It is a man and his wife. They are hand in hand; they clutch one another's fingers, as if in agony. Their steps are wavering an uncertain, and as they come beneath the arch their conversation is very distinctly heard. "Oh, Harry!" said the woman, "if you would but scold me, reproach me, I should be glad. It was such a blow. Our babes starv ing at home." “Hush, Editha,” replied the man, pausing as if to obtain momentary shelter, and to gaze upon her face by the light of the public-house lamp. "Yes, I will have you scold me. Your silent kindness goes to my heart, and I must have you angry. Our children starving at home, our goods threatened with seizure in the morning, you gave up the very tools your brush, your easel, your canvas, to me to pledge. I pledged them, and while you are gone to seek work, in confidence that I am ministering to the wants of your babes at home, I lose all, and you return to find me vainly weeping by my children, whom hunger and cold had numbed to sleep. could go mad." I Next day they received, by a strange porter, the whole of the things they had pledged on the previous night. * It was the very next day after this singular adventure that in a certain region of the Borough, narrow, of secondary character, where good and bad houses, ancient mansions and hucksters' shops jostle each other with impudent familiarity; where, between a venerable but dilapidated building, full of associations of other days, and a half modern erection, there starts you forth a prim and cockney dwelling, with brass plate upon the door. With this house, brass plate and all, it is that we now have business. On the plate could be read in very distinct and legible characters, the words, " Mr. Theophilus Smith, auctioneer and house agent." We will enter. In a small parlour, behind which was his office, we shall find Mr. Theophilus Smith indulging in the luxury of a late and bachelor breakfast, for Mr. Theophilus, though often thinking that he had reached a period when matrimony might be both convenient and desirable-he was fifty "Editha, it was but your eagerness to re- had never ventured any further on the join our innocents." "But how could I lose it, my God?" "It is not lost," said the deep and hollow voice of the stranger, flinging the purse upon the ground at their feet. "Be more careful next time, for you have made me wait here six hours." 44 Stay!" cried the husband. road than to indulge in this opinion. His breakfast was ample and varied, while a morning-paper of twenty years ago seemed to take up the greater amount of his attention. He was a small man, a very small manperhaps this was the secret of his single blessedness-but if one might judge from the But he was gone; in their confusion and merry twinkle of his little eye, and the joy, they scarce knew how. 66 smirking smile that sat upon his face, he Come, come, Harry. God is good; let thought himself something exceedingly huge, us hasten to our babes." "But, child, this purse is full of gold." "Full of gold?" something not to be measured by feet but a mental yard at once. He was wrapped in the study of the jour “Yes, Editha, as full as it can hold, and nal, which in this country forms a necessary the tickets are gone." "Some rich good man must have found them. But come, our babes are still a hungered." And thanking heaven and their unknown benefactor, they mastened to an eating-house near a hackney stand; and in a few minutes more, in their humble lodging, surrounded by their children, who ate ravenously, the poor artist and his wife, full of thankfulness and joy, were eating the first food they had tasted for many hours, for they had starved themselves to feed their babes. portion-and the most pleasant portion of a man's breakfast-when there came a knock at the door which made Mr. Theophilus Smith start. It was not an ordinary knock, and Mr. Smith was puzzled, for he was knowing in knocks; could tell by their intonation whether to advance into the passage and greet the new arrival, or whether to remain halfway, or standing careless with his coat-tails raised behind. But this was not one so easily analysed, it was short, but it was imperious; it lasted not, but it was given in no mild: tones, making the very house shake beneath its influence. "Open the door, John," he cried, "and see who it is." He then listened. "How much?-how much would a man "Is Mr. Smith at home?" said a dry and reasonably consume in seven years?" commanding voice. "Yes, sir." "Show me to him." "This way, sir." Mr. Theophilus remained seated at his breakfast-table, and as this was a hint the boy understood, he at once showed the stranger in. It was the wanderer already introduced. "In what can I serve you," said Mr. Smith rising, and slightly curling his lip as he viewed the other's costume. The worthy shopkeeper, opening his eyes wide with astonishment, retreated slightly without replying. "Do you decline serving me?" said the stranger, fixing his eyes angrily on the puzled chapman. "No, sir, but-" "That is enough, make your calculation, and I will pay you at once." The bewildered owner of the general store, as rapidly as his suddenly congealed faculties would allow him, made the required sum, "There is a house over the way to be and having approximated as nearly as possi "Why that depends; it is rather out of propriety, but the quick, imperious manner, repair-" "No matter, I will take it as it is." "Will you not go over it?" "No. Enough, I take it." "But your references or securities?" "I have none." 66 Then, sir, allow me to say-" "I will allow you to say nothing, sir. There is seven years' rent," replied the other, throwing a roll of notes upon the table. "Give me a receipt." This was a new fashion in house-taking, which Mr. Smith so highly approved of that he remained lost in astonishment. with the ample supply of means possessed by the stranger, soon brought them to their senses, and his orders were obeyed. Furniture, grocery, crockery, everything which would not spoil by keeping, was ordered in and paid for, in ample profusion, for a man's consumption for seven years. The stranger then made his last visit. Near at hand, in a lane, or rather court, upon which the back of No. 7 opened, the stranger, during his day's peregrinations, had noticed a poor, forlorn widow, whose gaunt and emaciated features proclaimed her utter poverty. This woman, left desolate and alone in her old-age, he secured as a servant, and paying her little debts in the house in which she “Then give me a receipt, and send me an lodged, at once transfered her to his new resiagreement." "With pleasure; what name?" "It is no matter." dence, where, well tutored by her new master, she received all and said nothing. He then disappeared to return only late at "No name, sir, how am I to give you a night with a large cartful of books, shelves, receipt?" 