part I was playing; and fortunately no one suspected that a mere lad of

fifteen or sixteen like me had any hand in the dreadful deed of which there was now evidence to prove the perpetration. It was however with no affected horror that I gathered from the hurried words of the labourers the particulars of the discovery. It appeared that the absence of the Squire from home all night had created an alarm; and this was augmented when it was ascertained that the Squire had been with one of his gamekeepers at the chalk-pit, and that half an hour afterwards this same keeper and another had encountered George Dalton in the same vicinity. The gamekeepers, finding that the Squire had not returned home all night, repaired direct to the chalk-works, where they found George Dalton had just arrived; and the dawn of day showed them enough at the bottom of the lime-pit to convince them that murder had been perpetrated. To the questions put to him by those who arrested him, George replied that he had parted from me at about a quarter to ten o'clock on the previous evening—that I had returned home—and that he had remained behind to finish his work;—but he denied having seen the Squire at all.

"I may as well state now, although I was not aware of the fact till some hours later on that terrible day, that the Squire's bailiff had been sent for the moment George was arrested and the murder was discovered; and that, having heard George's answers to the questions put to him, he set off for the village by a short cut over the Bulkeley estate; whereas I took the main road to the pit, and therefore had not met him. It appears that on his arrival at the village, the bailiff went straight to our lodgings, and began to question Marion and her mother as to whether George had been home at all during the night; and if so, at what hour he had returned. Marion named the hour at which he had returned; adding, that he was so late because he had been, on leaving off work, to deliver a message to the owner of the chalk-pit. The bailiff then brutally revealed the whole terrible truth to the two females; and though I was not there to witness the same, yet it is easy to believe that it was terrible and heart-rending indeed. But, heedless of the misery which his abrupt discourse had produced, the bailiff hastened off to the owner of the chalk-pit, and learnt from him that George had _not_ been near him on the preceding evening. Back to the pit went the bailiff, now accompanied by its owner; and the next step was to convey the prisoner before the nearest magistrate, who happened to be the rector of the parish. I was desired to go with the party; but no suspicion was attached to me. It was proved that the calcined remains of a human body were found in the hole where the lime was burnt; and that the metal buttons picked up were those which belonged to the coat the Squire had on the previous evening. I need not detail the nature of the evidence which appeared to tell against George Dalton; because you can well understand it from all the circumstances I have already related. He conducted himself with wonderful calmness and presence of mind throughout the long examination, which lasted for several hours; and when the magistrate asked him if he had any thing to say in his defence, or to show why he should not be committed for trial, he answered in a firm tone, 'I am innocent, and have nothing more to say.' He was accordingly committed for trial—handcuffs were put upon him; and he was removed to an out-house, guarded by constables, until a cart could be got in readiness to convey him to the County Gaol.

"But in the yard of the rector's abode a heart-rending scene took place. Marion was there, waiting to see her husband, of whose guilt _she_, poor thing! could entertain no doubt. She had left our mother, who had fallen down in a fit when the disclosure was so rudely made by the bailiff, to the care of the landlady of the house in which we lived; and, crushed with deep affliction—weak—sickly—almost heart-broken as she was, she had dragged herself to the place where she heard the examination was going on. 'Oh! George, George!' she exclaimed, as she rushed forward to embrace her husband, whose manacles rattled, as, forgetting that he wore them, he endeavoured to extend his arms to receive her. How poor Marion wept!—what convulsive sobs escaped her bosom! George wept also; but he said every thing fond and endearing to console her. The parson-justice appeared at the door of his house; and, perceiving the sad spectacle, said, 'Take that woman away: I will not have such scenes under my windows. She is no doubt as bad as he.'—Never shall I forget the look of imploring anguish which Marion turned towards that _minister of the Gospel_, who spoke so sternly and so unjustly; then, in the next moment, she fell senseless upon the ground. The constables rushed upon George to drag him off to the out-house: but he hurled them away, manacled as he was, crying in a voice that struck terror to my soul, 'I will not move an inch till I see this poor innocent creature properly cared for. Keep off—or I shall do _another murder_!'—'Another murder!' exclaimed the rector: 'then he confesses that of the Squire!'—But George heard not the observation; nor did he seem to notice the tremendous oversight which he had committed in the bewildering anguish of the moment. Bending over Marion, he raised her with his chained hands, while one of the rector's servants, more humane than his master, brought out water to sprinkle upon her countenance. At length she slowly opened her eyes; and George, beckoning to me, said, 'Now, Tim, take her away: I cannot bear this scene any more!'—I approached, and lent my support to poor Marion, while George, of his own accord, hurried to the out-house, not once casting a look behind him.

"I know not how I got my wretched sister home;—and I was nearly as wretched as herself. But at length we reached our humble lodging, where the landlady, who appeared to be the only friend left to us in the world, did all she could to console the miserable young wife. Had it not been for that kind-hearted woman, we must all have perished through sheer want; for I received notice from the owner of the chalk-pit that my services would be dispensed with in future, and no one else would give me work. A week after George's committal, my mother died; and she, who was once the wife of a farmer well-to-do in the world, was now buried at the expense of the parish! When the funeral was over, and Marion grew somewhat more composed, she insisted upon removing to Winchester, so as to be near the gaol wherein her husband lay. 'If we go,' said I, 'we must beg our way.'—'Then we will beg our way, Tim,' answered Marion; 'for, whether innocent or guilty, George is my husband, and I can never cease to love him.'—I offered no farther remonstrance; so, bidding our kind landlady farewell, we set out, with only half-a-crown in our pockets; and for that sum we were indebted to that same good landlady.

