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DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN; 
 
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 oil, IHi^ 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A THIEF. 
 
 KDITED 
 
 BY AN OLD BAILEY BARRISTER. 
 
 LONDON; 
 W. M. CLARK, 17, WARWICK-LANE, PATERNOSTER- ROW 
 
• • • • 
 • ^ • • • • 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction 1 
 
 chapter i. — containing some incidents mofie clleditable to 
 the head than the heart of the hello of this 
 
 STORY 2 
 
 II. — MEETING WITH A VOKEL, WHO IS TAKEN IN AND DONE 
 
 FOR - . 4 
 
 III. — LOOKING ABOUT FOR LODGINGS IN A LOW NEIGHBOUR- 
 HOOD 7 
 
 IV. — HOW TO LET LODGINGS AD VANTAUEOU SL V ... 8 
 
 Y. — A VISIT TO THE THEATRE 10 
 
 VI. — SHOWING WHAT THE LETTERS LED TO . . . .11 
 
 A^II. — William's aitearance before the magistrate . 13 
 
 VIII. — AN EXPLANATION S03IEWHAT AFFECTINCi . . .14 
 
 IX. — SOME REFLECTIONS RESPECTING THE NEXT MOVE TO 
 
 BE MADE 22 
 
 X.— THE ANCIENTS 25 
 
 XI. — HOW TO PAY THE RENT - 29 
 
 XII. — SHOWING THAT POVERTY IS NO FRIEND TO VIRTUE . 30 
 
 XIII. — MARIA's first ATTE31PT , 34 
 
 XIV. — NOVEL MODE OF PAYJNG A DRAPER's BILL . . .37 
 
 XV. — AN HOUR IN BOW-STREET POLICE-OFFICE . . .42 
 
 XVI. — THE STORY OF AMELIA, OR THE FATAL I'lGHT . . 46* 
 
 XVII. — AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY 58 
 
 XVIII.— CONCLUSION 68 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 ii!;;''''':;iP'l!;|SS!i!'!';' 
 
 [The Robbery at Colonel Clavers's.] 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The following original aiitobiograpliy of an old offender is not, like some 
 
 romances of our modern authors, a highly-coloured picture of depravity, but 
 
 it is a plain unvarnished talc, a simple narrative of the most prominent facts 
 
 and circumstances of real life, exhibiting all the lights and shadows, the pains, 
 
 perils, and hair-breadth escapes of an old offender, drawn not from fancy nor 
 
 to suit the taste and please the palate of a particular class of individuals, whose 
 
 morbid feelings require to ])e kept in a continual state of excitement — it is no 
 
 exaggerated copy, but an original picture, showing, with respect to crime, 
 
 " The very ago and body of the time. 
 Its form and pressure.'' 
 
 M109847 
 
DEYERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CDyTAlVING SOME IKCIDENT9 MOBE CREDITABLE TO THE HEAD THAN THE 
 HEART OF THE HERO OF THIS STORY. 
 
 1 \\ AS SO wry young when my mother died, that I have not the most faint 
 recollection of her, and my father having, shortly after her death, married a 
 lady who had a fancy for the manly science of self-defence, and usually prac- 
 tised on my head, I soon considered it pi-udent to take leave of home, and try 
 what could be done upon town. I got enrolled as a member of a very pros- 
 perous " mob," and for a considerable time succeeded to the utmost of my 
 «'xpoctations. My fingers were well adapted to every branch of the profession 
 of which I liad become a member, and my legs were also of the utmost service 
 to me occasionally ; but accidents will sometimes occur to the most prudent 
 :iud most clever persons, and one happened to me, on a beautiful summer even- 
 ing, wliicli caused me to leave town for a season, and take up another course 
 of life. Accompanied by some of my companions, I paid a visit to the house 
 of Colonel Clavers, who then occupied a large mansion in one of the best 
 sijuares at the west-end, and having ascertained that the gallant Colonel had 
 gone abroad, we took the liberty to remove the greater part of his plate to the 
 house of a respectable .Tew, who paid us handsomely for it, and requested us 
 to fetch him the remainder. As the job was thought an easy one, I undertook 
 to do it myself], and went back to the colonel's for that purpose ; but, unfor- 
 tunately, I was discovered by a policeman as I was entering the window, and 
 there Wiis no other chance left mc but to retreat. I did so, and the conse- 
 •luence was, these constables hunted me for nearly half an hour, and it was 
 with the utmost difficulty I kept out of their clutches. They knew me well, 
 tlu'iefore as soon as I escaped from them I resolved to go into the provinces. 
 The next day I went to Greenwich, and having heard that a gentleman, wliom, 
 as I do not like to see blanks in the page, I shall call Hampton, wanted a 
 rvant, I determined to apply for the situation. It was then that I strongly 
 felt the truth of the oft-repeated words of lago— 
 
 " Who steals my purse steals trash ; 
 
 * * * 
 
 But ho that filches from me my good name, 
 Robs mo of that uliich not enriclieth him. 
 And makes me poor indeed." 
 
 I had frequently possessed myself of the purse of another, but what 1 then 
 had was of no service to me — it was ti-ash ; but the constables had succeeded 
 in filching from me my fair fame, and I was really poor indeed. Without a 
 character, what was the use of applying to Mr. Hampton ? However, I never 
 was checked by trifles, and, on this occa.sion I got over the difficulty without 
 much trouble. I called upon Mr. Hampton, and offered my services. 
 
 " Your appearance is not unfavourable to you," said JMr. Hampton ; "in 
 whoso omi)loy were you last ?"' 
 
 " f was in the serrice of Colonel Clavers," I replied at once ; and I requested 
 
 Ir. Hami)ton to apply to the Colonel, intimating that he would, I was sure, 
 i^ive me an excellent character. 
 
 " 1 shall write to the Colonel, and if you call to-morrow I will tell you what 
 answer he makes me," said Mr. Hampton. 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 3 
 
 I promised to do so, and as I was leaving the room he inquired my name. 
 That was a matter that I had not decided on ; indeed, the necessity for talcing- 
 to myself a new name had not before occurred to me but, after some hesita- 
 tion, I replied, " Smith, sii*." 
 
 " Smith ! strange— so many people of that name ; but it does very well for 
 a servant." 
 
 Of course I took no notice of this little piece of rudeness, and left the 
 honse. I knew very well that no answer could be received from Colonel 
 Clavers by the following day, as he was abroad, as already stated ; and I felt 
 pretty sure that Mr. pampton Avould not wait till he returned to this country 
 to get my character from him, and the probability, therefore, was, that I should 
 be taken without a character. 
 
 Every thing turned out as I had anticipated. When I called upon Mr. 
 Hampton, the next morning, he told me what I well knew, that the Colonel 
 was out of town ; but he said he would take me for a short time on trial. 
 This pleased me exceedingly ; not because I wished to relinquish my former 
 trade, but because concealment for a time was necessary, and in such a situ- 
 ation I was convinced I should be safe. Having entered upon my duties, I 
 found everything go on very agreeably ; the other servants pleased me, and I 
 studied to please them. My principal business was to drive my master's 
 daughter, a happy girl of sixteen yeai's of age, to and from a seminary for 
 young ladies, about four miles from the house, and as we were both rather 
 inclined to enjoy a little merriment occasionally, we laughed and talked in the 
 most familiar manner, after I had been only a few days in my new situation. 
 The housemaid, who had been about a year in the service of IMr. Hampton, 
 taught me my duties, and, as she was a pretty girl, artless and agreeable, I 
 smiled very sweetly upon her, and she felt pleased with my attentions. The 
 other servants also assisted me whenever I wished assistance, and every one 
 appeared inclined to be kind to me. However, it was clear that I could not 
 remain long in the country, and I began to feel tired of the monotonous life I 
 was obliged to lead. Miss Hampton and I became every day more intimate, 
 and an idea entered my head that she might not be disinclined to go to London 
 with me. I pondered over this idea for some time, and the more I thought of 
 the matter the better I liked the plan ; for, should she agree to ray proposals, 
 she would have an opportunity of taking with her money, jewellery, and other 
 property, sufficient to set me up in the highest walk of my profession in the 
 metropolis. A circumstance soon occurred which induced me to can-y out 
 my scheme without delay. The housemaid was in the habit of contributing a 
 small sum half-yearly for the support of her aged mother, and having received 
 her Avages, she laid aside a sovereign to send to her parent. I saw her do this, 
 and as I wanted money very much, I went to the place where she had put it, 
 and took the sovereign. Shortly afterwards I saAv the poor girl looking for 
 her money, and knowing perfectly well that she would soon discover it had 
 been stolen, I began to comidain of the loss of a pair of boots, in order to make 
 her believe that some thieves had been in the house, and had robbed me as 
 well as her. The game I played was successful. The housemaid wept bit- 
 terly for the loss of her money, because she had no more to send for the sup- 
 port of her parent, and I was loud in my lamentations for the loss of my boots, 
 which had not been stolen. But the tears of the tender-hearted girl affected 
 jne more than I had anticipated, and I wished that I had not robbed her ; 
 however, the money was in my pocket, and I could not take it out and return 
 
 B 2 
 
4 DEVERIL THE CllACKSMAX. 
 
 it without proclaiming myself a thief, therefore I kept it. She did not suspect 
 me, and continued as kind to me as she had ever been ; but the other servants 
 seemed to take a dislike to my company, and I thought that they considered my 
 conduct not altogether correct, and I therefore began to put my house in order. 
 The next day, when I drove the young kdy to school, I made the proposition 
 which I had been contemplating for some time, and, after a few easily over- 
 ruled objections, she entertained it, and agreed that our departure should take 
 place the following evening. My boxes were soon packed, and, agreeably to 
 my suggestion, Miss Hampton got together all the articles of jewellery which 
 were not kept under lock and key, and she also gave into my possession several 
 ai-tides of plate and some money, which I readily undertook the care of, and 
 as the shades of evening closed in we left the house. Thinking that we should 
 «oon be pursued, we avoided Loudon, and proceeded towards Woolwich. AVe 
 heard, shortly after our aiTival there, that messengers were despatched in 
 search of us in all directions, so that we were compelled to remain in close 
 concealment for several days. I very soon saw, that to remain in AVoolwich 
 would be exceedingly irksome ; but I did not know how we could safely get 
 to London. 80 far as I was concerned, I could have adopted a disguise, and 
 tiiken a route which would have easily rendered me secure ; but my com- 
 panion, a young and simple-hearted creature, -w ho had scarcely been a night 
 away from her father's roof before, could not assume the character and 
 endure the hardshii>s which were absolutely necessary to ensure our safety, 
 and I was, therefore, extremely puzzled to extricate myself from the dilemma. 
 Kirly on the morning of the third day, an idea struck me that it was unne- 
 cessary for us both to go to Loudon, and, therefore, before my companion 
 awoke, I packed up all the plate, jewellery, and other articles of value, and 
 left the i)lacc with them, taking the road to the metropolis, where I very soou 
 arrived in i)erfect safety. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MEETIXG WITH A YOKEL, WHO IS TAKEX IN' AJTD DOXE FOR. 
 
 London is certainly the only place where a gentleman and a man of talent 
 can find any d(»gree of pleasure. Although it is true I had only been a gentle- 
 man in the second degree for some time, w hen I arrived in town I again took 
 my real cluiracter, and became a gentleman at large. The proceeds of the 
 jewellery and i)late kept mo comfortably for a long time, and I certainly 
 enjoyed myself well. One day, being in the neighbourhood of Charing Cross, 
 a gentleman came up to me, and inquired the way to the Bull and Mouth. 
 " I am just going in that direction," said I, " and will show you the way." 
 He thanked me, and we walked along the streets together. I found that ho 
 had only recently come from the country, and that he was not a Yorkshireman, 
 therefore I resolved to make his acquaintance. I talked familiarly with him 
 upon various topics, and ho seemed to like my conversation. I pointed out 
 every thing of interest to him which we passed on our way, and I soon 
 discovered that lie was <iuite unacquainted with the streets ; therefore, I 
 determined to take him to a house in llolljorn, where I should have an oppor- 
 tunity of becoming more intimate with him. On our arrival, I proposed that 
 we should drink something together, to which he readily assented, and wu 
 went into the parlour. 
 
bEVERIL THE CHACKSMAl^. « 
 
 " This is a good house," said he, looking round the room, " and a respectable 
 place." 
 
 " Oh ! no doubt of it !" said I, "not a doubt of it ! I would not for all the 
 world go into a house of any other character ; for, really, sir, you don't know 
 what sort of people you may meet with in London ; you may be robbed by a 
 man who has all the appearance of a gentleman, and done for by a female who 
 seems to be quite a lady." 
 
 " Bless me ! I have heard of that," observed the yokel, arching his eyebrows, 
 and putting on a face of extreme astonishment. 
 
 " It is quite true," replied I ; " I have been robbed myself, and I know their 
 tricks from experience." 
 
 " Have you, indeed ? Well, I never !" 
 
 " No mistake about that; and if you don't take care you may be victimised 
 also." 
 
 "But, sir, I am always careful," said my friend; " I always keep away from 
 thieves." 
 
 That was not quite correct, I thought ; but I did not interrupt the gentleman. 
 
 " Pray, sir, how did you get robbed ?" 
 
 " Oh ! got my pockets picked, of course," I replied. "Never carry more than 
 ten or fifteen pounds with you, and that sum should always be kept in the fob." 
 
 « Tlie fob ?" 
 
 " Yes," said I, " it is safe nowhere else." 
 
 I spoke of the money as a feeler, to endeavour to ascertain what he had, 
 but he did not mention the sum. 
 
 " You see those persons at the top of the room ?" I said, directing his 
 attention to four or five individuals occupying a table at tlie further end of 
 the apartment. 
 
 " Yes ; who are they ? You don't mean to tell me they are thieves ?" ^ly 
 yokel seemed rather uncomfortable when he made this inquiry, and I thought 
 it necessary to allay his feai-s. 
 