66 No. 7, sir ?" "The key?" and all the apparatus of a library. These also were thrust into the interior, after which the stranger entered, and locked the door behind him. Mr. Smith lost in a denser fog than ever He was now fairly the lion of the neighfills London streets, mechanically made out bourhood, before which all other lions, aye the receipt, and handed it with the key to the and stars too, upon the public-house sign opstranger. posite, faded forthwith into nought; for many No. 7, as he called himself, then left the days nothing else was talked of but the sud den apparition and as sudden disappearance her determination to keep out all comers, by the loudness with which she made the operation of bolting and barring heard. of the stranger. For a few days this lasted, but then, after the bustle of arrangement was over inside, all relapsed into its usual train'; the house, which had not been inhabited for half a century, remained blocked up the same as ever; a padlock still was seen upon the front entrance. The few tradesmen-a butcher, baker, and milk-girl-were all ever seen-alone ever knocked at the door, and these were opened to by the now contented old woman, who never said a word, but paid all bills, and then closed the door, giving vehement evidence of If perchance any wanderer passed up or down the street, at a late hour, he was sure to see the chamber of the recluse, with a light burning therein, and many said that they had noticed that on certain occasions more than one form could be recognised as passing to and fro between the candle and the blind. But these were conjectures; for from the day above recorded, no man or woman was seen to leave or enter that house. T was again night, and the mighty city whence commerce, science, arts, learning, diffuse themselves over more than half the globe, was clothed in a garb of crisp, cold, bleak, hoar frost. The flags were slippery and unsafe; old gentlemen, fearing contusions and broken bones, became even more cautious than usual in their walk; servant-maids, with arms and cheeks red, as early summer cherries, spreading ashes before their doors o'er trottoir and kennel, monopolised. a few yards of safety, which the fraternity properly.consti tuting Young England were equally bent in restoring to its pristine state, by means of a persevering system of sliding, under the very nose and authority of the watchman; cabmen vowed more knowingly than ever against macadamisation, expressing their decided opinion that the innovation was unconstitutional; great coats, boas, and comforters, stood at a premium far beyond India bonds and Bank stock; the ladies, like their eastern compeers, looked all eyes and noses; lips, chins, and foreheads, were rare articles amid the visible members; husbands were heard to express their high appreciation of fireside comforts; and wives, nestling their pretty feet amid the flossy and warm rug, were while dispensing their home luxuries, unusually agreeable; elder brothers, presuming upon the great English law of primogeniture, sent the juveniles first to bed, to catch the cold rough edge of the sheets; in fact, it was a bracing, healthy, delightful, cosy winter evening, in the only land-to be eminently patriotic-where winter evenings are cosy, delightful, healthy, or bracing. The gas, that new luminary which, with its myriad jets, rules the London night, had long been lit, and, with the bright, tempting shop-windows, gave a glimmer only second to day in its clearness. In one street in particular, to which we beg to transport the indulgent reader, a street known by the name of a certain university, celebrated for the eccentricity of its doctrines, the clear atmosphere which generally accompanies a dry frost, combined with a brilliant moon and the long interminable line of lamps to give an artificial day. Few, however, took advantage of this to enjoy the luxury of a winter evening walk, when stepping rapidly along, as if to leave cold behind, one sees in every social comfort and domestic detail, that presently is to be ours, a source of delicious appreciation at no other time experienced. It was the hour when one moiety of the world is dressing for dinner, while another portion is in the enjoyment of the hissing urn's contents, buttered toast, or crumpets, and all those other little indigestions of which we English so highly approve. The homeless, the poor whose living is the streets, the seekers of pleasure, the play-goers, and all those vast hordes which make up the complicated machinery of London life, still, however, poured forth busy thousands, which sprinkled the highways, for London is never still. The good and the bad, those on the errand of mercy and the actor in crime and vice, equally make up the component parts of those masses which crowd the thousand thoroughfares. At the corner of one of those turnings which lie between the Edgeware-road and Regent-street, a poor woman, meanly clad, and with a sickly baby in her arms, was singing, in a low and not unmusical voice, a song, which could scarcely have reached to the ears of those on the ground floor of the houses. Not a soul was listening to her, and yet on she walked, stilling the child's cries with the breast, and never once raising her eyes to discover if any effect were produced by the touching appeals she made in favour of the helpless innocent that greedily sucked, and then, as if finding no nourishment, stopped and cried, and yet again returned to its profitless