"On our arrival at Winchester, we took a small lodging near the goal; and Marion went to see her husband. She insisted upon going alone; and I did not thwart her in any of her wishes. When she returned to me, she seemed a little more tranquil than she had yet been since the dreadful disclosure of George's arrest on an accusation of murder. She was consoled by having seen her husband, although she could not do otherwise than believe him guilty. But of that she never spoke to me; and I was very careful not to touch upon the point. I now tried to obtain work; but, at some places where I applied, _character_ was inquired about, and at others no assistance was wanted. At last I was actually compelled to go into the streets and beg, for Marion was attacked with severe indisposition. One evening, as I was returning home without having succeeded in obtaining a single halfpenny all day long, and in a state bordering on despair, I was warned by a beadle that if I was seen begging in the streets again, I should be taken up as a rogue and vagabond. Frightened by his threats, I hurried away, and was already in sight of the house in which we lived, and where I had left my poor sister in the morning, when, by the light streaming from a shop-window, I saw an old gentleman drop something on the ground as he drew out his pocket-handkerchief. He went on without noticing the occurrence; and I picked up the object, which proved to be his purse. Gold glittered through the net-work at one end—silver was in the other. I ran after the gentleman as hard as I could, hoping to receive a reward for my trouble; but I could not find him. Thinking he had entered some house in the street, I waited for nearly an hour—but still he appeared not. It came on to rain hard: I was soon wet through to the skin, for my clothes were old and tattered; and the pangs of hunger were now dreadful. The idea of using a small portion of the money in the purse, by degrees grew stronger and stronger in my mind. I thought of poor Marion, who was famished as well as myself;—the temptation was too strong—and I yielded. Rushing to a baker's shop, I procured bread: thence I proceeded to a general-dealer's, and purchased a little tea, sugar, butter, and other necessaries. I then returned home, and told Marion that a charitable gentleman had given me half-a-crown, and that I was also promised work. 'Alas! my poor brother,' she said, 'you are compelled to think of supporting me as well as yourself: but it will not be for long, Tim,' she added: 'I feel it _there_ now,'—and she touched her forehead,—'as well as _here_,'—and she placed her hand on her heart.—I burst into tears, and implored her not to talk in that mournful way. She shook her head, sighing piteously—but said nothing.

"Next day I went out and remained absent until night. When I came home again I said that I had obtained work, at the rate of two shillings a day and was to be paid every evening. So I laid two shillings on the table. I forgot to observe that the purse contained about eleven pounds in gold and silver; and I was determined to dole it out in such a way that Marion should not suspect me of deceiving her. As often as the gaol regulations would permit, she visited her husband; for the little comforts which I was now able to provide for her, restored her strength in a trifling degree—at all events, sufficiently so to enable her to drag her drooping form along to the dungeon which held all she deemed most dear. Once only did I see George before the day of his trial; for Marion preferred to visit him alone. He was greatly affected at beholding us together, and thanked me for my kindness towards my sister.

"At last, after the lapse of about three months, the Assizes commenced; and on the second day the trial came on. George had counsel to defend him: for I supplied the means from the purse, having invented some tale to account for the possession of the requisite sum to fee the barrister, so that Marion was satisfied. It was with the greatest difficulty that I could persuade her to remain at home during the proceedings, at which I was compelled to be present as a witness. I need not detail all the particulars of the evidence given against my unhappy brother-in-law: circumstances all told in his disfavour, and the observation which he had let slip, '_I shall do another murder_,' was made the most of by the counsel for the prosecution. I was examined, and I swore that I had quitted the prisoner at the lime-kiln at a quarter to ten on the night in question. It was proved that it was not until _past_ ten that the gamekeeper accompanied the Squire to the neighbourhood of the fatal place; and therefore no questions were put likely to embarrass me. The counsel for the defence argued most ingeniously in George's favour; but the Judge summed up against him.[32] The Jury did not deliberate ten minutes; and the verdict was _Guilty_! George was standing in the dock all the time that the Jury were whispering together and when the foreman pronounced his doom; and a slight muscular twitching of the lips was the only sign of emotion. The Judge put on the black cap,[33] and sentenced him to death in the usual horrible terms. I must confess that, though I had but little room in my soul for reflection of any kind—so much was it occupied with the _one_ dreadful fact of the day—I shuddered and looked with loathing upon the Judge,—to hear that old man, himself having one foot in the grave, uttering such a disgusting, cruel, and inhuman sentence as this:—'_You shall be taken back to the place whence you came, and thence to a place of execution, where you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead!_' Then, when man has done his worst, and will not forgive nor attempt to reform the criminal, the awful atrocity concludes with the damnable mockery—'_And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul!_' I call it a mockery, because it is insulting to heaven to invoke that pity and compassion which human beings so positively refuse. But then the old Judge was a mere mouthpiece through which the blood-thirsty law spoke; and he was compelled to do a duty for which he was so well paid. Still I loathed that old man who could _sell_ his feelings for money, and who could be allured by the temptation of a large income to undertake an office which constrained him to doom his fellow-creatures to die the deaths of mere dogs. I wondered whether he could sleep comfortably in his bed afterwards; and I thought at the time that I would sooner be the veriest beggar crawling on the face of the earth, than a Judge with all his money—all the respect shown to him—and all his titles of Lordship!

