible at the back of St. Clement's church. Here he halted ; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEKBONE, WOOLLEN- DRAPER.



Tears started to the young man's eyes on beholding the change, and it was with difficulty he could command himself sufficiently to make the inquiries he desired to do respecting the former owner of the house. As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recog- nised as the present proprietor. Mr. Kneebone was attired in the extremity of the mode. A full-curled wig descended half- way down his back and shoulders ; a neckcloth of " right Mech- lin " was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to de- prive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom ; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon- coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs ; and his costume was completed by the silver- hiked sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm.

Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business.

" I 'm almost afraid to state it," faltered the other ; " but, may I ask whether Mr. Wood, the carpenter, who formerly re- sided here, is still living?"

" If you feel any anxiety on his account, sir, 1 'm happy to be able to relieve it," answered Kneebone, readily. " My good friend, Owen Wood, heaven preserve him !• is still living. And, for a man who'll never see sixty again, he's in excellent preservation, I assure you."

" You delight me with the intelligence," said the stranger, en- tirely recovering his cheerfulness of look. " I began to fear, from his having quitted the old place, that some misfortune must have befallen him."

"Quite the contrary," rejoined the woollen-draper, laugh- ing good-humouredly. " Everything has prospered with him in an extraordinary manner. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap ; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea stock, made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number ha ! ha ! In a word, sir, Mr. Wood is now in very affluent circumstances. He stuck to the shop as long as it was necessary, and longer, in my opinion. When he left these premises, three years ago, 1 took them from him ; or rather to deal frankly with you, he placed me in them rent-free ; for, I 'm not ashamed to confess it, 1 've had losses, and heavy ones; and, if it hadn't been for him, 1 don't know where 1 should have been. Mr. Wood, sir," he added, with much emotion, " is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that " and he hesitated.

" Well, sir ? " cried the other, eagerly.

" His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily.

" I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a


smile. "But, it strikes me, I've heard that Mrs. Wood was once a favourite of yours."

"So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff, with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry, *' so she was. But those days are over quite over. Since her husband has laid me under such a weight of obligation, I couldn't, in honour, con- tinue— hem ! " and he took another explanatory pinch. '• Added to which, she is neither so young as she was, nor is her temper by any means improved hem ! "

" Say no more on the subject, sir," observed the stranger, gravely; "'but, let us turn to a more agreeable one her daughter."

" That is a far more agreeable one, I must confess," returned Kneebone, with a self-sufficient smirk.

The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence.

'• Is she married ?" he asked, after a brief pause.

" Married ! no no," replied the woollen-draper. " Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. When a mere child, she fixed her affections upon a youth named Thames Darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perish- ed, it is supposed, about nine years ago ; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory."

" You astonish me," said the stranger, in a voice full of emotion.

" Why, it is astonishing, certainly," remarked Kneebone, " to find any woman constant especially to a girlish attachment; but, such is the case. She has hail offers innumerable ; for, where wealth and beauty are combined, as in her instance, suitors are seldom wanting. But she was not to be tempted."

" She is a matchless creature ! " exclaimed the young man.

" So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff- box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him bv his companion.

" I have one inquiry more to make of you, sir," said the stranger, as soon as he had conquered his displeasure, " and I will then trouble you no further. You spoke just now of a youth whom Mr- Wood brought up. As far as I recollect, there were two. What has become of the other? "

" Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard ? " cried the woollen-draper, in surprise.

" That was the lad's name,1" returned the stranger.

" I guessed from your dress and manner, sir, that you must have been long absent from your own country," said Kneebone; " and now I 'm convinced of it, or you wouldn't have asked that question. Jack Sheppard is the talk and terror of the whole town. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. He-'s the most daring

B 2


and expert housebreaker that ever used a crow-bar. He laughs at locks and bolts ; and the more carefully you guard your pre- mises from him, the more likely you are to insure an attack. His exploits and escapes are in everybody's mouth. He has been lodged in every roundhouse in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him. We shall see. His skill has not yet been tried. At present, he is under the protection of Jonathan Wild.'1

" Does that villain still maintain his power ? " asked the stranger sternly.