 " No, strictly speaking, they are not ; but you mustn't trust them too much. 
 Two of them— tliose two you see writing— are what we here call penny-a- 
 liners — that is, they write accidents, inquests, and other little matters for the 
 newspapers, and are paid a penny for each line that is inserted. They are a 
 set of poor devils, and very often have neither shoes to their feet, nor coats to 
 cover their backs." 
 
 " Strange ! how, then, do the wretches live ?" 
 
 " Oh ! by their wits, generally. They manufacture accidents when none 
 occur, and hold inquests upon the bodies of persons alive and merry." 
 
 " Bless me, they must be hard pushed," observed the countryman, looking 
 towards the penny-a-liners with a countenance in which was depicted tlie 
 utmost commiseration. 
 
 " Yes, often hard up," said I. "Observe, one of them has finished his writ- 
 ing, and is going away. Very likely he will attempt to pass the bar without 
 paying. No, I am wTong ; for once he has left the money on the table : but, 
 by heavens ! lie has taken away the beaver of the gentleman sitting next to 
 him, and loft his old greasy gossanu^r in its stead. The gentleman has not yet 
 discovered his loss." 
 
 " Surely the man doesn't intend to steal the hat J" said my conq^anion, quite 
 shocked at the act of dishonesty he had just witnessed. 
 
 "He has made an exchange," said I, "and rather an advantageous one; 
 M hether that is stealing or not, I would not wish to say, but you may guesi> 
 
6 DEVEEIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 what it is. Now, you see, the other " liner " is going— observe if he takes the 
 other gentleman's hat. No, he has not taken it, ho has covered his head with 
 his own old one ; but, confound the rascal, he has put the money his companiou 
 left to pay his shot, in his pocket, and walked himself out at the back door. 
 Well, between them, they have done the artful trick uncommonly well." 
 
 My companion stared when he saw this second piece of knavery accom- 
 plished, but he did not say a word. He seemed struck dumb ; and, apparently 
 unconscious of what he was doing, he took a bundle of notes from his trow- 
 sers pocket, and proceeded to put them in his fob as I had advised him. 
 
 ** You are right, my friend," I observed ; " but you should never cany your 
 notes loose. Put them in this piece of paper, or I will put them up for you, 
 if you idease." 
 
 I took them out of his hand and wrapped them in a piece of brown paper, 
 and pretended to put them in his fob, but I easily substituted another piece of 
 brown paper for that which contained the notes, and with which the yokel 
 appeared equally well contented. 
 
 "That will do now," said I, pressing the paper to the bottom of his pocket. 
 
 "Thank you, sir, thank you." 
 
 " Your money will be quite safe now." 
 
 " Yes, this is the proper place to keep it," observed the countryman, feeling 
 the paper on the outside of his pocket. 
 
 " Did you ever play skittles ?" I now inquired, in order to take away his 
 thoughts from his money. 
 
 " Sometimes I play," he answered. 
 
 " Suppose wc have a game now." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied my companion. 
 
 We accordingly adjoui-ucd to the yard, and I left him there, pretending to 
 go back to the parlour for my handkerchief. It was now time to be off, and 
 taking up the yokel's hat, which was much superior to mine, 1 walked into 
 the bar, and told the landlord that my friend Avould pay the bill. 
 
 The next morning I read in the Ckronldc, under the head of " Police Intelli- 
 gence," the following whimsical account of the affair : — 
 
 "the old trick again. 
 
 " A countryman applied to the magistrate for advice under the following 
 circumstances : — 
 
 " He said that he met a gentleman at Charing Cross, of whom he inquired 
 the way to the Bull and Mouth ; but the gentleman (who turned out to be 
 one of those shaipers who live by ringing the changes) took him to a public- 
 house in Uolborn, where he contrived to get his money to put in his fob, and 
 in doing so he substituted for the notes a piece of brown paper. 
 
 " Magistrate : Did you lose nmcli, my good man ? 
 
 "Countryman : Yes, sir, £15— all the money I had. 
 
 " Alagistrate : I really pity you, but I do not know how I can assist you ; 
 you had better give information to the police. 
 
 " Countryman : He stole ray liat too, your worsliip. (A laugh). 
 
 " Magistrate : Indeed ! really you have been very ill*used. Is there any 
 address in the hat he left you ? 
 
 « Countryman (looking into tlie hat) : Wliy, all I see here is, 'Stolen from 
 Mr.C.» (Laughter). 
 
 " The magistrate said that the police only could assist him, and the poor 
 countryman withdrew, appai*entiy very much dejected," 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LOOKING ABOUT FOU LODGINGS IN A LOW NEIGHBOUEHOOD. 
 
 Thinking I might now venture upon having a settled place of residence, I 
 went to St. Giles's to look out for a lodging. I like that neighbourhood, be- 
 cause I generally find friends there. Seeing, in a neat little window, a bill 
 with « Lodgings for a Single Man— done for, if required," written upon it, I 
 thought the place would just suit me, and I walked in. A young girl of a 
 very prepossessing appearance, but rather melancholy, appeared, and ushered 
 me into the apartment to let. I at once saw that I could not lodge there, for 
 there was nothing in the room but an old mattress and chair. 
 
 " Is this the room you have to let ?" said I. 
 
 " After to-morrow you may have this one, but you can be accommodated in 
 tliis room to-night," answered the girl, pushing open the door of a small closet, 
 which was even more miserably furnished than the one in which we were, 
 having only a mattress and a great coat, of a very antique shape and appear- 
 ance, for a counterpane or covering. 
 
 I sat down and endeavoured to enter into conversation with the girl, being 
 somewhat curious to ascertain something about the keeper of such an extra- 
 ordinary lodging-house, but she seemed disinclined to say much, and, indeed, 
 appeared rather anxious that I would not trouble her. 
 
 " You do not appear to have more than the necessary furniture here," I 
 observed. 
 
 " It is meanly furnished, sir, but I cannot make it better. It should not be 
 in this state, if I could help it," she answered, with a sort of sorrowful yet 
 mysterious air, which I could not help noticing, and I certainly did not quite 
 like her manner now. 
 
 " The place is rather dark, too," I remarked, looking at the little window, 
 which, although clean, admitted very little light." 
 
 " It is, sir, but I can get a candle, and you can see it better if you wish," 
 she replied ; and without giving me time to tell her that I saw the room well 
 enough, she went out for a light, leaving me alone in the little apartment. 
 
 Around the room there was an appearance of cleanliness, combined with 
 extreme poverty. The girl herself appeared young, and very unlike the land- 
 lady of a lodging-house ; so that my curiosity to know more of her prompted 
 me to wait her return, and make some further enquiries respecting her apart- 
 ments. I thought I saw something on the mattress which did not before at- 
 tract my attention : it was covered with an old white counterpane, which 
 evidently had bleached in the sun of more summers than one, although, from 
 the care which had been taken of it, it was not yet quite unserviceable. Ap- 
 proaching this miserable pallet, I gently lifted the counterpane, when, to ray 
 utter astonishment, I beheld the ghastly features of an elderly man, who had 
 evidently been dead for some time. His face was oi a paleish blue colour, his 
 lips were contracted, but his mouth was partly open, and his strong grisly 
 hair covered the greater part of his forehead. The sight made me shudder, 
 and I quickly covered the corpse again with the counterpane, and in doing so, 
 I thought I discovered upon it two or three spots of blood. My heart beat 
 quicker than usual| qu makiog this discovery. I imagined I had found a clue 
 
8 DEVKRIL THE CRAC K6MAN. 
 
 to the uhole affair— th^ whole mystery was solved. This was a house, I 
 thought within myself, for the purpose of recoiving strangers, who are lodged 
 for a night and then murdered, either for their money or for the use of the 
 surgeons. From the girl's readiness to go for a caudle, also, I drew very uufa- 
 vouruble conclusions. Seeing that I was not a certain customer, she had gone, 
 I couceivcd, for the men connected with the place, to detain and, perhaps, in- 
 stantly dispatch me. Several very unpleasant sensations crowded upon my 
 mind, and my apprehensions were increased by obsen'ing several spots of 
 blood on the floor near the mattress. I did not remain to discover anything 
 more, but dashed into the street, determined to avoid such places in seeking 
 lodgings in future. My mind was considerably relieved when I found myself 
 in the open street, and although I had seen quite enough of St. Giles's for one 
 evening, I made up my mind to call back again soon, and inquire into the 
 matter which had so alarmed me. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HOW TO LET LODGINGS ADVANTAGEOUSLY. 
 
 I VOW thought that, as I had a little money, instead of following up my first 
 intention of seeking a lodging in St. Giles's, I would try the neighbourhood of 
 Pentonvnlle ; and, accordingly, I went to a quiet street there, which seemed 
 to be entirely occupied by lodging-house-keepers. I knocked at a door, 
 which was opened by an elderly lady, who showed me into the parlour, 
 desiring me to be kind enough to wait for a minute, and she would send to 
 me a person who would show me the apartments to let. I remained nearly 
 five minutes before any one came, and I began to consider myself forgotten, 
 when the door opened, and a sweet-looking girl entered the room, and, smiling, 
 requested me to follow her up stairs. I did so, and on walking behind her, I 
 could not help remarking the extreme neatness of her dress, which seemed 
 better than that of servants in general, but not such as you might expect the 
 mistress of the house to wear ; indeed, I at once concluded that she was some 
 poor and distant relation of the landlady, who kept her as a companion, and 
 made her do the duties of a servant at the same time. The apartments she 
 showed me were not exactly such as I wanted, but I was assured they were 
 comfortable, and that I should have every attendance I might wish. This 
 was what I particularly wanted here, for there is no greater pleasure, perhaps, 
 than to be attended to by a pretty, smiling young girl. I, therefore, took the 
 rooms, and agreed to give much more for them than I should have done if I 
 had been waited upon by one of those dirty, ill-looking, raw-boned women 
 that you generally find as servants in lodging-houses. So nmch for personal 
 ajjpearance. That uiglit I slept at my new place, and liked it very well ; and 
 I was certain, from the comfortable manner in which the bed was made, that 
 no other hands than those of the pretty servant who showed me the rooms 
 could have made it. AVlicn I got up in the morning, I found everything as 
 clean and neat as it was the night before, and I rung the bell for breakfast. 
 It was brought immediately ; but I was rather disai)pointed that my pretty 
 girl did not api)ear. I was now convinced that she was a relation of the 
 landlady, otherwise she would have had to get up in the morning and attend 
 to the lodgers, like any other servant. The person who brought my breakfast 
 was what I should term decidedly ugly and disagreeable, and just such a 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN, 
 
 [Devcril's Visit to the Cook.] 
 
 porsoii as would be likely to preserve her cliarneter, however much inoliued 
 to vice the siugle-inen lodgers might be. However, I was not greatly dis- 
 pleased with her, for she paid every attention to me, and I was ])retty sure 
 that in the course of the day the other one would make her appearance. In 
 this supposition I was mistaken, for I could not catch a siugle glimpse of her. 
 The following morning 1 was again waited upon by the little ugly servant, and 
 no other person entered my room during the day. This appeared to me very 
 strange, and I determined to know what had become of thegiil 1 had first seen. 
 VVlien the little one came into my room in the evening, I aslced where the ser- 
 vant was who had shown me the apartments ? 
 
 " Oil, sir," said the girl, smiling, "she doesn't stay here." 
 
 " Not stay here ! where then does she stay ?" 
 
 " Thi-ee doors off, sir." 
 
 " Then she's not in the service of the landlady of this house ?" 
 
 "Oh, no, sir, she ain't in no service at all ; missus only hires her to shov>' 
 the apartments." 
 
 " Tlie devil she does ! Well I'm done — done ])rown." 
 
 " Bless you, sir," added the little ugly servant, "that ere young woman you 
 were a talking about is hired out to show all the apartments in the street. 
 That's how she gets her living. 
 
 "Regularly done, certainlv ; that is a trick worth knowing," said I. 
 
 2. ■ c 
 
10 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 "Oh, sir, it ain't nothing new ; we never could let oui' apartments if we did 
 not have a fjood -looking woman to show 'em." 
 
 After this discorcry, I was at a loss to know what to do. At first I resolved 
 to give notice, and leave my lodgings the following week, for I did not lika the 
 idea of being so glaringly imposed upon ; but on second thoughts, I deteraiined 
 to remain for some time, and to take care that the same trick was not prac- 
 ri'ied upon me again. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A VISIT TO THE THEATllE. 
 