"But I have wandered away from my subject. Poor George was removed from the dock:—I mean, he accompanied the turnkeys back to the gaol; for he walked as firmly as I could do at this moment. I now had a most dreadful duty to perform—to convey the result to Marion. But I hastened back to her, fearful lest she should learn that result from lips which might not break the horrible tidings slowly to her. When I entered the garret where I had left her, I found her on her knees praying aloud and fervently. The sight was too much for me; and I burst into tears. She rose slowly, took me by the hand, and said, 'Tim—dear Tim, you need not attempt _to break it gently to me_, as I know you have come to do. I feel—something tells me, indeed—that it is all over: and I have been long prepared for this awful moment! I have never allowed myself to indulge in vain hopes. The world, I was convinced, would persecute my poor husband until it drove him to——but I cannot, cannot say where! That he was guilty of the deed, Tim, I have known all along; and, dreadful as that deed was, I could not reproach him for it. He was goaded to desperation by wrong heaped upon wrong; and, instead of being treated as a criminal, he should be looked upon as a victim himself.'—Marion had spoken with an unnatural calmness, which made me tremble lest her reason was deserting her; but when she had concluded her address to me, she threw herself into my arms, and burst into a violent flood of weeping. I endeavoured to console her: she grew frantic. The command which she had maintained over herself throughout that dreadful day, and in the solitude of that garret, had tried her powers of endurance too severely; and now that her long pent-up anguish burst forth, it was awful in the extreme. 'Oh! my God!' I exclaimed; 'what have we done that we should be thus tortured on earth, as if we were in hell?'—and then I thought of the crime I had committed in appropriating the contents of the purse to my own use—and I felt ashamed. But in a few moments other feelings came over me: it struck me that there was no use in being good. Old Dalton—my father—my mother—poor Marion—and, until the date of that one deed, myself,—none of us had ever been wicked—and yet, how awfully had we suffered. The three first had positively been _killed_ by misfortune. And George too,—there was not a more upright, honourable, generous-hearted man in existence than he, until oppression and cruel wrong wrought a change in his nature. Such were my thoughts; and again I asked myself, what was the use of being good? From that moment I determined to do as I saw the world doing around me.

"The execution was fixed for the second Thursday after the trial, which took place on a Tuesday; and during the interval Marion saw her husband three times. I accompanied her on each occasion; for I was afraid to allow her to venture out alone. George maintained his courage in an astonishing manner; but never alluded to the crime in our presence. He showed the greatest affection towards his wife, and the warmest attachment for me; and implored her not to give way more than she could help to grief on his account. The third interview was on the evening previous to the fatal day; and that was heart-rending indeed. Marion, no longer resigned and enduring, was absolutely frantic; and she was borne away, raving wildly, from the condemned cell. I managed to get her home; and some female lodgers in the same house put her to bed. A surgeon was sent for, and he pronounced her to be in the greatest danger. I sate up with her all that night, throughout which she slept at intervals, awaking to rave after her '_dear murdered husband_!' Had she not been my sister, I never could have supported the horrors of that awful night. Towards morning she seemed quite exhausted, and fell into a deep slumber. The execution was to take place at twelve precisely; and I hoped, sincerely hoped, that she might sleep until all should be over. Hour after hour passed—eleven o'clock struck, and still she slept. Every now and then she started convulsively, and murmured the name of her husband. Oh! how anxiously did I then wait for the chimes that proclaimed the quarters! and how slowly went the time! 'Poor George! what are your feelings now?' I kept repeating to myself. A quarter past—half-past eleven,—a quarter to twelve,—these had all struck, and still she slept. As I sate by her bed-side, I could hear the rushing crowds in the street below; and I also heard all the lodgers hastening down the stairs to witness the execution! But still Marion slept; and, in the bitterness of my own grief, this circumstance was a slight consolation.

"At length the chimes announced the hour—the fatal hour! Scarcely had they done playing, when Marion awoke with a sudden start, and raised herself to a sitting posture in the bed. Wildly she glanced around—and again she started fearfully as, the chimes being over, the clock began to strike the hour. '_One—two—three_,' she began in a tone of piercing anguish; and on she went counting the strokes till her tongue had numbered _twelve_! 'My God! 'tis the hour!' she exclaimed, with a dreadful shriek; then extending her arms wildly, she cried, 'I come, George—I come!' and fell back heavily in the bed, as if shot through the heart. She was no more!

"It appeared that the drop fell about half a minute after the last stroke of twelve; and, therefore, by a strange chance, poor George must have breathed his last almost at the very instant when Marion uttered those words so wildly—'_I come! I come!_'—Thus died my persecuted brother-in-law and my poor sister; and I was now left alone—friendless—unprotected in the wide world.

"A strange whim now suddenly entered my head: I would bury the remains of the ill-fated couple in the same grave! Such was my idea; and so determined was I to carry it into execution that I set out deliberately and calmly for the purpose of robbing some one to obtain the means for the purpose. When I got into the street I found the crowds dispersing after having witnessed the execution of my brother-in-law. How I loathed the inhuman creatures, who had shown such eager curiosity to view the last struggles of a man hung up like a dog by the blood-thirsty mandates of the law! Some were laughing and joking together as they walked along; and such observations as these caught my ears:—'How game he died, didn't he?'—'That Jack Ketch is a devilish clever fellow at his business!'—'It was the best turnoff I have seen for a long time.'—'I propose that we don't go to work to-day. Let's make a holiday of it? For my part, I never fail to attend all executions that take place in the county, and I always look upon it as a holiday; just like Easter Monday or Whit Monday for instance.'—'What fun it was to see that old chap whom I bonneted in the crowd! How he did curse and swear just as the parson was reading the last prayer on the scaffold!'—'I never had such a jolly good lark in my life. I had my arm round Tom Tiffin's wife's waist all the time.'—'What a precious sight of pickpockets there was in the crowd!'—These, and a hundred other observations of the same kind, met my ears as I walked along the streets through which the people were returning from the execution. At length I passed the door of a public news-room; and there several gentlemen were standing, in conversation about the hideous spectacle, which one of them had witnessed, and which this individual was describing with wonderful minuteness to his companions. I pretended to be looking at some pictures in the shop-window, but was in reality surveying the group, thinking that one of them might become paymaster (though against his will) for the funeral of my sister and brother-in-law.—'You don't mean to say that the woman really did it?' cried one of the gentlemen.—'I mean to say,' answered the person who had witnessed the execution, 'that immediately after the criminal was dead, or rather as soon as he had ceased to struggle, the woman went up on the scaffold and the executioner put the murderer's hand upon her face to cure the King's evil; and when she had gone down again, a countryman ascended to the platform, and was touched in the same way for a wen which he had got upon his head. I saw it all myself.'—'Well, I could scarcely believe it,' said the other gentleman who had spoken.—'I will lay you ten guineas,' exclaimed the one who had witnessed the execution, 'that if you ask any other person who was present, he will tell you the same thing: and, thus speaking, the gentleman drew out his purse. His friend, however, declined the wager; and the purse was re-consigned to the pocket, but not before I had seen enough of it to convince me that its contents were worth having. I felt the less remorse in robbing that man, because he had described, with such methodical cold-bloodedness, all the minute details of the execution; and, availing myself of on opportunity when the group had got deep into a loud and excited discourse on the incidents of touching for the King's evil and the wen, I managed to extract the purse in even a far more skilful manner than I had expected. The robbery was not immediately perceived; and I got clear away.