" He does," replied Kneebone, " and, what is more surpri- sing, it seems to increase. Jonathan completely baffles and de- rides the ends of justice. It is useless to contend with him, even with right on your side. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Ja- cobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. I charged the thief-taker, as was the fact, with having robbed me, by means of the lad Sheppard, whom he instigated to the deed, of the very pocket-book he produced in evidence against me ; but it was of no avail I couldn't obtain a hearing. Mr. Wood fared still worse. Bribed by a certain Sir Rowland Trenchard, Jonathan kidnapped the carpenter's adopted son, Thames Darrell, and placed him in the hands of a Dutch skip- per, with orders to throw him overboard when he got out to sea ; and, though this was proved as clear as day, the rascal managed matters so adroitly, and gave such a different complexion to the whole affair, that he came off' with flying colours. One reason, perhaps, of his success in this case might be, that having arrested his associate in the dark transaction, Sir Rowland Trenchard, on a charge of high treason, he was favoured by Walpole, who found his account in retaining such an agent. Be this as it may, Jonathan remained the victor ; and shortly afterwards, at the price of a third of his estate, it was whispered, 'he procured Trenchard's liberation from confinement."

At the mention of the latter occurrence, a dark cloud gathered upon the stranger's brow.

" Do you know anything further of Sir Rowland ? " he asked.

" Nothing more than this,"1 answered Kneebone, " that after the failure of his projects, and the downfal of his party, he retired to his seat, Ash ton Hall, near Manchester, and has remained there ever since, entirely secluded from the world."

The stranger was for a moment lost in reflection.

" And now, sir," he said, preparing to take his departure, " will you add to the obligation already conferred by informing me where I can meet with Mr. Wood ? "

" With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. " He lives at Dollis Hill, a beautiful spot near Willesden, about four or five miles from town, where he has taken a farm. If you ride


out there, and the place is well worth a visit, for the magnifi- cent view it commands of some of the finest country in the neighbourhood of London, you are certain to meet with him. I saw him. yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. He called here on his way back, after he had been to Bedlam to visit poor Mrs. Sheppard."

" Jack's mother ! " exclaimed the young man. " Gracious heaven ! is she the inmate of a mad-house? "

" She is, sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, " driven there by her son's misconduct. Alas ! that the punishment of his offences should fall on her head. Poor soul ! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master ; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. She rambles continually about Jack, and her hus- band, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild raving, she attributes all her misery. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. But, in the midst of all her affliction, she has found a steady friend in Mr. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. Indeed, I 'vc- heard him say that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under his own roof. That, sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan."

The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing.

Before the question could be answered, a side-door was opened, and a very handsome woman of Arna/onian proportions presented herself, and marched familiarly up to Mr. Kneebone. She was extremely showily dressed, and her large hooped petti- coat gave additional effect to her lofty stature. As soon as she noticed the stranger, she honoured him with an extremely impu- dent stare, and scarcely endeavoured to disguise the admiration with which his good looks impressed her.

" Don't you perceive, my dear Mrs. Maggot, that I 'm en- gaged," said Kneebone, a little disconcerted.

" Who've you got with you .'''"demanded the Amazon boldly.

"The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the wool- len-draper, with increased embarrassment. " I don't know his name." And he looked at the moment as if he had lost all desire to know it.

"Well, he's a pretty fellow, at all events," observed Mrs. Maggot, eyeing him from head to heel with evident satisfac- tion ; " a devilish pretty fellow !"

" Upon my word, Poll," said Kneebone, becoming very red, " you might have a little more delicacy than to tell him so be- fore my face."

" What ! " exclaimed Mrs. Maggot, drawing up her fine figure to its full height; "because I condescend to live with you, am I never to look at another man, especially at one so much to my taste as this? Don't think it !"


" You had better retire, madam," said the woollen-draper, sharply, " if you can't conduct yourself with more propriety."

" Order those who choose to obey you," rejoined the lady scorn- fully. " Though you lorded it over that fond fool, Mrs. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. That for you !' And she snapped her fingers in his face.

" Zounds!" cried Kneebone, furiously. "Go to your own room, woman, directly, or I'll make you !"

" Make me ! " echoed Mrs. Maggot, bursting into a loud contemptuous laugh. " Try P

Enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts to remove her were unavailing. At length, after he had given up the point from sheer exhaustion, the Amazon seized him by the throat, and pushed him backwards with such force that he rolled over the counter.