 WisHijro for a few hours' amusement, I directed my steps to Dmry-lane 
 theatre, and going to the second tier of boxes, I succeeded in getting a very 
 good seat befiide a very pretty lady, who had a very valuable opera glass, which 
 I soon evinced a very great affection for, and, therefore, I took the liberty of 
 borrowing it. She was attended by an elderly gentleman, who had just come 
 from the country ; and as he paid more attention to the performance than to 
 his fair charge, I endeavoured, by a variety of little acts of kindness, to com- 
 pensate for his carelessness. The lady seemed to be perfectly alive to my 
 attentions, and e\'idently considered herself flattered, so that I seemed in a 
 fair way of making a conquest if I had been so inclined. Indeed, I rather 
 regretted that I could not fall in love with her, for she had to all appearance 
 everj' requisite necessary for a pleasant companion ; but the fact is, I still 
 retained some slight attachment to Miss Hampton, although I certainly had 
 no idea of ever seeing her again. It may be thought, that in leaving her, as 
 I have already mentioned, I did not show much affection for her ; but what 
 could I have done ! There's the difficulty. But let that matter remain as it 
 is at present ; I must attend to the lady in the theatre. I so frequently bor- 
 rowed her opera glass, that she got into the habit of handing it to me after 
 using it herself. The play was very neai-ly finished, and the interest of the 
 story was of course increasing, so that I could look about, with the view to 
 ascertain where I could exercise my profession to most advantage, without 
 being so naiTowly observed as in the early part of the evening. I did not see 
 a single pei-son from whom I could calculate on borrowing a shilling. I never 
 saw such a wretched house — I mean for the exercise of my calling ; it was 
 miserable. However, as I saw no prospect of getting into a better situation, I 
 determined to make the most of the one I was in. Half-price commenced, 
 <uid we became wedged together like books on a library shelf. This continued 
 until the conclusion of the play, when a considerable number went out, and 
 we all stood up to stretch our limbs for a short time, after sitting in such a 
 cramped position. The lady laid her silk bag down upon the seat, and turned 
 round to speak to her elderly friend. I put my hand upon the bag, and find- 
 ing that there was something in it, I put it into my pocket, and, as I had the 
 opera glass in my hand at the time, it followed the bag, and I followed those 
 who were leaving the house. Not having any intention of coming back, I did 
 not wait to take a check, but dived into Drury-lane, and made my way to 
 Holborn as quickly as possible. I never liked to keep such articles as opera 
 glasses long about my person, so on this occasion I went into the first pawn- 
 broker's shop I arrived at in Holborn, and put up the one I had brought from 
 the theatre. When I got home I examined the contents of the bag ; there 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 11 
 
 was ft purse in it, containing a half-sovereign and two artificial teeth; the purse 
 and the teeth I put in the fire, and the half-sovereign I put into my pocket. 
 There was also in the bag a box of Morison's Vegetable Pills, and two letters. 
 The pills went after the purse, and the letters I proceeded to examine. The 
 first I opened commenced, " My adorable Louisa," which at once indicated the 
 outpourings of a tender heart : it continued—" Oh ] when will the hour of our 
 meeting arrive ? I am actually burning with a quenchless passion, which con- 
 sumes my life, and unless you consent to shorten the intervals of our separa- 
 tion, I must die. How cruel it is for you to use me so ! If you could but know 
 how much and how sincerely I love and adore you, I am sure your heart would 
 never permit you to keep me so long away from you. Since we parted on 
 Friday night, I have been living entirely upon the sweet recollection of the 
 delightful hours I then spent with you ; and do, therefore, my dearest Louisa, 
 appoint a time sooner than Tuesday night for a renewal of our happiness. 
 " I am, my dearest Louisa, 
 
 " Ever thine, 
 
 "William," 
 
 This letter led me to suspect that William and my lady were rather too inti- 
 mate for the strict presei*vation of their virtue ; but that was a matter I had 
 very little to do with, and really I thought if two mortals could enjoy such 
 exquisite pleasure in each other's company, as it would appear from the above 
 letter they did, it would be a very great pity indeed to put any obstacle in 
 their way. With that impression I passed to the second letter. It was short 
 and sweet, like a donkey's gallop, and written in a fine, clear, round, legible, 
 lover's hand. Being short, I may give it a place here : — 
 "My dearest Louisa, 
 
 " How happy, how delighted I felt on receiving your note this afternoon ! 
 The reason you assign for delaying our meeting until Tuesday night, at ten, ia 
 a strong one, I admit. However, as the house will then be cleai' for us, and as 
 you can on that night leave the window of the back kitchen open tor me with- 
 out suspicion, we must not vex ourselves so much about the delay, as our 
 happiness will soon be complete. Once in the kitchen, I can easily grope my 
 way to your room ; love will light me up-staii-s. Until then, 
 " My dearest Louisa, 
 
 "Believe me to be thine, 
 
 "William." 
 
 Fortunately for me the lady's name and address were here, and I conceived 
 I might turn the matter to a very good account ; but I did not arrange and 
 complete my plans until the following day, therefore I shall not d«tail them 
 in this chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SHOWING WHAT THE LETTEES LED TO. 
 
 The last letter was dated Satui-day ; it came into my possession on Monday, 
 and on Tuesday Mr. William was to enter the chamber of his « ladye fair" by 
 the back kitchen window. What a chance for me ' A little before the ap- 
 pointed hour on Tuesday night, I went to Louisa's house, and. having taken a 
 sui'vey of the premises, I planted myself within sight of the window- by which 
 
12 DEVERIL THE CRACK!>MAX. 
 
 William was to jjet accesf*. Exactly as the parish clock struck ten, he iuad0 
 his Hi>i.eamiice,aTKl proceeded direct to the window, and weut in— and exactly 
 live minutes afterwju-d.s I did the same. Everytlung was (iuiet, not even a 
 mouse was stirring. 1 took out my dark lantern, and went into the front kit- 
 chen. The walls were hung round w ith covers of all sizes, steel, copper, and 
 bi-ass articles, all as bright and beautiful as the eyes of the lovely Louisa ; 
 but from the general appearance of the place, I judged that the cook had not 
 had nmch business on hand lately, and I concluded tliat the greater pari of 
 tlic family must have gone out of toini. On examining the drawers, I found 
 a (immtity of knives and forks of various patterns, and a number of spoons, 
 which had scon a very great deal of service, therefore I left them. Troceed- 
 ing along the passage, I arrived at the butler's pantry, and in a drawer there, 
 whicli I forced oi>en, I found a dozen of dessert spoons, which I api)ropriated. 
 On the shelvfc'S there were a variety of knives and forks, two carving knives, 
 some candlesticks which had been at one time plated, about twenty or thirty 
 ends of carriage candles, and two or tliree cork-screws ; but nothing, except 
 tJic si)Oons, were worth can-ying away. Having got into the dining-room, I 
 forced open the sideboard there, and found in it a massive silver salver and an 
 old-fashioned silver tea-pot ; there was not another thing in the sideboaid. 1 
 took, however, these two articles, and went up-stairs, thinking I migl it discover 
 the remainder of tlie plate, and having opened a door on the second floor, I 
 went cautiously in. The apartment appeared like a store-room ; but there 
 was a bed in one corner. T'his piece of furniture I considered it prudent to 
 look into first. As soon as I turned my lantern to it, I saw it was occupied. 
 A woman's gown was liung up on one side of it, and a cap was jjlaced abo> c 
 it. (hi a small table, in front of the bed, lay a lady's wig, curling tongs, and a 
 bottle containing oil for the hair. Approaching closer, I discovered the fair 
 owner of these articles in a profound sleep ; and from the appearance of her 
 very delicate red fists, I did not for a moment doubt the situation she occupied 
 in the household. At her feet lay a large tortoise-shell cat, which, on per- 
 ceiving me, leaped under the bed, and in doing so overturned a bottle half 
 filled with gin, which had been placed on a chair within the reach of the 
 sleeping beauty iu the bed. I instantly darkened my lantern, and quietly re- 
 treated, fur the lady rubbed her nose witli her fist, and seemed to smell some- 
 thiug. I went down stairs ; but before I reached the kitchen, I thought I 
 he»u'd footsteps slowly following mc. I listened for an instant, and heard whis- 
 pering, and I thought I could distinguish a female's voice. Having gained the 
 back kitehen window, I left my lantern on a table there, because if I had been 
 btopped witli it in my i)Ossession, it would have been a most suspicious circum- 
 stance against me. I put up my head to get out, Avhen a young devil in the 
 street, seeing me, called out, " A thief ! a thief !" and ran off in search of the 
 constables. When I first saw him, I shnnik down ; but immediately after he 
 w ent ofl* 1 leaped out, crossed the street, and got into a narrow dark lane, 
 where 1 considered myself safe, and I had the curiosity to wait there to see 
 Avhat the constable would do when he came. If I had been half a minute 
 later I should certainly have been caught, for, just as I got into the shade, the 
 constable, accomi>anied by the little boy who liad made the discovery, and a 
 crowd of other persons, canV to the promises at full speed. When I saw the 
 result, I might have been knocked down witli a feather. At the instant the 
 crowd arrived in front of the window, that poor, luckless wight, AVilliam, was 
 in the act of getting out, and endeavouring to create as little alarm as he could j 
 
DEVEItIL THE CRACKSMAN. It 
 
 blithe had not time to reach the ground, when the constable's fingers were in 
 his neckerchief, and in the twinkling of an eye he was drawn out, half stran- 
 gled, into the street. A shout arose from the crowd, and several cried out, 
 " He's a swell, ain't he i" as the constable dragged him towards the lock-up. 
 Another constable having gone into the back kitchen, found my lantern, and 
 brought uj) the rear of the procession, carrying it pompously in his hand. 
 Wlieu Mr. William was searched, previous to being conveyed to his cell, there 
 were found upon him thirteen duplicates, relating to various articles of wear- 
 ing apparel, and a bad half-crown. The constable took possession of this pro- 
 perty, and, notwithstanding all the poor fellow's protestations of perfect inno- 
 cence, and his i)ositively assuring his gaolers that Miss Louisa could explain 
 all, he was consigned for the night to a dark, ill- ventilated cell, with this con- 
 solation, that " You may tell all that to the magistrate to-morrow, and if so bo 
 that you can prove it, you'll be discharged ; if not, old feller, you'll be com- 
 mitted to Newgate, aud uo mistake." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 William's appearance before the magistrate. 
 Before the prisoner was i)laced at the bar, the constables had been at the 
 house where he was found, and it was soon discovered that several articles 
 had actually been stolen. Louisa was reluctantly compelled to come forward, 
 and, with great candour, confessed all she knew, which, certainly, entirely 
 acquitted William of the felony ; but the magistrate was not quite satisfied 
 that, upon her testimony alone, he could pass over the matter, and he ordered 
 a constable to go to the shops of the different pawnbrokers, where the 
 articles to which the thirteen duplicates related were pledged, and ascertain 
 precisely what they Avere. The magistrate said that no one could doubt that 
 the house had been robbed, and the suspicious circumstances under which the 
 prisoner was found, warranted his detention until the whole matter was sifted 
 to the bottom. As for poor Louisa, she seemed more dead than alive — the 
 blood had completely forsaken her cheeks, and her eyes appeared sunken aud 
 dull. The dreadful exposure, which must be known to all the town— the 
 pitiable plight in which poor William was placed, and the danming effect the 
 whole affair would have on her future prospects, all contributed to render her 
 misery as complete as her happiness Avas tAvelve hours before. Her evidence 
 went to show, that at ten o'clock she opened the back kitchen window, and 
 immediately afterwards William entered, and remained with her until a 
 minute before he was taken into custody ; therefore, he could not have 
 carried oft" the property, nor could he have assisted any other person to do it. 
 When the constable, who had been sent to the shops of the various pawn- 
 brokers, returned, he produced all the articles he found there, the i>awnbrokers 
 having willingly given them up, as they had been pledged for verytrifiiiig 
 sums. None of the shopmen could say who pledged the property ; but the 
 prisoner admitted that ho was the person who did so, and he said every article 
 belonged to himself, and several of them were marked with his initials. The 
 constable took up the first article — a pair of trowsers pledged, eight months 
 previous, for three shillings, but they bore no mark. The next article — a 
 calico shirt, pledged for sixpence — did, however, bear his initials ; and a 
 variety of other trifling things, pledged for very small suras, were marked 
 
14 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 "W. W;" 80 that there was no reason to suppose that he had come by any of 
 the property dishonestly. After reading him a lecture of considerable length, 
 and cautioning him with respect to his future conduct, the magistrate accord- 
 ingly discharged him. Louisa instantly left the office, and directed her steps 
 homewards, meditating all the way in what manner she could wipe out the 
 stain which had been, by this untoward accident, cast upon her character. 
 She had preserved it hitherto, in the eyes of the world at least, spotless and 
 unsullied ; but it was now no longer so : what, therefore, was to be done ? 
 She thought of the Monument and Waterloo-bridge, as very good places to 
 take a leap from, but she did not like the idea of disarranging her dress in the 
 fall; therefore, neither of them would suit her. Before deciding upon what 
 was to be done, she reached home, and, throwing herself upon the sofa, she 
 burst into a flood of tears, and shortly afterwards fell asleep — dreamed a 
 pleasant dream — awoke, determined to brave the world's scorn, to banish 
 melancholy, and to forget, as soon as possible, the loss of what was never, in 
 her estimation, of very gi-eat value, namely, her reputation. 
 
 When Louisa departed from tlac office, William, whose heai't was now 
 somewhat lighter, although his pride was considerably wounded, tied up all 
 his traps, which had been spread out before him at the bai*,and went home as 
 fast as he could, having previously made a vow never^ to be found either 
 going in or coming out at a back kitchen window in future. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN EXPLANATION, SOMEWHAT AFFECTING, 
 
 The robbery which I have just mentioned, with its attendant circumstances, 
 caused what is termed, in the upper circles, a " sensation ;" therefore, I was 
 obliged to bo cautious regarding the disposal of the proceeds. To put any 
 thing up would have been an awkwai'd thing, but I had too much experience 
 to be caught in that way. To sell it would have been equally dangerous, 
 and not yet being intimate with any "country traveller," who could be 
 depended upon in taking it to Liverpool or Birmingham, I had recourse to 
 a tried acquaintance in the Strand, whose crucible would always contain, aft 
 much silver as I could bring him, at 3s. per omice ; and having obtained the 
 money, I was safe. The sum I get from him was, certainly, not considerable, 
 but I could not, at that time, have made a better market, therefore I was 
 content. 
 