"On returning to my miserable garret, and by the side of the bed whereon lay the remains of my once beautiful and amiable sister, I counted the contents of the purse. 'Eleven guineas!' I murmured to myself; and, as I glanced tremblingly at the corpse, it actually seemed to me at the moment as if an expression of deep gloom and sorrow suddenly passed over its countenance. 'Oh! my sister—my dear sister!' I cried; 'I have done it for your sake:'—and then, unable to remain any longer near one who seemed to reproach me even in death, I hurried away to the prison to claim the body of my brother-in-law. This request was granted without difficulty; and in the course of the day the husband and wife lay together upon the same bed—side by side—motionless, white, and cold,—the former murdered by the law, the latter by cruel wrong and diabolical oppression. The undertaker had received my instructions, and the preparations for the funeral were in progress. But two nights did I pass in the same room with those dead bodies; for, although I was afraid, yet something seemed to whisper to me within, that it would be heartless and cruel to abandon even those inanimate remains until the grave should close over them! And as I sate by their side, while a candle burnt dimly on the table, I thought to myself, 'All this tremendous amount of sorrow, calamity, and woe has been caused by a wealthy and unprincipled landlord! Had it not been for Squire Bulkeley, those two would still have been alive, and would have been happy, prosperous, and useful to society. But the tenant or the small landowner has no chance against the proprietor of great estates, if the latter chooses to be a tyrant. The herring has as much right as the whale to swim in the waters which God has made; and yet the whale swallows up the herring! So is it with the great and the small landholder!'

"Well, the funeral took place—and there were four mourners, one real and three sham. The real one was myself—the three sham were the undertaker and two of his dependants. Nevertheless, my aim was accomplished: George and his wife slept in the same grave; and the money of a man who had greedily devoured the hideous spectacle of public strangulation had served to bury them! In spite of my grief I chuckled at this idea; it seemed something like retributive justice. I had now no object in staying at Winchester; and, with eleven shillings in my pocket, I set out to walk to London. During my journey I passed the chalk-pit where the dreadful deed had taken place—I passed it purposely, because I now wanted to harden my mind as much as possible, for I saw it was no use for a poor friendless orphan like me to think of being honest. In the most civilised country (as it is called) in the world, I had seen such abominable acts of oppression perpetrated, under colour of law, that I envied those naked savages in islands a great way off of whom I had read in books; _for I thought that it was better to be barbarians without the pretence of civilisation, than to be barbarians with that pretence_. I had heard a great deal said by my father, by old Mr. Dalton, and also by the clergyman from the pulpit, about the paternal nature of the English Government; but I now began to perceive that it had been mere delusion on the part of my well-meaning parent and Mr. Dalton, and rank hypocrisy and wanton deception on the part of the parson. All I could now think of the paternal Government was, that it favoured institutions by means of which poor men might be driven to desperation, and then they were coolly and quietly hanged for the deeds to the perpetration of which they had been so goaded. I began to look upon the English people as the most chicken-hearted and contemptible nation in the world for allowing the aristocracy to ride rough-shod over them; whereas the great and high-minded French people, as I had read in books, had risen up like one man and overthrown _their_ aristocracy altogether.[34] But let me continue my history. Having passed by the chalk-pit—the fatal chalk-pit—I visited the immediate neighbourhood of the farm-house where a happy family had once dwelt—my own! Now it was tenanted by strangers. I went on, and came to the house to which George Dalton had borne my sister Marion a blooming bride: that tenement was now deserted—and it struck horror to my heart to observe—or rather to _feel_—that death-like silence which pervaded a place where the joyous laugh of George Dalton and the musical voice of my dear sister had once been heard. O God! that so much misery should have fallen upon _two_ families who strove so hard to live honestly and in peace with all mankind!

"The tears streamed down my face as I turned back into the high road and pursued my way towards London. I now thought, as I went along, that if I could, _possibly_ obtain honest employment in the great city, honest I would endeavour to remain,—I say _remain_, because although I had committed two thefts, yet I was far from being utterly depraved. The tears which painful remembrances had called forth, had softened my heart; and the image of my lamented sister appeared to urge me to virtue. Armed with this resolution, I proceeded towards the metropolis. It was evening when, after two days' fatiguing journey, I entered London, and put up at a miserable lodging-house in the window of which I saw a bill stating that single men might have a bed for fourpence a night. Eight hours' good rest gave me strength and spirits to begin my search after employment. I went into the City and inquired at several warehouses if a light porter was wanted. Having met with many refusals, and being wearied with walking about, I went into a public-house to get some refreshment; and happening to mention my situation to the landlord, he very kindly recommended me to apply at a certain warehouse which he named and where he knew that a porter was wanted. I did so, and was fortunate enough to succeed in obtaining the place, with a salary of twelve shillings a week.