"There!" she cried, laughing, "that '11 teach you to lay hands upon me again. You should remember, before you try your strength against mine, that when I rescued you from the watch, and you induced me to come and live with you, I beat off four men, any of whom was a match for you ha ! ha!"

" My dear Poll !" said Kneebone, picking himself up, " I in- treat you to moderate yourself."

" Intreat a fiddlestick ! " retorted Mrs. Maggot : " I 'm tired of you, and will go back to my old lover, Jack Sheppard. He 's worth a dozen of you. Or, if this good-looking young fellow will only say the word, I '11 go with him."

"You may go, and welcome, madam !" rejoined Kneebone, spitefully. "But, I should think, after the specimen you Ve just given of your amiable disposition, no person would be like- ly to saddle himself with such an incumbrance."

" What say you, sir ? " said the Amazon, with an engaging leer at the stranger. " You will find me tractable enough ; and, with me by your side, you need fear neither constable nor watch- man. I Ve delivered Jack Sheppard from many an assault. I can wield a quarter-staff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. Will you take me ?"

However tempting Mrs. Maggot's offer may appear, the young man thought fit to decline it, and, after a few words of well-merited compliment upon her extraordinary prowess, and renewed thanks to Mr. Kneebone, he took his departure.

"Good b'ye !" cried Mrs. Maggot, kissing her hand to him. " I ll find you out. And now," she added, glancing contempt- uously at the woollen-draper, " I '11 go to Jack Sheppard."

" You shall first go to Bridewell, you jade ! " rejoined Knee- bone. " Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, " run, and fetch a constable."

" He had better bring half-a-dozen," said the Amazon, taking


up a cloth-yard wand, and quietly seating herself; "one won't do."

On leaving Mr. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. Urging his steed along Oxford Road, as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed, he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens ; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, be- fore he turned off upon the Eclgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. This " fatal re- treat for the unfortunate brave " was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. Opposite the gal- lows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a race-course, which, on state occasions, was -crowded \\ith spec- tators. Without the inclosure were reared several lofty gibbets, with their ghastly burthens. Altogether, it was a hideous and revolting sight. Influenced, probably, by what he had heard from Mr. Kneebone, respecting the lawless career of Jack Shep- pard, and struck with the probable fate that awaited him, the young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell into a gloomy reverie. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him ; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. He was well mounted, as was his companion ; and had pistols in his holsters, and a hanger at his girdle. The other individual, who was a little in advance, was concealed from the stranger's view. Pre- sently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and disclosed his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his own age. The dress of this person was excessively showy, and consisted of a scarlet riding-habit, lined and faced with blue, and bedizened with broad gold lace, a green silk-knit waistcoat, embroidered with silver, and decorated with a deep fringe, toge- ther with a hat tricked out in the same gaudy style. His figure was slight, but well-built ; and, in stature he did not exceed five feet four. His complexion was pale ; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. A mutual re- cognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual. Both started. The latter seemed inclined to advance and address the former; but suddenly changing his mind, he shouted to his companion in tones familiar to the stran- ger's ear; and, striking spurs into his steed, dashed off at full speed along the Edgeware Road. Impelled by a feeling, into which we shall not now pause to inquire, the stranger -started after them ;


but they were better mounted, and soon distanced him. Re- marking that they struck off' at a turning on the left, he took the same road, and soon found himself on Paddington-Green. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. From a man, who was standing beneath the shade of one of these noble trees, information was obtained that the horsemen had ridden along the Harrow Road. With a faint view of overtaking them, the pursuer urged his steed to a quicker pace. Arrived at Westbourne-Green then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furze- bushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from Ken sail-Green.

By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them ; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered as he conceived so far out of his course. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden from the traveller's view by the high walls of the National Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be com- manded from the interior of that attractive place of burial, and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. After feasting his eye upon this superb panorama, he was about to return, when he ascertained from a farmer that his nearest road to Willesderi would be down a lane a little further on, to the right. Following this direction, he opened a gate, and struck into one of the most beautiful green lanes imaginable ; which, after various windings, conducted him into a more frequented road, and eventually brought him to the place he sought. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no direction to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man. who was standing with another countryman near the little prison.