 I now wore whiskers, mounted a milk-white tile, encircled by a narrow 
 band of crape, and even my most intimate friends were puzzled with the ex- 
 traordinary change in my appearance. Having, by this time, the command of 
 a tolerably heavy purse, I did not look much about for business ; and I pro- 
 ceeded up Bow-street towards St. Giles's, for the purpose of drinking a glass 
 or two with some of my old friends there, and ascertaining how they had lately 
 been succeeding in the world. Not having anything to trouble my mind 
 about, I walked along the streets, half asleep, half awake, observing no one, 
 and, apparently, unobserved myself, until I found that I had reached " the 
 Dials." I stood for an instant cohsidering where I should go, when I saw 
 coming up to me a female, whose singularly clean and neat appearance struck 
 me as something remarkable in that neighbourhood. Her dress was far from 
 costly, but it was managed with much taste and care, and I thought that she 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN, 15 
 
 seemed a child of misfortime— bom in the sun, but doomed to die in the shade. 
 When she came close to me, her features were familiar, and, I felt certain, 
 not unknown to me, but she passed without speaking. I looked after her, ^d 
 saw that she had also turned round. She stood for a moment, and then came 
 forward and inquired if I was the person who had looked at her apartments a 
 few days before ? From this question I at once remembered that she was the 
 person from whose house I had taken my departure in such haste, on perceiv- 
 ing the dead body stretched out on a pallet in a corner of the apartment. I 
 answered her question in the affiimative. She told me then that her room 
 was still to let, and that she would be glad, if I had not yet got lodgings, to 
 endeavour to make me as comfortable as possible. I informed her that I had 
 already got apartments, in which I was exceedingly comfortable ; and being 
 curious to know what kind of a being she was, and what sort of a place she 
 kept, I mentioned to her the suspicions which I entertained when I so abruptly 
 left the room during her absence. On hearing me, she, for an instant, looked 
 into my face with a degree of amazement, mixed with horror, which made 
 me feel exceedingly awkward : she seemed scarcely able to speak — her 
 bosom swelled, and the blood left her face, but she was soon relieved by the 
 big tears, which started from her glassy eyes, and rolled down her pallid 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Gracious heaven !" she at length exclaimed, lifting up her head, and 
 taking her hands from her eyes, " is my cup of misery not yet full— am I to 
 be thought a murderer 1" 
 
 I hardly knew what to say to her, and heartily wished I had not seen her ; 
 but, as I had opened the disagreeable subject, I thought I might, at whatever 
 risk, go on with it, 
 
 " You mistake me," said I ; " I never thought you a murderer, but I merely 
 supposed that the old gentleman whose body I saw, had not received very fair 
 
 " Stop, stop ! no more ! you have said enough • but I would not have you 
 suppose that I would kill any one. Oh, God ! has it come to this !" 
 
 I did the best I could to eat my words, but she did not appear to listen to 
 me. 
 
 " Come with me," said she, hurriedly, and at the same time dashing the 
 tears from her eyes, and endeavouring to look calm ; " come, and I will explain 
 all." 
 
 She took my arm, and indicated the direction in which she wished me to 
 walk. After proceeding together for a few paces, she withdrew her arm from 
 mine, and we walked separately. Her eyes werfe fixed on the ground almost the 
 whole of the way, and I could almost see the half-suppressed tear hanging 
 from her humid eye ; but she preserved, notwithstanding, a calm expression 
 of countenance, which showed that there was some secret soitow gnawing and 
 lacerating her heart — a matter too deep to be allayed by violent grief, but too 
 acutely painful to be entirely concealed. When I looked in her face, I won- 
 dered tha^ I could, for a second, have supposed her the guilty creature that I 
 at first took her to be, but then I recollected that I, myself, had very often 
 occasion to act the hypocrite, and sometimes to play the puling boy, and, 
 after all, this innocent-looking girl might bcalmost a devil in human shape. 
 I was revolving these things in my mind, when we arrived at the neat little 
 house which had at first attracted my attention when I went to look for a 
 lodging. 
 
1(3 DEVEHIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 « Walk in, sir," said the girl, >\'itli an air of bashful politeness, and smiling 
 through her tears as she spoke. 
 
 1 A\ alked in as soon as she opened the door, and immediately found myself 
 in Via same apartment from wliich I had fled in such precipitation the last 
 time I had visited the lady. 
 
 *' The object which so much alarmed you uhcn you were here before, is now 
 removed, you will observe," said she, pointing to the mean-looking bed which 
 lay in the corner of the ai)artment. 
 
 '* Yes," I answered, affecting at the same time to feel sorrow for having 
 caused her any uneasiness on the subject. 
 
 " Yes," she repeated, and the teais again bui«t from her eyes and fell fast 
 upon her heaving bosom, <*he has been removed," continued she, sighing, 
 " and he will not alarm any one more." 
 
 « Who was he ?" I inquired, half fearful of receiving an answer which might 
 tend to prolong the conversation, yet feeling, nevertheless, a sort of anxiety to 
 know what she meant. 
 
 Wiping the tears from her eyes, and putting back her long hair, which had 
 }>ecome loose and fallen over her face, she made an effort to appear calm. 
 
 " That was my father, my poor fiither !" Tlie effort was too much for her, 
 and covering her eyes with her hands, she again gave way to her son'ow, and 
 sobbed as if her heart would burst from her bosom. 
 
 I was placed in one of those excessiveh' uncomfortable predicaments where 
 every new attempt to get extricated invariably pins the unhappy victim to the 
 spot more securely than ever, therefore I thought that the best thing I could 
 do would be to let matters proceed according to their natural course. 
 
 " My poor father I" she again exclaimed, accompanying the words with a 
 few more of those convulsive siglis of which she seemed to have a large 
 stock. 
 
 This was really too much for me. To sport so long with my endurance, and 
 play at such a rate with my patience, made me feel i-ather angry, and I began 
 to grow very uncharitable. AVhat was her father to me (I asked myself), that 
 I should sit and listen to all this wailing for him ? A good, honest, and indus- 
 trious man he might have been, and that would entitle him to a decent epi- 
 t.aph ; but it could not give his daughter the privilege of boring every one she 
 met with such unmeaning exclamations respecting him. And further, all this 
 might be acting, and there might be no real grief in it. I was getting into a 
 passion. She— tliis pretty little girl— this "Niobe, all tears"— might be like 
 the player in Hamlet, who 
 
 ' • — In a dream of passion , 
 
 Could force Ins soul so to his own conceit. 
 
 That from her working, all his iisjige wan'd; 
 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in '» aspect, 
 
 A broken voice, and his whole function snitin}!: 
 
 With forms to his conceit. And all for nothing I" 
 
 "You mu«;t excuse me," she said at lengtli, with a countenance exhibiting 
 a considerable degree of calmness. 
 
 "Tlie devil a bit," said I to myself, "you do not deserve to be excused." 
 I looked as im]»atient as I could, in order to induce her to proceed. 
 
 " I have not always been in the miserable condition in wliich yon now find 
 me," she at last began : "my father kept an hotel at Rochester, and was once 
 rich and liappy : but my mother died, and he then begun to sip from the cup 
 of sorrow. ;My sisters died one after anotlier, before they reached woman- 
 hood, and I alone remained. He loved me, and left me nothing to long for — 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN, 
 
 17 
 
 [The Reducer ill-using his Victim.] 
 
 all I desired was placed within my reacli. I then felt content, but not quite 
 happy. A gentleman living in the neiglibourhood paid his addresses to me, 
 and I soon gained an affection for liini. To he brief— we loved each other and 
 were married. lie had a considerable fortune, and spent it liberally ; so that 
 we lived a life of continual excitement and pleasure. But my ftxther, being 
 now left alone, greAv dull and melancholy, commenced to speculate, and was 
 unsuccessful ; however, lie was not yet ruined. My husband and I fiequently 
 attended balls and parties, and formed in that way a large circle of acquaint- 
 ance. Amongst others, we often met a young baronet, who had been from 
 childhood acquainted with my husband. Being on the most familiar terms 
 witli my husband, he soon became equally familiar with me. He spoke to me 
 in a manner that I had never before been accustomed to, and I was thrown 
 off my guard. He flattered my vanity, and I felt pleased. At first, he whis- 
 pered many things into my ear, at which I laughed, but would not listen to. 
 He spoke of love, and I felt gratified at having won his heart, and determined 
 to keep him in slavery as long as I could ; but, having allowed him to take 
 one step more than I ought to have done, he was bold enough to take another. 
 He declared he could not live separate from me : I was startled on hearing 
 this, and saw before me all the horrors consequent upon illicit love. The idea 
 of a guilty connection made me shudder ; but what at first shocked my ears, 
 became pleasant and agreeable to them by frequent repetition. He wished 
 me to go to the Continent with him, and remain there until my husband should 
 
 3. » 
 
18 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 obtain a divorce, which we calculated upon his doing as soon as the forms of 
 law would allow, and then, he said, we should get married. I trembled a 
 little when I thought of leaving the cuuutry in such a manner ; but when the 
 fii-st blush left my cheek, my irresolution left also ; without looking forward 
 to the consequences— without considering the shame I brought upon my hus- 
 band — the disgrace that I biought upon myself, or the heart-rending sorrow 
 that I was about to give my poor father, whose daily care had been to attend 
 to my happiness, I adopted the views of my lover, and, in the darkness of 
 night— for it required a dark veil to conceal my crimes— I fled from the roof of 
 one who so doted on his wife, 
 
 "That he might not let e'en the winds of heaven 
 Visit her face too roughly," 
 
 to the lustful arms of his false and faithless friend. But why should I dwell 
 BO long upon such matters ! ^ly heart has lately been sufficiently lacerated 
 without opening the old wounds afresh, and I but tire you with the recital of 
 my sorrows." 
 
 " No, you do not tire me," said I ; " but your misfortunes deeply grieve me." 
 
 " A nd can you really sympathize with the sufferings of one whose conduct 
 has been so bad?" 
 
 " Oh, there are thousands who are guilty, daily, of these venial offences, 
 and the world looks upon them with no less favour on that account." 
 
 " True, but such crimes as I have committed are not venial — they are un- 
 pardonable." 
 
 " Do not think so," I replied, " and they will never be noticed." 
 
 Wlien I said this I could perceive a melancholy smile curling her lips, that 
 clearly denoted her disbelief in the position I had taken up. 
 
 " But, to continue my sad story to the end, when we arrived in Paris, the 
 change of scene and the strange objects that for a time met my eye, prevented 
 me from viewing accurately the situation iu life I now occupied. However, 
 my senses were soon awakened. I found, after a few weeks had passed, that 
 I occasionally wanted some little luxury to fill up the void created by the 
 gradually decreasing kindness of my lover, and I did not like, at first, to ask 
 him for anything ; but, at length, I was bold enough to do so, and, from the 
 manner in which he presented me with any trifle, I could see that he 
 already conceived me little less than a burthen to him ; and, ultimately, he 
 refused to gratify my wishes. How difi'erent was this from the conduct of my 
 hutjband ! He delighted to anticipate my desires on every occasion, and 
 seemed vexed if I happened to be the first to discover that I wanted anything. 
 How deeply mortified I now felt, and how withering to all my hopes were the 
 frequent denials I met with from the man who had robbed me of what ought 
 to have been dearer to me than even life itself— my reputation. But the 
 poison had not yet sunk deep enough to deprive me of my reason ; and I 
 continued to live— yes, and to cherish that life— although I found myself to 
 be nothing more than the degraded mistress of a heartless libertine. My hus- 
 band did not, as I had expected, sue for a divorce, and I saw cleai-ly that, 
 although he should do so, my position would not be altered, for my seducer 
 laughed at the idea of marriage, and treated me even with scorn when I men- 
 tioned the subject. This was deeply galling to me, and I upbraided him with 
 his conduct, but he only smiled at my remonstrances. Heaven only knows 
 what I then suffered ! you have not a woman's heart— you never can feel it." 
 
BEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 19 
 
 At this part of her story I wished to appear aflfected, but I could not manage 
 to draw a tear ; however, I acted tolerably well, and she thought that my grief 
 was really genuine, and gave me credit for it. 
 
 " You may imagine it in some degree," she continued, seeing my eyes 
 glistening slightly after a good squeeze, " but the extent of my sorrows can- 
 not be told. But I must pass over all minor events, and briefly conclude this 
 history of my offences, and the punishment that I endured for them. I 
 became pregnant in a few months, and that seemed to increase the dislike my 
 imnatural protector now evinced for me. He remained out occasionally aU 
 night, and it was not unusual for him to come home intoxicated. When in 
 that state, his coarse and bitter allusions to my unfortunate position, and my 
 former life, gave me the most bitter anguish, but he was dead to all sense of 
 feeling ; and the more I wept, the longer did his heartless raillery continue. T 
 was now sufficiently miserable to wish for death — life was a burden to me. 
 The period of my confinement was rapidly advancing, but that did not induce 
 my protector to use me with less harshness. At length he lifted his hand to 
 me — struck me ! I wished that blow had killed me, but I survived it. The 
 next day I was delivered of a child — a boy — but it was dead. I became dis- 
 tracted — my reason left me, and there is here a blank in my life which I cannot 
 fill up. "When I became well, I found myself in another part of the town, 
 occupying a small unhealthy room, not larger than this one, and very dirty. I 
 inquired where I was, and who had brought me to such a place ; and I was 
 told that a gentleman had taken the apartment for me, and paid the rent 
 weekly. I was deserted, abandoned, and tm-ned upon the wide world desti- 
 tute ! No, not quite destitute — I must be candid enough to mention that five 
 pou.Tjds were sent to me, accompanied with a request that I should find my 
 way to England as quickly as I could, for my protector wished to have 
 nothing more to do with me. I bore this without a tear. I took the money, 
 and did as I was requested, for whatever motive prompted him to wish me 
 away, I saw that it was better for me to depart than remain. I reached Lon- 
 don, and after struggling for a time with my feelings, I resolved to write 
 to my father, and implore his protection ; for I thought that as he once 
 loved me so tendeiiy, the last spark of affection might still remain alive. I 
 accordingly wrote ; but T received no answer. My letter was returned by 
 the post-office, marked "no such person." What could this mean ? I asked 
 myself : has he, too, cast me off ? No, I saw that was a wrong inference, for 
 the words " no such person," indicated that he had left the place, and could 
 not be found. It would have spared me much grief if I had never ascertained 
 Avhere he was, but my punishment was not complete. I found him in the 
 workhouse— a pauper — a parish burden ! This may seem improbable, but it 
 is true. * Truth is stranger than fiction.' He was a pauper, and I was the 
 principal cause of his ruin. I have much to answer for. Wlien I left home, 
 my husband went abroad, but no one knew where he went to ; and my father 
 felt the disgrace I brought upon him most acutely, and began to neglect his 
 business, and speculate recklessly in all kinds of stock. The consequence 
 was, a very few months ruined him, and he came to London to hide his shame 
 in some obscure corner of this great town. But he could not live without 
 money, and, being an old man, and scarcely able to work, he could have done 
 but little, although he had been employed. He spent his last penny, and he 
 began to get hungry. Good God ! could any one believe that starvation 
 would steal so fast upon a person i He was starving, and he did not know 
 
20 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 how to beg. Turned into the street because he could no longer pay 3d. a 
 night for his bed, he wandered about homeless, penniless, and starving. This 
 could not last long. As the day closed in, he sunk down upon a door-step, 
 weary, feeble, and fatigued, and went to sleep. This was the first offence he 
 ever committed — for, in this metropolis, it is a crime to sleep in the open uii', 
 and my father was seized and dragged to the station-house for it ; but the 
 magistrate, a kind-hcai'ted and generous man, did not send the poor starving 
 creature to the house of correction ; he ordered him to be taken into the 
 ■workhouse as a casual pauper, and relieved. He was taken there, but his 
 health had received a shock which no medicine could improve. He lingered 
 on for a few days, and when I found him the cold hand of death was upon 
 him, but he breathed— spoke to me— and, heaven bless him ! forgave me." 
 