"I commenced my new avocation on the following morning, and exerted myself to the utmost to obtain the good opinion of my master. I was regular in the hours of attendance, and frequently remained behind at the office, when the clerks had departed, to finish the labours which had been assigned to me in the morning. I was economical and prudent in my expenditure; and the pittance which I received was ample to keep myself. At the expiration of four months from the time when I first entered this establishment, I had entirely gained the confidence of my employer. My salary was increased; and I began to think that fortune was once more inclined to smile upon me; when a circumstance occurred which convinced me that the long lane of life had not yet taken a turn. My employer one morning desired me to proceed to a particular address, at the West End of the Town, and insist upon the payment of a bill, which, in the course of business, had fallen into his hands, and which had been protested. I instantly set out for the place intimated; and, having inquired for the gentleman, whose name was familiar enough to me, though I could not suspect the identity which proved to be the case. I was shown into an elegant apartment, where a gentleman was sitting with his face to the fire and his back to the door, smoking a cigar. 'Who the devil's that?' demanded the occupant of the room, without turning his head, but in a voice which was not unknown to me. 'If you're a dun, I ain't at home.'——'I have called for payment——,' I began.—'Holloa! who have we here?' ejaculated the gentleman; and, rising from his chair, he disclosed the features of the magistrate who had first committed George Dalton for poaching. 'What! Tim Splint!' he cried: 'is this you?'—'It is I, the brother-in-law of the man whom you helped to persecute,' I returned, equally surprised at this unexpected encounter.—'No impudence, my good fellow,' said the magistrate, very coolly; 'or else I shall be compelled to kick you out of the room. But what vulgar thing have you got in your hand there?'—'A bill, with your name to it, and the payment of which I am come to require,' was my immediate answer.—'Oh! that's it—is it?' ejaculated the magistrate, casting his eyes over the document which I displayed to his view. 'Well, let me see, how shall I pay this? In Bank notes, or by kicking you out of the house, or by recommending the holder to read his bill again this day six months? Oh, I have it;'—and, sitting down to an elegant writing-table, he penned a hasty note, sealed it, and desired me to give it to the person who had sent me. I then withdrew, anxious to avoid a dispute which would be perfectly useless, and which would probably prejudice the interests of my employer. I returned to the office in the City, and delivered the note. The merchant opened it, and his countenance changed as he perused its contents. For some moments he remained absorbed in thought; and then, apparently acting in obedience to a sudden impulse, passed the note to me, who had been anxiously watching the strange demeanour of my master. The letter contained the following words:—'_Mr.——would be much obliged to the holder of his acceptance, for a hundred and sixty-eight pounds, if he would forbear from sending the brother of a man who has been hanged, to demand the amount, as such persons are by no means welcome at the abode of Mr.——, however well they may suit the holder of his bill. The meaning of this request would be ascertained, were the porter Timothy Splint, questioned as to his connexion with the murderer George Dalton._'—I folded up the letter, returned it to my employer, and said, 'I cannot deny the truth of its contents; but I am innocent, although my poor brother-in law died on the scaffold.'—'You should have been candid at the commencement,' interrupted my employer, firmly but mildly. 'Whether you are innocent or not, matters not now. Had you told me your real position when you first came to me, I should have admired your frankness, and given you a fair trial. As it is, we must part at once.'—I attempted to justify my silence respecting the ignominious end of my relative; but the merchant was inexorable in his determination not to hear any thing in the shape of an explanation. He paid me the wages due to me, with a sovereign over, and dismissed me.

"I forthwith began to look after a new situation; and I remembered the parting words of the merchant whom I had left, resolving to be candid in the first instance, when soliciting a new place. My duties at my recent situation had compelled me to visit other mercantile firms on many occasions; and I had formed the acquaintance of several of the persons employed in those establishments. To some of them I repaired to ascertain where vacancies were to be filled up; and, having obtained a considerable list, I set out upon a round of applications. The first house I inquired at was that of a general merchant and warehouseman, who required a porter and collector of monies.—'Have you ever served in that capacity before?' was the first demand.—'I was in the employ of a highly respectable merchant,' I returned, mentioning his name, 'whose service I only left a few days ago.'—'I remember that you were engaged there; I thought your face was familiar to me,' said the merchant. 'And I also recollect that I heard you spoken of in the highest possible terms,' he continued; 'indeed, you were represented to me as being invaluable in your particular department. But, of course, you did not leave your late employer for any misconduct on your part?'—'Not at all, sir,' was my answer. 'I must, however, explain a certain circumstance——.'—'Well, I will just send round, merely for the form's sake, you know, and ascertain that it is all right; and if you will call to-morrow morning, I have no doubt I shall be enabled to give you a favourable answer.'—'I must really, sir,' said I, 'speak to you very seriously for a moment before you take any trouble on my behalf. If you will have the kindness to listen to me, I shall explain my real position. The truth is, though perfectly innocent of any crime myself, I have the misfortune to be related to a persecuted man, who was driven by despair to commit a deed for which he suffered on the scaffold.'—'The scaffold!' ejaculated the merchant in dismay.—'Yes, sir,' I continued, hastily endeavouring to give a full explanation; 'and if you will but permit me to tell you in a few words the melancholy history, you will see no reason to be displeased with my candour. On the contrary, you will, I am sure, pity me, sir.'—'I thank you for such candour,' interrupted the merchant, buttoning up his breeches-pockets, and locking his desk; 'but I regret that, under circumstances, I cannot think of taking you into my service.'—'But do pray listen to me, sir,' I exclaimed: 'you are doubtless a man of sense, of justice, and of impartiality; and I appeal to you——.'—'My good young man, it is no use to take up my time,' interrupted the merchant impatiently; 'I am certainly not going to receive you into my service, under existing circumstances.'