" Whose house do you want, master ? " said the man, touch- ing his hat.

" Mr. Wood's," was the reply.

" There is Dollis Hill," said the man, pointing to a well- wooded eminence about a mile distant, " and there," he added, indicating the roof of a house just visible above a grove of trees " is Mr. Wood's. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you ?11 come to Neasdon, and then you '11 not have above half a mile to go."

The young man thanked his informant, and was about to fol- low his instructions, when the other called after him

" I say, master, did you ever hear tell of Mr. Wood's famous 'prentice ? "


" What apprentice?" asked the stranger, in surprise.

*' Why, Jack Sheppard, the notorious housebreaker, him as has robbed half Lunnun, to be sure. You must know, sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time, that he did, the heathen. The gentleman catched him i' th' fact, and we shut him up for safety i' that pris'n. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, " he soon contrived to make his way out on it, though. Ever since he's become so famous, the folks about here ha' christened it Jack Sheppard's cage. His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder ; but when her son took to bad ways, she went dis- tracted,— and now she's i' Bedlam, I 've heerd."

" I tell e'e what, John Dump," said the other fellow, who had hitherto preserved silence, " I don't know whether your talkin' o' Jack Sheppard has put him into my head or not; but I once had him pointed out to me, and if that were him as I seed then, he 's just now ridden past us, and put up at the Six Bells."

" The deuce he has ! " cried Dump. " If you were sure o' that, we might seize him, and get the reward for his appre- hension.1'

" That 'ud be no such easy matter," replied the country- man. "Jack's a desperate fellow, and is always well armed; besides, he has a comrade with him. But I '11 tell e'e what we might do "

The young man heard no more. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. As he passed the Six Bells, he noticed the steeds of the two horsemen at the door ; and glancing into the house, perceived the younger of the two in the passage. The latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room. After debating with himself whether he should further seek an interview, which, though now in his power, was so sedulously shunned by the other party, he decided in the negative ; and contenting himself with writing upon a slip of paper the hasty words, " You are known by the villagers, be upon your guard," he gave it to the ostler, with instructions to deliver it instantly to the owner of the horse he pointed out, and pursued his course.

Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which con- stitute the village of Neasdon. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. Bordered by fine timber, the road occa- sionally offered glimpses of a lovely valley, until a wider open- ing gave a full view of a delightful and varied prospect. On


the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metro- polis. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house.

Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof, stood Mr. Wood's dwelling, a plain, substantial, com- modious farmhouse. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevo- lence. The progress of time was marked in Mr. Wood by in- creased corpulence and decreased powers of vision, by deeper wrinkles and higher shoulders, by scantier breath and a fuller habit. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. Around him were all the evidences of plenty. A world of hay-stacks, bean- stacks, and straw-ricks flanked the granges adjoining his habita- tion ; the yard was crowded with poultry, pigeons were feeding at his feet, cattle were being driven towards the stall, horses led to the stable, a large mastiff was rattling his chain, and stalking majestically in front of his kennel, while a number of farming-men were passing and repassing about their various occupations. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old- fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruit-trees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring.

Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr. Wood turned to look at him. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imper- fectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger.

" I need not ask whether this is Mr. Wood's," said the latter, " since I find him at his own gate."

" You are right, sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising. " I am Owen Wood, at your service."

" You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger.

" 1 can't say I do," replied Wood. " Your voice seems fa- miliar to me and yet but I 'm getting a little deaf and my eyes don't serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially by this light."

" Never mind," returned the stranger, dismounting; " you '11 recollect me by and by, I Ve no doubt. I bring you tidings of an old friend."

" Then you "re heartily welcome, sir, whoever you are. Pray, walk in. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable see him dressed and fed directly. Now, sir, will you please to follow me ? "

Mr. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were dark- ened by pots of flowers and creepers. There was no light in the room ; but, notwithstanding this, the young man did not


fail to detect the buxom figure of Mrs. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever, as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's daughter..

Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Her fea- tures were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child, but that was the only draw- back to her beauty. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. Her figure was perfect, tall, graceful, rounded, and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle.

" My wife and daughter, sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest.