 I now began to get very tired of her long story, and could not help yawning. 
 " Isee I liave wearied you," said she, observing my rudeness. 
 
 ** No, you have not ; I am not inattentive," I replied. 
 
 "A minute will suliicc to narrate the rest. He wished, ill as he was, to 
 K'ave tlie workhouse, and he came with me, and we took these apartments, 
 but we lived here only three days, and immediately before his death the blood 
 gushed from his mouth — he had burst a blood vessel. He had been dead 
 two days when you came to seek for lodgings, and I had no money to bury 
 him, for I was almost starving. The parish at length buried him, and I am 
 now alone in the world." 
 
 This certainly explained what I before considered suspicions, but I was not 
 quite certain whetlier I ought to believe the woman or not. However, I 
 thought the motit charitable way would be, to take her tale for truth ; and I 
 apologized for the pain I must have given her in recalling to her memory so 
 many uni)lca.sant circumstances. 
 
 " Oh ! sir," she rei)lied, " they are never absent from my memory." 
 
 " But you ought to forget them," I answered. 
 
 " Impossible, I never can. You hurt me, when you suspected I was a mur- 
 <lerer ; but what else can I be considered ? I liave been the cause of my 
 father's death, although the law does not punish me for what I have done." 
 
 " You cannot be a nmrderer, for there is no malice aforethought in your 
 case," said I, thinking to stop her mouth with a bit of law. 
 
 yiie made me no answer. 
 
 ''And have you not been able to let your apartments ?" I inquired, changing 
 the subject. 
 
 *' No ; nobody will take them, because I have scarcely any furniture." 
 
 That was quite true, for they were really miserable. 
 
 *' And cannot you furnish them better ? " said I, carelessly. 
 
 "No— no better." 
 
 " What, then, do you mean to do 2 " 
 
 " I cannot tell ; I am weary of life, and I wish I were dead." 
 
 " How do you exist now? '* 
 
 « By making little drawings, bee, there are a few," said she, pointing to 
 the window-sill. 
 
 About a dozen cards lay there, and upon each there was a small pencil 
 drawing, which seemed to be done entirely aa ith the stump. They were 
 wretched things, and I could not help wondering who would purchase such 
 articles. 
 
 *♦ How do you get paid for them, " I asked. 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 21 
 
 "A trifle, a mere trifle ; but I have as yet managed to live upon it. I re- 
 ceive four-pence a dozen for tlieni." 
 
 "That is, indeed, a trifle," I observed. 
 
 " It is a trifle, but what can I do ? " 
 
 " Really it is difficult for a person to live by honesty now," I observed. 
 
 " It is true," said she, drawing a deep sigh, and looking towards the Avindow. 
 
 "You cannot pay your lodging, and live upon such a pittance as you earn ?" 
 
 " But my lodging has been paid for me since I came here." 
 
 " Indeed, I am glad to hear that there are some charitable and well-disposed 
 persons yet alive." 
 
 " There is certainly little charity abroad now j but an old lady, for whom I 
 sewed for a week, has been kind to me." 
 
 " But will she continue so ? " 
 
 " Alas ! I cannot expect her to assist me any longer, for she has other ob- 
 jects as needy as myself to relieve." 
 
 " Then what will you have recourse to 2 " 
 
 " God only knows," replied the poor woman, sobbing audibly. 
 
 " I would take your apartment," said I j " but I am engaged to live where 
 I am now lodging for a time." 
 
 " I am obliged to you, sir, for your kind sympathy." 
 
 *' I Avill call upon you again," I said, lifting my hat to leave the house. 
 
 " I am obliged to you," she repeated, sighing. 
 
 I thought she looked most remarkably interesting, and her story, although 
 much too long for me, had made me feel somewhat desirous to serve her ;^ 
 therefore, when I said I would call again, I really meant to do so. She gathered 
 up the little cards, and wrapped them in a piece of paper, as if she intended 
 to go out with them, which induced me to ask her if she intended to walk in 
 the direction of Pentonville. 
 
 " No, sir ; I am going the opposite way," she replied. "But I must go im- 
 mediately, for I have not a farthing in the world, and I shall have nothing to 
 eat to-day, unless I get the four-pence for these cards." 
 
 " You are always paid regularly, I suppose," said I. 
 
 " Generally, but I am sometimes hard pressed for a crust of bread to eat." 
 
 " I am extremely sorry for your unhappy situation, and I hope you may 
 soon be less unfortunate." 
 
 " I do not expect it ; I have been always unfortunate since I made my 
 first false step. Even here, in my little way, I have been unlucky, for, 
 when my poor father lay on that bed a cold corpse, I, one day — the day 
 you were here, I think — by unusual exertion, made sixpence, and I remember 
 putting it where the cards now lie, but in the evening, when I looked for it to 
 get some victuals, for I by that time felt very hungry, it was not there 
 Where it went to, I don't know j but it was all I had in the world." 
 
 " Indeed ! and what then did you do ? " 
 
 " Oh ! sir, I did what I think I must often do noAv — I wept, and went to 
 bed without eating anything." 
 
 I felt this rather sharply, for I now recollected what had before entirely 
 escaped my memory, namely, that when she went out for a candle I dis- 
 covered the sixpence, put it in my pocket, and had a glass of grog with it 
 before I went home that evening. But it would have served no purpose 
 to tell her that, therefore I said nothing on the subject, and left her under 
 the impression, no doubt, that she had found a friend that could sympa- 
 thise with her, at all events, if he could not assist her. 
 
22 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SOME EEFLECllONS RESPECTING THE NEXT MOVE TO BE MADE. 
 
 It is very necessary sometimes to have an assistant, if one carries on busi- 
 ness at all in a genteel way and to any extent, and a woman is often very use- 
 ful. They can do a great many things •which a man could not attempt, and 
 they can play their cards into the hands of a male friend remarkably well, if 
 properly trained to the trade. I thought, therefore, that it would not be a 
 very bad move, if I could get my female acquaintance of the St. Giles's lodg- 
 ing-house, to join me. She would, probably, have great scruples at first, but 
 I had no doubt I might be able to overcome them. We might live in fur- 
 nished apartments as respectable mamed persons, and do business to a large 
 extent about the west-end, among the jewellers and drapers. She had de- 
 tailed to me the history of her first fall, and after what had passed I was 
 convinced it would not be difficult to accomplish the fii'st part of the scheme. 
 But I feared that to undermine her honesty would be a more stubborn piece 
 of business ; however, I determined, [without delay, to make the trial. She 
 was very poor, and, it might be said, in a state of destitution, so that I saw the 
 beet mode of attack would be by generosity, in order to awaken her gi*ati- 
 
 tude. 
 
 •' — — — Women arc not, 
 
 In their best fortunes, strong ; but want will p«rjure 
 
 The ne'er touched vestal." 
 
 So says Caesar in that delightful play, " Antony and Cleopatra," and it is very 
 true. Poverty is the parent of crime in almost every instance. And there 
 •was another thing which made me like my plan exceedingly ; — the girl was 
 very pretty, she was also intelligent, and could be a companion to me in 
 the long tiresome days, when there might be little doing in our way about 
 town. I like an intelligent girl, not because I possess much iutelligence 
 myself, although I have certainly picked up some general information by 
 glancing through a few of the books I borrowed from the old book-stalls in 
 Holywell-street and elsewhere, but because she is much more useful and less 
 stubborn than an ignorant and dirty stroll of humanity, such as those painted 
 pieces of filth that infest Fleet-street and the neighbourhood of St. Paul's 
 Churchyard. And there is a pleasing satisfaction in being loved too, which 
 I thought I might, after a time, induce this lady to do, by paying her some 
 little attention, and behaving kindly to her. There was a passage I re- 
 member in an old play (I think by Lily) that I took from the pocket of a 
 poor actor one evening, which struck me as very good ; but as I used the 
 play, with others, for Avaste paper, I cau't quote it exactly, perhaps ; however, 
 it was to this cfiect, and as near as possible in these words : " The hidden 
 treasures of the deep are not so precious as are the concealed comforts of a 
 man locked up in woman's love." I would not, by any moans, think of 
 going to tliat extent, for there are some very high-priced pearls in Davy 
 Jones's locker, if they could be recovered ; but I think it is better, in the 
 way of business, as well as domestic comfort, to have a woman bound to her 
 mate by some stronger ties than those of self-interest only. In the middle 
 of my reflections I anived at the door of my lodgings, and upon knocking, 
 was admitted by the little ugly imp who had been palmed upon me for the 
 pretty girl that hired herself out to show the apartments. It was absurd 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 28 
 
 to feel angry with the stupid creature, for she had been no party to the 
 trick, but I was annoyed every time I saw her, and on this occasion I 
 scowled fearfully at her. I have heard of some persons who could put on 
 such a horrible face as to frighten a dog to death, but I am sure they 
 would not have been able to strike terror into the breast of this poor wi'etch, 
 for the wilder I looked at her, the more amiable she strove to be— a circum- 
 stance which distressed me more than I could mention. 
 
 " A man's been seeking you, sir," said the little imp, simpering. 
 
 " Seeking me ! what did he want ? " 
 
 " Don't know, sir ; he didn't say.'* 
 
 I felt very much puzzled with this information, for there was no one with 
 whom I was at all acquainted that knew where I lived. 
 
 " Who the devil could it be ?" said I, thinking aloud. 
 
 " Don't know, sir," repeated the girl in answer. 
 
 " Who did he ask for ? " 
 
 "Oh! sir, I forget; he said he wanted Mr. Smith— that ain't your name 1" 
 
 "No," replied I, with some degree of alarm, for a light now burst upon me. 
 
 "I told him so, but he said as Smith would do," said the servant, evi- 
 dently desirous that I would explain what appeared to her rather unintelligible. 
 
 " The devil take his impudence ! how did he know, tlien, I was the person who 
 occupied these lodgings ?" 
 
 " Don't know, sir— found it out by his imperance, I 'spose." 
 
 It was quite clear that I could not long remain in ray present lodgings, for when 
 it had been discovered where I nestled, I might immediately expect to be pounced 
 upon. From the fact of the man enquiring for " Smith," it was evident that it was 
 concerning Mr. Hampton's affair I was wanted, for in that place only had I given 
 the name of Smith. No doubt I had been watched -, but the fellow who did so, 
 whoever he was, had acted his part very clumsily. He ought to have seen me enter, 
 and waljt in after me ; but his awkwardness had saved me, and his " beak's grab " 
 was worth no more than waste paper now. 
 
 " Take supper, sir ?" said my attendant imp, who still remained in the room. 
 
 " No, I am going out." 
 
 The girl shut the door, and left me to my own meditations. It was a very annoy- 
 ing thing to be so hunted about ; but gentlemen following ray profession are liable 
 to be disturbed p',etty often. I put up all my traps that were worth carrying away, 
 and which I could take with me, and slipped down stairs as light-footed as possible, 
 for I did not want to let any one see me, burdened as I was with my property, because 
 it might have raised a suspicion as to my intentions. When I got into the street I 
 naturally asked myself, " Where shall I march to now ?" I looked to the right, and 
 then to the left, and observed that the coast was clear for me to move in any direc- 
 tion I might decide upon. I quickly made up my mind. It was absolutely neces- 
 sary to remove to a different part of the town, and I resolved to go over the water, 
 and pitch my tent in the neighbourhood of Blackfriars-road. It might have been as 
 well, perhaps, if I had gone among the trampers ; but not being known in any of the 
 houses in that quarter, and having rather a flash appearance, I preferred taking a 
 bed at a coffee-shop. I went into a somewhat obscure-looking place, and told the 
 servant that I would remain there that night, if I could be accommodated with a 
 bed. They seemed glad to get a lodger, and I was at once shown to a room, where 
 I deposited ray property, and then returned to the coffee-room to have supper. 
 There was no one in the room, and I inquired of the boy, who was acting as waiter 
 where all the customers had gone to ? 
 
 " There's never no one here so late," was the answer. 
 
 " Don't the people of Surrey take supper ?" 
 
24 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 " Ne'er a one comes here at night." 
 
 " When do your customers come tlien ?" I asked. 
 
 " Lor' bless you, when should they ?— in the morning, to be sure." 
 
 " Then you really have customers ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! we had all the hancients this morning." 
 
 " All the ancients ?" 
 
 " Yes — crowded." 
 
 The boy, I had no doubt, was trying to play off some jok« upon me, and, not 
 being quite in the humour for joking, I got up to go to bed. 
 
 " A candle, boy," I demanded, looking him sternly in the face, to show him that 
 there was nothing green in my eye. 
 
 " A candle for Brutus !" bawled out the boy, at the top of his voice. 
 
 " Now, you young rascal !" said I, lowering my brows, " did you ever catch a 
 sound drubbing ?" 
 