"I was compelled to take my departure. I left the house, ashamed and abashed—fearful that my evil doom was sealed—afraid to look those whom I met in the face—and fancying that every one seemed to know who and what I was. But a few moments' reflection taught me to believe that I had no reason to anticipate failure every where, because I had met with a repulse in one place. I accordingly proceeded to another establishment where a light porter was also required. The head of this firm was a venerable old man, with long grey hair falling over his coat-collar, a bald head, and a huge pair of silver spectacles on his nose. There was altogether something so kind, so unassuming, and so philanthropic in the appearance of this individual, that I was immediately inspired with confidence. I began my narrative, and related the main incidents, without interruption from my hearer, who listened to me with the greatest attention and apparent interest.—'My good young man,' said the merchant, taking off his spectacles, and wiping them, 'I feel deeply for you. Every word which you have told me, I firmly believe; your manner and your language inspire me with confidence. Merciful God! into what a state would society be plunged if innocence that had been wronged, could not obtain the credence of those to whom it offered its justification! I repeat, I am interested in you; I feel deeply for you. You have had your share of misfortune, poor young man! Most sincerely do I hope that your future prospects will not be equally embittered. I have a son of just your age;—he has gone to the East Indies in a free-trader in which I have a share; and, if it were only for his sake, I should feel interested in you, for you resemble him in person. Heaven! what a world this is! Why, man is a cannibal in a moral sense, for he is constantly devouring his fellow-man! Upon my word, I could weep, I could shed tears, when I think of the misfortunes which you have endured.'—'I am overcome by your kind sympathy,' said I, now certain that this time I had encountered the man who would not allow my misfortunes to stand in the way of my appointment to the vacant situation. 'How much did you receive per week at your last place?' asked the old gentleman.—I named the sum.—'And what hours did you keep?'—This question I also answered.—'Was your master kind and considerate?' proceeded the venerable merchant, in a compassionate tone of voice.—'He was very kind in his manners; but at parting he behaved harshly and ungenerously, when he discovered all I have just told you; and I think I had reason to complain.'—'Ah! it was cruel, it was ungenerous,' said the venerable old gentleman, musing. 'But don't you see,' he added, 'that as society is at present constituted, and I admit that its constitution is vitiated in the extreme, it is impossible for a man who depends upon the world for his subsistence, to act contrary to the received notions and usual habits of that world. Now, for my part, I should be glad, I should be delighted to take you in a moment; but I dare not. I am very sorry, but I really _would_ strain a point to serve you, if I possibly could.'—You may suppose that I was astonished at this announcement. I had made sure of the situation from the first moment that the old merchant had addressed me; and I now saw my hopes cruelly and fatally defeated. With a heavy heart I went away; and the tears ran down my cheeks, as I reflected upon all I had just heard. Never did my situation in the world appear more lonely—never more truly desperate!

"My position was too hopeless to allow me to apply at another mercantile establishment for upwards of an hour. It required that interval to soothe and soften down my feelings; and I then ventured into the warehouse of an export merchant upon a very extensive scale, whose name was down upon my list. I was introduced into the presence of a young man, who wore a large blue figured satin stock with an enormous gold pin, and a chain hanging over an elegant silk waistcoat. This gentleman sate on one side of a desk; and his partner, who was dressed as well as he was, occupied the other. I immediately attracted their attention; and the elder partner, laying down his pen, exclaimed, 'Why, you're a devilish smart looking fellow. Here, sit down and take a glass of porter; you seem tired. By the bye, we haven't had our cigars yet, Dick,' he added, addressing his partner; 'let's smoke and talk over this business at the same time. Sit down, my man: we have no humbug about us, I can tell you.'—And so indeed it appeared; for the two gentlemen produced cigars and bottled porter, and I was very soon engaged in a most comfortable chat with them. At length they began to speak about the business which had taken me there, and when I told them my story in a straight-forward manner, they declared, with an oath, that 'they would take me on my word, and that they didn't want any damned reference, or any thing of that kind.' The terms were agreed upon, and I was to commence my duties on the following morning. When I took my leave the two partners shook hands with me, expressing their conviction that 'I was a damned good fellow and understood what was what,' and also that 'I was just the kind of bird they had some time been looking for.' I accordingly entered on this new place; but I had not been there long, before I began to notice, though I was regularly paid, that a great many persons called for money, and never could obtain a settlement of their accounts. On some occasions the partners were denied, although they were in the counting-house, drinking and smoking; and then the applicants were very much disposed to be insolent, making use of such terms as 'swindlers,' 'rogues,' &c. Some would express their conviction 'that it was all a regular _do_,' while others felt equally certain 'that it was nothing but a _plant_.' There was also another circumstance which astonished me; and that was the singular mode in which the business of the firm was conducted. No sooner did the bales of goods arrive by the front door, than they were carried out at the back, and sent away in vans. Altogether it was a most extraordinary firm; and one morning I discovered that the doors were closed, the partners had bolted, and the City-officer was inquiring after them, in consequence of a warrant which he had with him for their apprehension. Thus I lost a place where the duties were easy, but where the respectability attached to it was not very likely to increase my own.

"I was thus thrown once more upon the world; and again was I compelled to look out for a situation. I applied at numerous warehouses and offices; but when I stated my real condition,—when I revealed the secret that I was related to a man who had been hanged,—I was thrust from the doors of some, reproached for my impertinence in calling by others, and treated with coolness or contempt by a third set of men. No one seemed to believe that I could possibly be honest. Day after day saw the renewal of disappointment, and that sickening at the heart which leads to despair;—night after night did I return to my lodging, to meet a landlady who wanted the money I owed her. At last she would have no further patience; and one night when I went back late, she poked her head out of a window, desiring me to begone and loading me with abuse. I slunk away, almost-heartbroken at the treatment I had just received, and at the deplorable situation to which I was reduced. Accident, or rather necessity, conducted me back to the low lodging-house at which I had put up on my first arrival in London; and there I fell in with some persons who were very willing to assist me in a certain way. In fact they proposed that I should join them in a robbery which they were arranging; and after vainly struggling with my better feelings, I consented. It is no use to tell you how I got on from bad to worse:—you can both very well guess how it is that when once a man gets regularly into this line, he seldom or ever gets out of it again till his career is cut short by transportation or the scaffold."