employment. A mother alone, breathing the atmosphere that shrouded wealth and luxury, singing, to earn a morsel of food for her child, and not one living being to listen or offer aid. Presently a young man turned from Oxfordstreet into the bye street, whistling an air from a popular opera; when, however, he caught sight of the poor mother, he became silent, and passed on quietly, his eyes studiously kept in an opposite direction to that of the woman; as, however, they came nearly abreast, moving different ways, a slight cry from the child caused him to turn his head, and he found a meek, submissive, young and wan face fixed on him half imploringly, half reproachfully. Colouring to the eyes, and mechanically feeling his pockets, he hurried on, as if afraid she should ask him for charity: her look was beseeching enough, and he felt that her voice must be even more so! Yet the poor woman went on singing; so habituated to it, what was one little disappointment to her? About ten yards beyond, the young man stopped short, looked up the street, down the street, across the street, at the windows, at the numbers, at the name, and then, as if fully persuaded that he had convinced the beggar-woman he was waiting for somebody, and that his stay had no connection whatever with herself, leaned in deep meditation against a lamp-post, despite the cold state of the atmosphere. As this youth will play a very prominent part in our history, we may as well daguerrotype him at once. About the middle height, certainly not more than one-and-twenty in age, his features were naturally handsome, though the good effect of them was much marred, either by the effects of dissipation or of poor and unwholesome living. His eyes, in which lurked a hidden fire, were somewhat sunken, which with his hollow cheeks was almost proof sufficient of his poverty, if indeed his sudden interest in the beggar woman had not made the supposition almost a matter of certainty, for none sympathise with the poor so readily as those who feel the most. His hair was black, and fell in huge matted clusters over his shoulders, while a shabby hat, rejoicing in a rim with no particular bias up or down, but rising here and falling there according to fancy, was of very material assistance in rendering his naturally good looks of little moment. A blue Taglioni of antiquated fashion, in the pockets of which his gloveless hands were thrust, plaid trousers, boots with more holes than sole leather, completed his attire, save only a shirt collar of large dimensions and very yellow tinge, which fell over a black silk handkerchief that encircled his neck. Such was Frederick Wilson, student-atlaw, as he called himself, reporter as his friends denominated him, while penny-a-liner was the highest epithet which his enemies could ever allow him. Whatever his profession, however, he did but little credit to it; his whole appearance was that of one whose breakfast was rare, whose dinner was matter of irregular occurrence, and who, if he ever supped, did so at intervals of very great extent. His reverie was broken short by the sound of footsteps, and, turning, he beheld, coming in the direction of the ballad-singer and himself, a girl and a man. If in life we could always trace the mysterious workings of events, if we could follow out even the important consequences of a trifle, if we could see how clearly connected is the whole chain of circumstances which compose our individual existence, we should be less apt to give way to doubt and fear. Wilson had stopped in the wilderness of London streets to listen to a poor balladsinger; not having a farthing in the world, he could not gain courage to pass on until he saw the woman receive a pittance from a hand more able to minister to her wants. The deed was simple and ordinary, and yet to the young man this quiet act was the hinge on which turned his whole future forThe plot and intrigues of years were tunes. thus defeated. The girl was about eighteen, pretty, neatlyclothed, with a laughing, merry eye; and as she trotted along, drawing her woollen shawl close about her, and bearing a small basket on her arm, looked the very impersonification of innocence and youthful beauty. Fair, and inclined to embonpoint, rosy, and cherrylipped, the cold only heightened her beauty, which, though neither transcendant or rare, was quite remarkable enough to catch the notice of every passer. She trod the ground as if afraid of no lurking danger in the frosty surface of the flags, and rapidly approached, Wilson making the above observations as she neared him, on the same side of the way. The man was on the opposite pavement, and was chiefly remarkable by the extreme pallor of his countenance, the heavy character of his form, a pair of green spectacles, and a superb cloak which shielded him from the cold. The man and the girl passed Wilson, and on contrary sides came abreast of the poor woman, who, creeping rather than walking, was slowly advancing up the street. The girl stopped short, the man slackened his pace, and Wilson, curious to witness the result, turned towards him, and as he came in full view of the stranger, was startled by the actually demoniacal expression which for a moment flashed across his countenance, mingled with a look of unfeigned surprise. The man, however, gave him no time to make any further observations, as he hurried away, and Wilson was attracted once more to the girl, then in the act of presenting a few halfpence to the singer. Giving himself no time to think, the young man advanced closer. "Young lady," said he, quickly, his face becoming crimson as he spoke, "excuse me, but really I thank you as much as if you had given it to myself." The girl look curiously at the young man, without answering; for truth she was as confused as himself. "The fact is, miss, I haven't a penny about me-no, not so much as a farthing, and I vowed I would not move until I saw this poor woman relieved." "Sir," said the young girl, "I really do not know you;" and pouting her pretty lip, as much as to say, "you shabby, impertinent fellow, I will have nothing to say to you," made a slight inclination, and pursued her walk. |