 The boy looked at me with amazement, and, as he did not relish my hostile 
 glances, he retreated slowly to the other end of the room. An elderly female 
 brought me a candle, and, after casting another look towards the boy, to make him 
 remember that he had not a fool to deal with in me, I walked up stairs to bed. 
 
 I have slept with bed-fellows of various descriptions — some have been pretty 
 pleasant, others have been a precious pest ; but I never met with such a set of 
 wretches as I did that night, during the whole course of my life before. Scarcely 
 had I turned in five minutes, when I found the bugs creepuig about all over me, as 
 lively as crickets. I leaped out of bed and cursed them ; but I should have acted 
 more sensibly if I had commenced quietly to hunt them out and destroy them, for 
 my words were unavailing, and the devils continued to ramble about in defiance of 
 me. I did not know what to do. It is extremely difficult to get rid of such ugly 
 customers. Advertisements appear almost daily in the newspapers, recommending 
 a variety of things for destroying these disagreeable insects, but the most of them 
 emanate from charlatans, who ought to be forced to live for the remainder of their 
 lives on their own medicines, or, rather, poisons. A clever quack is amusing, but 
 there are very few of that stamp. There is a story told of one who commenced as 
 bug destroyer, when a variety of other dodges had failed ; and, but for one little un- 
 fortunate eircunistance — the curiosity of an old woman — he might have made a for- 
 txmv in that line, in a very short space of time. He got small boxes of beautiful 
 lijjht-coloured sand, neatly wrappcil up, lal)elled, sealed, and signed, with a printed 
 caution conspicuously jirinted on the top, stating that "none were\>:enuine without 
 the signature as imder," and then followed a scrawl that was intended for the name. 
 With a stock of these boxes he journeyed all over the country, and met with nume- 
 rous purchasers ; indeed, the demand was so great that he could scarcely furnish a 
 sufficient supply, but when his good fortune .seemed be nearly at its height, he re- 
 ceived a check which at once floored him. Boxes went off by dozens, and every 
 body that hated bugs, bought the sand, but no one thought of asking how it was 
 used, until, one day, an elderly djime, after making a large purchase, had the curi- 
 osity to make some enquiry on the subject. 
 
 " Pr.ay, sir," said the lady, " what shall I do with the sand ?" 
 Here was a dilemma. The unlucky charlatan saw that his occupation was gone, 
 and he did not know how to act. At length, seeing it was all up, he became savage 
 with rage, and his eyes glared wildly at the old woman. 
 
 Bug destroyer : Ma'am, damn it ! seize the Imgs by the back of the neck, and 
 push it down their throats I 
 
 It is needless to add that the poor bug-destroyer sold no more sand when the peo- 
 ple learned how to use it. 
 
 In despite, liowever, of the efforts of my host of bed-fellows, I at length slept, and 
 did not awake until morning. 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 25 
 
 ["Stop thief! Stop thief!"] 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 As soon as I liad dressed I went down to tlie coffee-room^ and found a con- 
 siderable number of persons there. There were cabmen, costermongers, and 
 other gentlemen of that sort, seated in the different boxes ; ])nt I could dis- 
 cover none of the fraternity to which I belonged. Taking my seat where I 
 had been the previous evening, I called for a cup of coffee. ^ 
 
 " A cup of coffee for Brutus,'^ roared the devil of a boy, as loud as his lungs 
 would allow him. 
 
 My first idea was, that I ought to box his ears ; but then he called out the 
 name with such gravity that I thought there might possibly be a mistake on 
 his part, and I resolved to let the matter go on a little longer. He was called 
 at length to the bottom of the room, to receive an order, and I waited with 
 some anxiety to hear if he would announce it in the same Avay. 
 
 " Cup of coffee, slice of bread and butter, and a rasher of bacon for Homer," 
 was the announcement. 
 
 I turned round to have a squint at Homer. He had chosen to disguise him- 
 self in the becoming dress of a coal-heaver, and he leant his elegant head upon 
 his no less elegant fists, one of which was stuck on each side of his mouth, and 
 his elbows rested upon the table. From underneath his hat his dusty hair ap- 
 peared in straggling curls, and his fine brown matted eyebrows, slightly ele- 
 4. E 
 
2G DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 vated in the centre, shaded in some degree the lustre of his large round organs 
 of vision. One of those brilliant windows seemed to have been recently 
 damaged, for there still remained a circle of black jfroimd it ; but it had received 
 no serious injury. The face was of an olive hue, and his broad though unfor- 
 tunately rather low forehead was deeply indented (with hard study no doubt), 
 and every iurrow was filled witli a sooty-looking substance, which gave a 
 marked appearance to his countenance, ilis nose was rather short and de- 
 l^ressed in the middle, but whether by the fist of nature or that of a brother 
 ancient, it was impossible to determine. His beard was of about a week's 
 growth, and his under lip proti-uded a little beyond the upper one, thereby 
 giving to the face an expression of firmness and resolution which at once con- 
 vinced the beholder that the owner was a man of some decision, whilst his 
 muscular frame clearly denoted that he was a gentleman of considerable 
 nerve and power. Such was Homer. Whilst I was surveying the features of 
 this ancient, the waiter was busy attending to the other customers. 
 
 " Two cups of coff'ee and two muffins for Socrates," was the next order. 
 
 "Socrates eat muffins ! muffins for Socrates !" said I, still more puzzled than 
 ever. 
 
 " Yes, two muffins for Socrates," said tlie boV in passing ; " the muffins is 
 werry good, they ain't poison." 
 
 The lad was evidently angry with me for imagining, as he thought, that the 
 article was a bad one. 
 
 " Pray," said I to him, when he returned from giving the order, " what is 
 the meaning of all this ? You said last night the Ancients were crowded in 
 the morning, and I hear you call that gentleman (pointing to the coal-heaver 
 already described) Homer, and some other one Socrates, and myself Brutus ; 
 what do you mean 1" 
 
 " I ain't a calling you Brutus." 
 
 " When I told you to get me a cup of coffee, you ordered it for Brutus." 
 
 « I don't say as I didn't." 
 
 " Well, and you call that gentleman Socrates." 
 
 " You ain't so quick there, old boy ; that ere gentleman ain*t Socrates, nuffin' 
 o' the sort, only milling Bob the costermonger ; he's a regular customer." 
 
 "Wlio is Socrates then? I heard you also call that gentleman with the 
 darkened daylight Homer." 
 
 " No sich a thing ; that's Jem Muggins the coal-heaver." 
 
 The boy now began to laugh and seem amazingly amused at what he con- 
 ceived to be the dulness of my comprehension. I did not quite like his be- 
 liaviour, but I took no notice of it. 
 
 ^ Can't you ^fee it, old boy !" said the lad, in a tone of the utmost familiarity. 
 
 I looked in his face, and then at Homer, who was now busily engaged upon 
 his rasher of bacon ; but I saw nothing to lead to a solution of the mystery. 
 
 " Don't you see that 'ere black himage a top of the box ?" 
 
 I turned my eyes to the place pointed out, and observed a bust, ^vith a broken 
 nose and rather damaged mouth, but who it was intended for I could not 
 guess. It was somewhat shaded now too, INIr. Muggins having used it as a peg 
 for his hat, which did not altogether suit the character of the face. 
 
 " They calls that 'ere Homer, and when any customer is a setting in that 
 box we borders what he hasks for Homer. So look a top of milling Bob's box, 
 and you'll see Socrates ; that's a haucient too. And look a top o' yourn, that's 
 Brutus, a haucient also." 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 27 
 
 I could not help laughing aloud on hearing this explanation. The classical 
 
 ajipearance of the room, and the intellectual countenances of the ancients who 
 occupied the boxes, and consumed the rashers of bacon and muffins, was beyond 
 description. I laughed until I saw that I was attracting the attention of 
 Homer, whose bacon being finished, appeared ready at a moment's warning to 
 pitch into my bacon, therefore I thought it prudent to give no cause for offence, 
 and smothered my mirth in the best way I could. I now thought of going to 
 St. Giles's, to pay a visit to my female friend, and I rose to depart, when I 
 heard a voice behind me call out, " Hillo, my cove, is that you ?" I looked 
 at the person who spoke, and almost instantly discovered him to be one of my 
 old associates in the robbery at Colonel Clavers's house. 
 
 " How deuced well you look, my boy ; been in clover lately, I suppose, eh V ' 
 
 " Doing a little business now and then," said I. " How the devil are you 
 here ? 1 thought you were lagged." 
 
 " Not so fast, my bright 'un ; they must catch me first, eh ? Isn't that the 
 way ?" 
 
 "You're a lucky dog, Jones ; you've had a number of naiTow escapes.'* 
 
 " So have you, my cove, and if you ain't grabbed soon I'm blow'd." 
 
 « Come away," said I, « don't let us talk further here." 
 
 " I ain't had anything yet, old boy." 
 
 •* Never mind, have it at some other place ; come out now." 
 
 Taking him by the arm, I half dragged him to the door, and I then asked 
 him to accompany me through the city to St. Giles's." 
 
 "Must work to-day," he answered ; « must work, for the tin's short." 
 
 « Got no blunt ?" 
 
 "Only a shilling j made it this morning by a new dodge, as I was deuced 
 hard up." 
 
 " How did you work ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Hard, very hard, for it. It took me an hour to do the thing. I went to all 
 the insurance-offices and other places of that kind, and got copies of tJieir 
 prospectuses and rules, and when I collected my bag full, I sold them for 
 waste paper. It's only a dodge for a starving chap." 
 
 " I thought, Jones, you were not so far reduced as to be guilty of such a 
 contemptible trick as that." 
 
 " Must live, my cove — and that brings to my mind that I ain't had breakfast. 
 Good morning ; I'll meet you any evening at Mother Carey's — the old shop." 
 
 So saying, Jones directed his steps towards Lower Thames-street, and I pro- 
 ceeded to the Mansion-house. A s it was useless to expose myself to be grabbed 
 if I could avoid it, I took an omnibus to Oxford-street. When I went in there 
 were only three passengers ; but before the bus started it had nearly its proper 
 number. The two seats nearest the door are generally preferred, and they 
 were both occupied before I entered. An elderly lady, dressed in a black silk 
 gown, trimmed with crape, and a black straw bonnet ornamented with the 
 same material, was seated on the one side, and a burly little fellow of about 
 fifty-five years of age occupied the opposite seat. I took my place beside the 
 lady, because she had a fine benevolent old* face, and an appearance of sub- 
 stance about her which one does not meet with every day. To try to converse 
 in an omnibus is ridiculous, therefore the passengers generally commence 
 scanning the countenances of each other, and amusing themselves by guessing 
 the calling, the disposition, and means possessed by their opposite neighbours. 
 I abnost always employed my time in that way, or perhaps guessing how much 
 
 e2 
 
28 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 any old chap might have iu his pocket, aud then taking it out to see whether 
 I was right. It Avas seldom I was much wide ot' the miu'k. Iu this instance I 
 felt u very strong desire to know what the lady next to me had, and rubbed 
 down her side to endeavour to discover her pocket, if she had one. What was 
 luy delight on finding not only a pocket, but something like a purse in it ! I 
 soon succeeded in reaching it ; but I found it impossible to get my hand into 
 it without disturbing the owner, unless I could lift it up with my other hand. 
 As I could not do that, I was obliged to cut it oiF with my small scissors, roll 
 it fjuietly up in my hand, and bring the whole away. This done, it was time 
 for me to part company, and I therefore called to the conductor to put me 
 down. The bus stopped before arriving at Charing Cross, and immediately 
 when I got out 1 pushed along as hard as I was able to Ilungerford [Market, 
 which is rather a convenient spot to be near if a pursuit is expected. It was 
 lucky that 1 made the best of my time, for I was just entering the market, 
 when I heard the cry of " Stop thief!" behind me, and saw the conductor and 
 the burly little gentleman following me at full speed, and the elderly lady 
 bringing up the rear, bawling out " Stop thief !" more lustily than any of them. 
 I made a dash for the darkarchesof the Adelphi, and soon succeeded in get- 
 ting amongi^t a number of pigs in a corner, where the devil himself would not 
 liave spied me out. !My clothes were not very much improved, however, by 
 choosing such a hiding-place; but I was happy to be concealed anywhere. 
 ;My pursuers were distanced at starting, and had no idea of getting under the 
 arches, so that I was once again i^erfectly safe ; but I conceived it as prudent 
 to renuiin for a little time in my hole. At lirst I could scarcely see anytliing, 
 but now I could count my companions easily. There were four squeakers and 
 an old lady grunter, all sniffing round me with a desire (in which, however, I 
 did not participate) to become better acquainted with me. The elderly dame 
 snorted, and her hopeful offspring turned up their snouts and tried, to imitate 
 her. I did not trouble myself to notice any of these attentions I met with, 
 but pulling out the pocket which had just come into my possession, I put my 
 hand into it to ascertain the amount of my prize. The first thing that I put 
 my hand upon was a case for a pair of spectacles, and on opening it I certainly 
 found a very excellent pair of silver ogles, most venerable in their appearance, 
 and very heavy. Transferring them to my pocket, I again inserted my digits 
 into the lucky bag, and brought out a small metal box, a most suspicious-look- 
 ing article. " What could such a thing contain ?" said I, as I opened it — "notes 
 in all probability.'' I need not say that I was disappointed when the contents 
 turned out to be a small bit of negro-head and a duplicate for a pair of trowsers ! 
 A tobacco-box, faugh ! I pitched it to the pigs. I a third time dived my hand 
 into the pocket ; but all that remained was only a paltry sixpence, which the 
 old tobacco-chewing miser had taken out with her to pay the bus fare. How- 
 ever, little as it was, I put it into my pocket, and leaving the arches, I pro- 
 ceeded to John-street, and along the Strand to Waterloo-bridge, which I 
 crossed, having changed mj^mind respecting my visit to St. Giles's. I went 
 back to the Ancients with the view of passing the day there, and the following 
 morning I resolved to call upon in^' female friend. 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 29 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HOW TO PAY THE RENT. 
 