Thus terminated Tim the Snammer's History, which, as we stated at the conclusion of the preceding chapter, we have greatly modified in style and changed in language, without however omitting, altering, or exaggerating any one incident, nor any one sentiment.

It was now late; and the Snammer took his leave of Josh Pedler and Matilda Briggs, having promised to call again next day, and arrange with the former the contemplated robbery of Old Death.

Footnote 30:

Taken as a body, there is not a more infamous and tyrannical set of authorities on the face of the earth than the unpaid magistracy of England. How the high spirited people of this country can endure such an atrocious system, is to us surprising. Almost entirely irresponsible—chosen on account of their wealth and influence in their respective counties, but without the least reference to their abilities—and, by the very circumstances of their position, opposed to the interests of the masses, the justices of the peace are so many diabolical tyrants vested with a power which completely coerces the industrious and labouring classes. If it be necessary to have _paid barristers_ as magistrates in the cities and great towns, why should not the same rule apply to smaller towns and to rural districts? To invest an irresponsible, narrow-minded, and prejudiced body of men with such immense powers as those wielded by magistrates, is a foul blot upon our civilisation. Prison-chains, fines, and treadmills are at the disposal of these justices; and the use they make of their power proves that the entire system on which their attributes and jurisdiction are based, deserve universal execration. Thousands and thousands of honest, well-meaning, hard-working families have been ruined by this hierarchy of terrestrial fiends. Talk of the freedom of the British subject, and boast of the trial by jury! Why, any magistrate, by his own _single_ decision, can award heavy fines or months of imprisonment! The unpaid magistracy exists as a protection and also as an agency for the infernal Game Laws. Their local powers and influence give them immense weight in general elections, for poor people are afraid to offend them. But the worst kind of unpaid magistrates are the clergymen who are in the commission of the peace. These men usually act more like off-shoots of the Czar of Russia than as magistrates in a civilised country and as ministers of the charitable and generous doctrines of the Christian faith.

Footnote 31:

This act is not only still unrepealed, but was put in force about eighteen months or two years ago, by certain county magistrates against two or three poor labourers.

Footnote 32:

It is generally understood that the Judge should be merely an expounder of the law affecting the cases brought under the cognizance of the court, and also a means of refreshing the memories of the jurymen by reading over his notes, or the salient points in them. At least, to our thinking, a Judge should never allow his own opinion on the point at issue to transpire. If he do, he is almost sure to bias the jury. But, unfortunately, nearly all the Judges in this country act in a dictational manner with regard to juries. They _direct_ the verdicts returned. This assumption on the part of the Judges of the privileges and attributes of juries, renders the latter perfectly unnecessary. For ourselves, we believe that trial by jury is in these islands a mere farce—an idle mockery—a contemptible delusion: the Judges are the real juries after all. And yet we boast of the institution! That institution would indeed be a glorious one, were the Judges to discharge their duties properly: _but, in nine cases out of ten, they do not_.

Footnote 33:

There is something uncommonly barbarous in many of our institutions and customs. Were it not associated with such solemn occasions, we should laugh at the mountebank piece of solemn humbug of the black cap—as if the Judge himself could not assume a demeanour serious and dignified enough for the awful and atrocious duty which the law imposes upon him in pronouncing death sentences. The custom of Judges and barristers disfiguring themselves in huge wigs is a mere relic of barbarism, and unworthy of a civilized age. If the law cannot maintain its solemn majesty without such wretched aids, heaven knows there must be something radically wrong either in the constitution of the tribunals themselves or in the conduct of the functionaries of justice. Away with all such mockeries and fools'-play as wigs and black caps, and let men distribute the justice _of_ men _as_ men, and not muffled up and disguised like old women. The maintenance of all customs which our barbarian ancestors handed down to us shows an aversion to _progress_ on the part of the Government and the Legislature. The wisdom of those ancestors existed, we imagine, only in the _wig_: let the wisdom of the present day show itself by the fact of discarding all useless pomp and vain ostentation.

Footnote 34:

"The Aristocracy of England, a History for the People," by John Hampden, Junior (the pseudonym of a very clever writer, whatever his real name and whoever he may be) is a work which should be read by all classes—by the aristocratic sections of society, because it may warn them of the impending storm; and by the middle and poorer grades, because it will shew them their oppressors in their true characters. This and William Howitt's "History of Priestcraft" (both published by Messrs. Chapman, Newgate Street) are glorious signs of the times in which we live. From the first-mentioned book we quote the ensuing passage:—