Mrs. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. Winifred's reception was kind, but more distant, and after the slight cere- monial she resumed her occupation.

" This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear,"" said the carpenter.

" Ay, indeed ! And who may that be ? " inquired his wife.

" One whom you may perhaps have forgotten,'1'' replied the stranger, " but who can never forget the kindness he expe- rienced at your hands, or at those of your excellent husband."

At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand.

" I have a token to deliver to you,"'1 continued the stranger, addressing her.

" To me ? " gasped Winifred.

" This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black riband from his breast, and giving it her, " do you remember it ? "

" I do I do ! " cried Winifred.

" What 's all this ? " exclaimed Wood, in amazement.

" Do you not know me, father?" said the young man, ad- vancing towards him, and warmly grasping his hand. *' Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son ? "

" God bless me ! " ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eves, " can can it be ? "

" Surely," screamed Mrs. Wood, joining the group, " it isn't Thames Darrell come to life again ? "

" It is it is!" cried Winifred, rushing towards him, and flinging her arms round his neck, " it is my dear dear bro- ther ! "

" Well, this is what I never expected to. see," said the car-


penter, wiping his eyes ; " I hope I "m not dreaming ! Thames, my dear boy, as soon as Winny has done with you, let me em- brace you.11

" My turn comes before yours, sir," interposed his better half. " Come to my arms, Thames ! Oh ! dear ! Oh! dear ! "

To repeat the questions and congratulations which now en- sued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction to describe the scarcely less extrava- gant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one^s imagination. Supper was quickly served ; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar ; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped ; but not one of the party could eat or drink their hearts were too full.

Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. Carried out to sea by Van Galgebrok, and thrown over- board, while struggling with the waves, he had been picked up by a French fishing-boat, and carried to Ostend. After encountering various hardships and privations for a long term, during which he had no means of communicating with Kngland, he, at length, found his way to Paris, where he was taken notice of by Cardinal Dubois, who employed him as one of his secretaries, and subsequently advanced to the service of Philip of Orleans, from whom he received a commission. On the death of his royal patron, he resolved to return to his own country ; and, after various delays, which had postponed it to the present time, he had succeeded in accomplishing his object.

Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest atten- tion ; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye an.d throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested.

The discourse, then, turned to Darrell's old playmate, Jack Sheppard ; and Mr. Wood, in deploring his wild career, advert- ed to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother.

" For my part, it 's only what I expected of him," observed Mrs. Wood, " and I 'm sorry and surprised he hasn't swung for his crimes before this. The gallows has groaned for him for years. As to his mother, I 've no pity for her. She deserves what has befallen her."

" Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred. " One of

the consequences of criminal conduct, is the shame and disgrace

which worse than any punishment the evil-doer can suffer

-is brought by it upon the innocent relatives; and, if Jack

had considered this, perhaps he would not have acted as


he has clone, and have entailed so much misery on his unhappy parent."1

" I always detested Mrs. Sheppard," cried the carpenter's wife bitterly ; " and, I repeat, Bedlam 's too good for her."

" My dear," observed Wood, " you should be more chari- table-

" Charitable ! " repeated his wife, " that 's your constant cry. Marry, come up ! I 've been a great deal too charitable. Here 's Winny always urging you to go and visit Mrs. Sheppard in the asylum, and take her this, and send her that ; and I 've never prevented you, though such mistaken liberality 's enough to pro- voke a saint. And then, forsooth, she must needs prevent your hanging Jack Sheppard after the robbery in Wych-Street, when you might have done so. Perhaps you '11 call that charity ; / call it defeating the ends of justice. See what a horrible rascal you 've let loose upon the world ! "

" I 'm sure, mother," rejoined Winifred, " if any one was likely to feel resentment, I was ; for no one could be more fright- ened. But I was sorry for poor Jack as I am still, and hoped lie would mend."

'* Mend ! " echoed Mrs. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to Tyburn."

"At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred. "But, as I was saying, I was most dreadfully frightened on the night of the robbery. Though so young at the time, I remember every cir- cumstance distinctly. I was sitting up, lamenting your depart- ure, dear Thames, when, hearing an odd noise, I went to the landing, and, by the light of a dark lantern, saw Jack Sheppard stealing up stairs, followed by two men