 Or late I had lived at very small expense, not having met with any of my 
 old acquaintances (except Jones), and spending no money in public-houses, 
 therefore I Avas now in possession of a considerable sum, which I conceived 
 might set me up in a tolerably good business. Before doing anything in an ex- 
 tensive way, and with much advantage, it is necessary to have "a local habita- 
 tion and a name," consequently my first business was to look for a house, and 
 my next to choose a good, respectable, quiet, honest-soimding name. I thought 
 of St. Martin's-lane as a convenient place, and on going there I found a first 
 floor which I conceived would exactly suit me. The rent was not a trifle, cer- 
 tainly ; but that was a secondary consideration : not that I did not intend to 
 pay it, but because I knew how to do so without allowing it to press hard upon 
 me. I then had to puzzle myself a little about getting a reference ; but my 
 old friend of the ready crucible, for a trifle, agreed to say that he understood 
 me to be a person of high respectability. The landlord, who himself lived at 
 Somer's-town, fortunately for my game, and was rather gouty, did not much 
 like this reference ; but he was unable to run all over town to the persons I 
 proposed to name, and he allowed me to have the floor without further trou- 
 ble. Now for the furniture. I recollected that there was an undertaker and 
 upholsterer that lived near the top of Monmouth-street, or in one of the streets 
 near to Monmouth-street, w ho let out furniture of all kinds for hire, and did 
 not scruple to purchase articles at a reduced rate from our fraternity, there- 
 fore, I at once made up my mind to bestow my patronage upon him. I soon 
 found his crib, and fortunately the old chap was at home himself. He knew 
 me at once, which a little embarrassed me, as I had intended to have repre- 
 sented mj'self as a person of property ; but since I had been discovered, I saw 
 that the only way to get over him was, to tell him exactly what it was my 
 purpose to do, and tempt him with a large proportion of every prize, provided 
 he would lend me his furniture. At first he was decidedly disinclined to do 
 this, for he was one of the most suspicious old rascals in existence, and no doubt 
 was turning over in his mind the chance of being done, and the prospects of 
 deriving advantage from the speculation. 
 
 " What do you really purpose to do, Deveril ?" he inquired. 
 
 " Oh," said I, " to work in the general line — fleece the west-enders during the 
 day, the watchmakers, jewellers, and drapers, and do a little about the theatres, 
 in the evening. I shall have a lady to assist me." 
 
 " That's good," drawled out the old fellow, stroking down his grisly chin. 
 
 « Then it's settled." 
 
 " No, not quite settled yet, my chicken," observed the sly old fox, casting a 
 suspicious glance at me. "What can you deposit V 
 
 " Oh, as to that, I will pay you a small sum for the hire of the articles.'* 
 
 "But that won't quite do ; you've not got ten sovereigns about you V* 
 
 "Ten sovereigns 1" I repeated, evincing surprise at the proposal ; "that's 
 quite extravagant." 
 
 "No it ain't," returned the wily /twcf, "no it ain't, you know my furniture 
 will be worth fifty to me at the very least,'* 
 
30 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 " But I must rig myself and my girl out for the job ; I'll give you five." 
 
 "Too little, by far too little." 
 
 " Well," said I carelessly, " I must do the thing another wa}." 
 
 1 showed symptoms of going, when he called me back. 
 
 " Say you will give me five now, and five as soon as you can i" 
 
 " That 1 might not much object to." 
 
 All I wanted was to get the furnitui-e into the house, so that the landlord 
 might see some security for his tin at the end of the month, and I did not 
 care to give a promise to secure that point. 
 
 " You agree to do that?" 
 
 " I do, and you will send the flimiture as soon as I am ready for it?" 
 
 " 'ITie imdertaker nodded assent, and I left him. It mattered nothing to 
 me what I promised ; but I did not wish to give him everything his own 
 way, or he would have perhaps been apt to suspect my sincerity. I did 
 not mind a bit giNuiga promise to leap from the top of St. Paul's, provided 
 I could serve an object by it ; but sajdng and doing are very difierent things, 
 and in this case I intended only to fulfil my agreement so far as it concerned 
 my own interests — in other words, I wanted the furniture to pay the rent, 
 and I did not mind, although the old curmudgeon should whistle for his 
 share of the specidation. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SHOWING THAT POVERTY IS NO FRIEND TO VIRTUE. 
 
 It puts me always in good humour to see thmgs go on swimmingly, and 
 having got round that file of sl fence, my project I considered within a single 
 point of being accomplished. Only one thing now stood in the way, and 
 that was my lady's consent to my proposals, which I reckoned on obtaining 
 witliout a great deal of trouble; but Momen are often stubborn and un- 
 yielding, therefore one can't calculate much upon them until they arc 
 entirely subdued. I walked slowly towards the house of my female friend, 
 pondering all the way upon the name I should take, and the occupation I 
 should state that I followed. It was absolutely necessary that I should 
 have a name, and also that I should have an occupation, otherwise I should 
 set the neighbours to speculate upon my mode of living. At length I deter- 
 mined on having a very large brass plate on the door, of a respectable and 
 substantial appearance — a really honest plate, with the decent, quiet- 
 looking name — 
 
 " Mr. Peter Donaldson, 
 
 Agent for 
 
 Muggeridge, Mucklestone, and Murray's 
 
 (ienuine Scotch Ale," 
 
 upon it. Who would expect to find behind such a plate such a notorious 
 
 person as Deveril the Cracksman ? I had just settled this matter when 
 
 I got to the house of my fair but unfortunate acquaintance. Luckily she 
 
 was at home, and seemed exceecUngly flattered by my visit. 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 31 
 
 " I scarcely expected to have seen you so soon ; but that makes your visit 
 the more agreeable to me," said she, rising to receive me. 
 
 " It gives me pleasure to call, and infinite satisfaction to find you in ap- 
 parently better spirits than you were when we last parted," returned I. 
 
 A sickly, melancholy smile showed me that my game was to revive the 
 past as little as possible. 
 
 "But why should either of us fret and be discontented with our lot?" 
 I said, taking her hand. " You basked for a time in the sunshine, now you 
 have got into the shade, and you ought to feel it agreeable rather than 
 unpleasant." 
 
 " I do all I can to be content, but poverty is a sad thing." 
 
 "True ; but I am of opinion that so many people ought not to be poor." 
 
 " How can they help themselves ?'' 
 
 "That is the point," said I, dropping her hand, and drawing forward 
 the chair upon which she had previously been sitting. 
 
 She sat down, and I seated myself close to her, resolved to lead her, as 
 gently as I possibly could, into my views, without committing any gross 
 offence against her modesty, or injuring in direct language her feelings of 
 dehcacy. I very much doubted that I should have a great deal of annoy- 
 ance in conquering her honesty, and that position of the fortress I deter- 
 mined to direct my attention to first. 
 
 " Now, I have been illused by the world myself," I commenced, "and 
 the world is now illusing you, therefore, to what are we indebted to the 
 world for ? You work hard, and you cannot live by poverty ; and a person 
 who only takes from the rich man what he can well spare, lives comfort- 
 ably ; but they call such an individual a plunderer, and the world will tell 
 you that he is not respected. What is respect? Does the respect of the 
 world give you a loaf of bread when you are hungry? Not a crust ; there 
 is no distinction between the deserving and the undeserving poor. When 
 one is so far reduced as to want bread, the law says it shall be supplied to 
 him, whatever may have been his former character ; but it is dealt out with 
 such a niggardly hand, that he hardly looks upon it as a blessing. It is 
 dreadful to starve ; but to be kept continually within a few feet of starva- 
 tion is perhaps worse, and the hardened thief receives the same treatment 
 as an honest member of society ; therefore, is it not doing oneself very 
 great injustice to submit to such poverty, when there is no better provision 
 for the hard-working and industrious poor than for the pauper thief?" 
 
 " But you would not steal ?" she said, looking me in the face with an 
 innocent smile. 
 
 " Steal ! I would take a sufficient portion of the ordinary necessaries of 
 life to prevent starvation from seizing me." 
 
 " But you surely would not take what did not belong to you?" 
 
 "Is it better to look upon plenty and to starve, than to put forth 
 your hand, take bread, eat it, and live ? Now, listen for an instant. A 
 gentleman borrows a sum of money, which he has no prospect of repaying, 
 and he spends it in the enjoyment of all the luxuries of life. When the 
 time arrives for him to return it, he says he cannot — he has not the means, 
 
32 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 and he is aonj for it. He borrows another sum from another person, and 
 spends it in the same way ; and yet this man is termed an honest man, be- 
 cause he did not take the sum secretly from his friend's pocket, but suc- 
 ceeded in fik-hing it from him by stratagem." 
 
 " Neither the man who obtains money without intending to pay it, nor 
 the person who obtains possession of it secretly is honest, but the world 
 makes a diflerence in their cases." 
 
 "True, it does; and the world makes many unjust distinctions where 
 there ought to be no distinction, and omits to allow of the slightest mark of 
 difference w here there ought to be a broad line draw n. I am disgusted with 
 the world." 
 
 "And I am almost tired of it," said the poor girl, sighhig. 
 
 "M'^ell," I replied, seeing that she was just upon the point, and a slight 
 effort would turn her round, " is it not proof when you and myself— both 
 as yet young and capable of enjoying almost all the pleasures of life — feel 
 a desire to quit the world, that there is something wrong, radically evil, in 
 the laws of the land, which will not permit us to enjoy what we seem made 
 and constituted for enjoying?" 
 
 To this question I received no answer. 
 
 " Now, I am careless of the world, and with the risk of losing your good 
 opinion, which I assure you I really value, I will tell you what I must do. 
 I wish to act honestly if I can; but I must have the means of living, what- 
 ever may be the consequence. I have no credit to obtain goods ; what, 
 therefore, is to be done ? There is at once a bar which prevents me from 
 going straight forward in the honest path. Without property no one can 
 ti'ade, and w ithout either money or credit one cannot, according to the 
 notions of the world, honestly obtain property ; but now the world's notions 
 differ from mine, although, perhaps, I am not less honest than the gene- 
 rality of people, and according to my idea I inay get over the bar, by ob- 
 taining by stratagem what in the fair way of trade is reflised to me. That 
 is what I intend to do — is it honest?" 
 
 There was some mystification in the way I put the case, therefore, the 
 girl seemed conftised and puzzled what to say. 
 
 " Would you rather starve than do so ?" I enquired, earnestly watching 
 her face, in order to discover, if possible, some indication of departing virtue ; 
 but she was not of that excitable temperament which marks on the cheek 
 or in the eye everything that passes in the mind, and she seemed shut up 
 entirely in her ow n deep and melancholy reflections. 
 
 Although she said nothing, it was enough for me that she did not seem 
 opposed to my views. I felt pretty sure that the point was gained, pro- 
 vided I could succeed as well on the other tack. 
 
 " A woman in misfortune, wrapped up in all her melancholy imaginings, 
 is the most interesting object that we can contemplate," said I, with a qiuet 
 and not unintelligible smile. 
 
 She smiled also, and evidently imderstood that I was now about to put 
 on a different face from that I had hitherto worn. 
 
 " Maria, excuse the familiarity." 
 
PEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN, 
 
 S3 
 
 [The Dentist and the Counterjuniper,] 
 
 She started, and I was interi'upted in the compliment I intended to pay 
 her. 
 
 " That is my name ; hut how do you know it 1" she eagerly enquired. 
 
 " Oh ! do not be alarmed — there it is upon your handkerchief." 
 
 She blushed, and appeared contented with the explanation. 
 
 " As you know my name, may I now ask yours ?" said she playfully. 
 
 I told her at once ; but I omitted all the aliases^ for it was quite unnecessary 
 tliat she should remember more than one name. 
 
 It is quite unnecessary to repeat any more of the arguments I used to seduce 
 her from the path of starving honesty to the road leading to all the pleasures 
 of a libertine's life. She was not long in giving her consent to quit her little 
 liouse, and join me in St. Martin's-lane. There was something in tlie manner 
 in which slie complied with my wishes which led me to believe that she would 
 prove an apt scholar. She appeared already devoted to me, but it is not at all 
 an uncommon thing for a woman to take a singular affection for a man at first 
 sight, and hate him heartily ever afterwards, therefore, I put little trust in her 
 apparent tenderness. Tliis matter being now disposed of, everything apjieared 
 in a tolerably fair working train, and nothing remained but to got the old 
 /'«<■<' to" send his furniture to my new house, and I sent liim notice to let me 
 have it as soon as possible. 
 
 5. 
 
34 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 ma&ia's first attempt. 
 
 Iv a very short time Everything was quite ready to commence business, and 
 Maria, had agreed to make a trial of her skill; but she was somewhat timid, 
 nnd I was afraid to tnist her too far. In order to give her confidence and take 
 away a portion of her timidity, I took her out to walk with me, and showed 
 her that by using dexterity there was not so much danger of detection as those 
 entirely uninitiated ai'e apt to suppose. On our way to St. James's Park we 
 saw a crowd of persons standing at the Duke of York's monument, and I went 
 up to see what was going forward, desiring Maria to watch ray movements, 
 and give me notice when she observed any one apparently suspecting my con- 
 duct. I found that the people had collected round a dog-fight, and I saw 
 several young swells watch the sport with much anxiety. Getting behind one, 
 I put my hand quietly and carefully over his shoulder and took the pin from 
 his stock. His attention was so much taken up with the fight, that a pei'son 
 ha-ving much of such practice might, I believe, have almost taken the stock 
 from his neck unnoticed ; but that was too bold a trick for me to attempt, and 
 I did not wish to risk my liberty by trying such an unprofitable game. ^Maria, 
 1 saw, wa« keenly watching me, and trembling for my safety ; but I wished to 
 give her another sample of what could be done by impudence, and I, therefore, 
 went to another dashing sprig, and perfoi-med the same dodge. This time, how- 
 ever, I was pretty nearly caught, for the ashes of his cigar dropped upon my 
 hand as I touched the pin, and obliged me to withdraw it more quickly than 
 I ought to have done. He felt me touch his shoulder, and turned round, but 
 afl he did so I dropped the glass from my eye upon his arm, and begged his 
 pardon. He bowed, evidently supposing that it was the glass that had touched 
 his shoulder, and, therefore, did not perceive his loss. Having now done 
 enough to show Maria that cool impudence would carry one through what ap- 
 peared to be rather difficult tricks, 1 again joined her, and we walked into the 
 Park ; but I was afraid to go far at that time, and after walking along until 
 we arrived opposite St. James's Palace, we turned round and retreated by 
 Spring Gardens. 
 