"Look at France. Every one is familiar with the dreadful condition to which its proud and imbecile aristocracy reduced it. Every one knows in what a storm of blood and terror the oppressed people rose and took an eternal vengeance on their oppressors. If we read the accounts of France, just previous to the Revolution, we cannot avoid being struck with a terrible similarity of circumstances and features with those of our own country now. Nay, the following description by their own historian, Thiers, seems to be that of England at present:—'The condition of the country, both political and economical, was intolerable. There was nothing but privilege—privilege vested in individuals, in classes, in towns, in provinces, and even in trades and professions. Every thing contributed to check industry and the natural genius of man. All the dignities of the state, civil, ecclesiastical, and military, were exclusively reserved to certain individuals. No man could take up a profession without certain titles, and the compliance with certain pecuniary conditions. Even the favours of the crown were converted into family property, so that the king could scarcely exercise his own judgment, or give any preference. Almost the only liberty left to the sovereign was that of making pecuniary gifts, and he had been reduced to the necessity of disputing with the Duke of Coigny for the abolition of a useless place. Every thing, then, was made immoveable property in the hands of a few, and every where these few resisted the many who had been despoiled. The burdens of the state weighed on one class only. The noblesse and the clergy possessed about two-thirds of the landed property; the other third, possessed by the people, paid taxes to the king, a long list of feudal _droits_ to the noblesse, tithes to the clergy, and had, moreover, to support the devastations committed by noble sportsmen and their game. The taxes upon consumption pressed upon the great multitude, and consequently on the people. The collection of these imposts was managed in an unfair and irritating manner; the lords of the soil left long arrears with impunity, but the people, upon any delay in payment, were harshly treated, arrested and condemned to pay in their persons, in default of money to produce. The people, therefore, nourished with their labour, and defended with their blood, the higher classes of society, without being able to procure a comfortable subsistence for themselves. The towns-people, a body of citizens, industrious, educated, less miserable than the people, could nevertheless obtain none of the advantages to which they had a right to aspire, seeing that it was their industry that nourished and their talents that adorned the kingdom.'—Is not that a wonderful fac-simile of our own present condition? But these circumstances produced revolution in France; what will they produce here! If they are allowed to continue they will produce the very same thing. The French historians assert, that had the cries of the people been listened to before they grew maddened with their miseries, there would have been reform instead of revolution, and their nation would have been spared the years of unexampled horror and self-laceration through which it had to wade. Now is the same saving crisis with us! The people, the most industrious of them in town and country, starve by tens of thousands, or lead a sort of half life in incessant labour, rags, and hunger. All parts of our social system call out for relief. The manufacturer, the farmer, equally complain; the agricultural labourers are reduced to a condition worse than serfdom—to a condition of unparalleled destitution; and in some districts gangs of them are driven to the field, as we learn from parliamentary reports, under gang-masters, and are lodged promiscuously like cattle—men, women, and children, in temporary booths, fitter for beasts than human beings. In many parts of this once happy country the agricultural labourers are getting but five and six shillings per week; while they are asked 8_l._ an acre for bits of land to set a few potatoes on."

The author of "THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON" would not have his readers imagine him to be in favour of "physical force." No—we abhor war even with foreign powers; but no words are strong enough to express our loathing and abhorrence of the bare idea of that infernal scourge—a civil war. Another quotation from the work of John Hampden, Junior, will serve to express also our opinions on the point:—

"The neglect of the public interest it extends to the whole frightful mass of _delegated taxation_, under which the nation groans, even more heavily than under the direct national imposts. The reviewer justly remarks that the maxim of legislators is 'Every one for himself, and the public for us all!' But could this state of things possibly exist if Englishmen did their duty, if they resolved to do their own _public_ business, as they do their private—to do it themselves, and not foolishly intrust to men who have shown themselves at once so incapable and so unworthy of trust in every respect? Is there any reason why the people of England, who conduct their commerce, their manufactures, their domestic trade and affairs so admirably, should not conduct the affairs of their government just as well if they were to set about it? Is there any reason that a man who guides a ship round the world, clear of rocks and breakers, should not as well help to steer the vessel of state? Why should not he who governs a steam-engine just as well govern or assist in governing a country? The great Oxenstiern, Chancellor of Sweden, said to his son, 'Mark, my son, with what a small stock of talent a nation may be governed.' But our aristocracy have for ages demonstrated that they do not even possess this 'small stock of talent,' or of as much honesty; and the remedy for the evils they have covered us with is as clear as the day-light:—_The power must be wrested from them!_' But how? By arms? No: Englishmen know too well the dangers of revolution: they have too much to lose; and they have too much humanity. The soil of England will not willingly drink in the blood of its children, as in the barbarous ages; the remedy is alike simple and conspicuous. It lies in one joint rising and stern demand of all and every class in the country. All—manufacturer and farmer, gentleman and ploughman, merchant and shop-man, artizan and labourer—all must combine, and with one dread voice, like another Cromwell, command the aristocrats to quit the people's house, and 'give place to better men.' This is the simple and sole remedy. A thousand evils are complained of. 'The whole head is sick and the whole heart is sore;' but 'THE GREAT ROOT OF ALL' is the usurpation of the Commons House of Parliament by the aristocracy. One party proclaims that the whole people is corrupted by the bribery of these patrician senators, and demand the _universal franchise_, and in that they demand the true and only remedy. But because some are for this, and some for that, and do not all join in the _hearty rending shout_ for the FRANCHISE—_that magic word in which lies the constitution_—that cure for all bribery (for who can bribe thirty millions of people)—that guarantee for the steady maintenance of the constitution—for, once in the hands of the totality, the totality will never relinquish it again—they cry, but they cry in vain. Till we obtain the _franchise_ we obtain _nothing_; when we obtain _that_ we obtain _every thing_. Every petition, every demand, however stern or resolved, that asks for any thing short of the UNIVERSAL FRANCHISE, is the preparation of an absurdity, and the greatest of all absurdities. He is just as wise who asks short of this, as if he prayed the Pope to abolish the Catholic religion, or a Jew to give you all he is worth. The aristocracy have usurped the House of Commons—for what? Just for this very purpose—of resisting the proper demands of the people—of maintaining and perpetuating all the evils for whose removal you pray. It is true the people, combining on some great emergency—driven, as it were into this combination by some desperate pressure—may alarm the aristocracy into some individual concession, as in the case of the Reform Bill. But this is a stupendous exertion, a violent and convulsive sort of action in the political system, which wrests only, at the point of famine or national ruin, its own rights from the usurping party. Public opinion is said, in this country, to be the actual ruling power; but it is a fitful and irregular power. Like the Indian, or the boa-constrictor, it is aroused to action only by hunger or imminent impending danger; at the smallest return of ease it pauses; it becomes drowsy again, and the mischief goes on for another period. If public opinion really rules, it should lift itself to the necessary height of command, and do its work effectually. That would save us all much trouble. There is but one perfect permanent remedy—but one means of absolute cure for our perpetually recurring evils: _We must have these usurpers out of the people's house, and rule in it ourselves!_ and this is to be done only by insisting on _the franchise, the whole franchise, and nothing but the franchise_."