 " Observe that house," said I to Maria, on passing a deserted-looking man- 
 sion ; " the o^vner has gone to the country, depend upon it." 
 
 " But the servants are still there." 
 
 " No, not one is there now; but call and see, and then follow me to the end 
 of the street.'* 
 
 " But what shall I do if I see them ?" enquired Maria. 
 
 " Oh, ask if Mr. Burke lives there, and they'll tell you they don't know any 
 such person." 
 
 Maria went to the door, and I walked on, and in £i few minutes she followed 
 me, and said that no one had come to the door, although she had rung the bell 
 several times. 
 
 " Then there can be no harm in my visiting the place ; there may be some 
 little thing in it of service to me. I am poor and the owner is no doubt rich, 
 therefore there can't be much harm in taking what l«e may not even miss." 
 
 " But you may b© detected." 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 35 
 
 " Never fear, Maria; you will watch at the comer of the street, and in about 
 ten minutes come and ring the bell again if you see no one in the street, but, 
 as soon as you see any one appealing, knock, and that will warn me." 
 
 With these instructions, I placed Maria at the .corner of the street, and pro- 
 ceeded to the house. I got down into the area very easily, and one of the 
 windows of the kitchen being under the step in front of the main door, I could 
 almost conceal myself from persons in the street, although they were looking 
 down. The windows were protected by iron bars of considerable thickness, 
 but they looked much more formidable than they really were, for instead of 
 being sunk into the stone they were only fastened into the wood on the sill, 
 which I cut with the greatest ease ; but being so short I should have had some 
 trouble with them had I not found an old spit lying in a corner of the area, 
 with which I pressed the bars sufficiently aside to admit my body. When 
 this was done, I found that my work was completed, for the window was not 
 fastened down, nor were the shutters secured, therefore I leapt in without any 
 inconvenience. It was very clear the family were from home, by the appear- 
 ance of the fire-place, which was clean and cold, and contained neither coals 
 nor ashes. I went up stairs to the first floor and looked into the drawing- 
 room, but not a single portable article could I see — indeed, from its appear- 
 ance I thought that I had not been the first casual visitor who had dropped in. 
 Walking across the passage into the dining-room, I discovered a broom lying 
 beside a heap of dust near the door. This was suspicious, and I found it 
 necessary then to be cautious. The shutters of the dining-room windows were 
 half shut, and the blinds had been taken doAvn, so that there could be none but 
 servants in the house, I felt sure, and I collected together all my courage, but- 
 toned up my coat to keep it in, and resolved to have a ramble over the house, 
 whoever might be in it. On the mantle-piece I found a couple of ram's horns 
 of enormous size, joined together and mounted with silver, and having a solid 
 silver top. Opening this curious-looking article, I found that it was used as a 
 snufi^-box ; but being so very cumbersome I did not well see what I could do 
 with it : I therefore twisted oiF the top, carried away all the ornaments from 
 it, took a pinch of snuff, and walked to the next room. Just as I was about 
 to grasp the handle of the door I heard a loud laugh and a noise as if one 
 pei'son were pursuing another round the apartment. This is a joke, thought 
 I, but it would be better for me if I were out of it ; however, impudence aid 
 me, and I will face the devil himself. Lowering my eye to the key-hole, I 
 looked in and saw a good-looking woman, apparently the house-maid, romping 
 about with a policeman. The fellow was evidently courting for cake and pud- 
 ding, for he put on such a hungry mouth as would have melted the heart of a 
 workhouse master. There was pure love, however, in her eye, and I felt rather 
 sorry that she had fallen into the hands of such a selfish-looking rascal. How 
 long I might have continued to watch their movements I cannot tell, but 1 
 was unexpectedly interrupted by a loud peal at the door bell. The girl started, 
 as if she had been electrified, rubbed down her gown, shook out her crumpled 
 apron, and arranged her cap, whilst the big Bluebottle, dropping his dirty red 
 hands by his sides, opened wide his prodigious mouse-trap, and stared in her 
 face like a dying codfish. "What the devil shall I do now ?" said I. Impu- 
 dence, forward ! I opened the door. 
 
 "You have been enjoying yourselves," I observed, on entering. 
 
 Bluebottle looked as if he would pluck up a little courage, so I considered 
 it necessary to frighten him. 
 
 r2 
 
36 DEVERlL THE CRACliSMAN. 
 
 « I am a constable, and you nuist consider youi*self my prisoner," said 1* 
 
 " A i^riboiior for what ?" enquired ]Jhicl)ottlo. 
 
 " 1 have received informatiom that robberies to a considerable extent have 
 been committed in this liouse, and I take you into custody on suspicion of being 
 concerned in them." 
 
 The female covered her face with her apron, and burst into teai-s, which in- 
 duced me to suspect that something ivrong had actually been going on. 
 
 " And you are my prisoner too," said I, turning to her. 
 
 She declared tliat she knew nothing of any robbery; but I looked very 
 knowing, told her I could not at present hear anything she had to say, and 
 advised her to be silent until she appeared before the magistrates. The 
 policeman, I imagined, was beginning to get awake, when I gave him another 
 bone to pick. 
 
 " 1 have two policemen outside waiting to look over the house, and they have 
 rung for me to let them in ; you must come to the door with me, and I shall 
 give you over to one of them." 
 
 lie did not seem to like this at all ; but I suppose he thought resistance use- 
 less, and lie followed me. 
 
 « Don't stir out of that room until I retura," said I to the servant on shutting 
 the door. 
 
 When wo got through the dining-room into the passage, I turned round to 
 my prisoner and whispered gently into his car, " Is it really true that you have 
 been concerned in these robberies V 
 
 " I take God to witness I have not," he replied, and I at once saw that he 
 was a greenhorn, and new in the force. 
 
 " You are quite sure of that V* 
 
 " I'll take my hoath on it, if you like.'* 
 
 " Well, now, there is no one but myself to know that you liave been here, 
 and it is better that the force should not be charged with anything like this, 
 therefore, I think if yoti can get out without the constables at the door see- 
 ing you, I shall not be neglecting my duty very far to let you go ; — but you 
 mustn't split, old chap, mind." 
 
 How delighted Bluebottle seemed at this proposal ! lie looked as happy.as 
 though the devil had him, and would have jumped Jim Crow in the passage 
 had I uot whispered to him to make as little noise as possible. 
 
 "I can get out at the back door," said he, in a low tone ; "that's the way I 
 got in, and nobody will see me." 
 
 " Well, make haste, I shall see you out, and then I must return and put the 
 servant up to snuff." 
 
 Down stairs old Grab'em went at a thundering pace, and I followed at his 
 heels, until we got into a sort of scullery, when he made such a devil of a noise 
 kicking about a few broken dishes, that 1 was obliged to blow him up. 
 
 " This is the door," he said, lifting the latch to walk out. 
 
 " That's right, cut your stick then." 
 
 Out he went, and as soon as he got clear of the door I brought down my fist 
 with all the force I could upon the roof of his heavy tile, driving it over liis 
 nose, and fixing his beautiful turnip so firmly into it, that Bluebottle musthave 
 had very considerable difticulty in getting it out. 
 
 " There you go, old chap, cut," I cried, slamming the door and bolting it* 
 
 1 now walked quietly up-stairs ; but before I got to the top the door-bell 
 was again rung, and I became afraid lest Maria, by standing at tlie door, 
 
DEVERiL THE CRACKSMAN. 37 
 
 inight attract the attention of the neighbours, therefore I went out to her. 
 She appeared rather alarmed at the length of time I had remained in the house, 
 and as there did not appear to be anything worth going back for, I shut the 
 door and walked myself off. When we got home, I told Maria what had oc- 
 curred in the house, and she laughed heartily, and wished she had got in to see 
 the sport. I said that I would show her enough of sport soon, and I chalked 
 out a job for her, in which she was to act the principal character. She seemed 
 to like it, and it was agreed that sho should carry it into execution the next 
 day. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 NOVEL 3I0DE OF PAYING A DRAPER's BILL. 
 
 Agreeably to my instructions, Maria went to the house of an eminent 
 dentist, residing at the west-end (no matter what street), named Dunbrown, 
 and knocking at the door, enquired if he was in. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, step in, master's always in at this hour," said a livery lackey, 
 throwing open the door and standing up stifly with his back to the wall, in 
 order to give the visitor plenty of room to pass. 
 
 Maria walked into the lobby, and mentioned that she wished to have a few 
 minutes' conversation with Mr. Dunbrown, if he were not engaged. 
 
 "Walk in this way, ma'am,'' said the lackey, opening the door of a parlour 
 which ajjpeared to be used for the reception of visitors. " Be pleased, ma'am, 
 to sit down, and I will say to master that you are waiting — may I ask your 
 name ?" 
 
 "He is not acquainted with my Jiamej it is professional advice that I 
 want." 
 
 " Beg your pardon, ma'am." 
 
 .John had not disappeared an instant, when Mr. Dunbrown himself entered. 
 He was a stiff, formal-looking man, very thick-headed in appearance, but evi- 
 dently monstrous clever in his own opinion. 
 
 "My business," said Maria, "is rather curious ; but perhaps you will be able 
 to manage it." 
 
 " I hope I shall," answered Mr. Dunbro>vn, condescending to smile. 
 
 " I have heai-d of your great abilities as a dentist, and I have been recom- 
 mended to ask your advice, not so much perhaps on that account as on another, 
 which is rather singular. It requires tact to accomplish the business, and if 
 you will be kind enough to exercise some little ingenuity in going about it, I 
 shall ever feel obliged." 
 
 "Do not talk of obligations, ma'am— I will do all I can to assist you 
 in the accomplishment of your object; but you have not yet told me what 
 it is." 
 
 « I shall do so as briefly as possible, sir. I have a brother, a headstrong 
 youth, who will listen to no person's opinion but his own, and he has got a 
 tooth, a very bad one, which torments him night and day, and he in turn tor- 
 ments every other individual in the house, therefore, my object is to get the 
 Cause of this continual disturbance removed." 
 
 " That can be easily done, surely," replied Mr. Dunbrown. 
 
 " Not so easily, sir, as you may at first imagine, for lie will not hear of the 
 tooth being extracted." 
 
 " Very strange ! and it must give hima great deal of pain V* 
 
38 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 *' Oh, yes, the pain must be most excruciating^ ; but yet he will uot consent 
 to have it out, and it must be extracted by stratagem." 
 
 Mr. Dunbrown stroked his chin, as much as to say, " How the devil is that 
 to be done 1" 
 
 "I will bring him here, and will so arrange as to leave him alone with you 
 for a few minutes, when you must try what you can do with him." 
 
 " I will, ma'am ; if any one can coax out a tooth quietly, I can." 
 
 Maria then left, and Mr. Duubrown had the politeness to open the door 
 himself to her. 
 
 "That is Part I. of the trick finished," said Maria, when she got into the 
 street. 
 
 I was waiting in the neighbourhood, and immediately joined her. I lauded 
 her very much for the way in which she had acted, and did everything I could 
 to raise her confidence to the highest pitch, in order that the thing might 
 be finished boldly and successfully. "We went together to Regent-street, and 
 looked out for the most convenient draper's shop for our purpose, and having 
 found one to suit us, I put Maria in, and walked over to the opposite side of 
 the street. 
 
 In a few minutes jNIaria had the counter covered with lace of the most valu- 
 able description, and having selected several pieces, the shopman insisted upon 
 showing her a number of handkerchiefs bordered with lace, which he said were 
 entirely new, and cost £3 3s. each. Maria pretended not to want them, but 
 did not object to look at them. The shopman was excessively polite, praised 
 them very much, and assured her that none other were fashionable now. 
 Looking wistfully at the handkerchiefs, Maiia said, " But my husband would 
 never hear of my purchasing such expensive articles as these." 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, I'm sure you're mistaken ; only let him see them, and he's cer- 
 tain to like them." 
 
 " I am afraid not," replied IMaria, looking very doubtful as to whether she 
 ought to take them or not. 
 
 " Just let bim look at them,'* said the simpering Counterjumper, " and he 
 won't rest until you have them." 
 
 ** Well, I do not know whether he will permit me to purchase any of them 
 or not, but if you will bring several of them to the house, and put up the lace 
 I have selected with them, I will consult him on the subject." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am, I will attend to it." 
 
 " But he may be out if you do not come now, and I cannot pay you in his 
 absence." 
 
 "I will go immediately, ma'am." 
 
 "You had better accompany me," said Maria, sitting down to wait until the 
 parcel should be made up. 
 
 Seven or eight handkerchiefs were put up with the lace, and the shopman 
 turned round and asked what name he should enter in the books. 
 
 " Mr. Dunbrown," replied Maria. 
 
 "Mr, Dunbrown?" 
 
 "Yes, dentist." 
 
 " Oh, yps, I beg pardon, ma'am." 
 
 Counterjumper having done up everything to his entire satisfaction, followed 
 Maria to the house of Mr. Dunbrown. The door was opened by the same ser- 
 vant as before, who at once recognized Maria, and did not appear to look upon 
 her as a stranger. 
 
 " Mr. Dunbrown has uot gone out yet V said Maria, walking in. 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. S9 
 
 " No, ma'am, he's still in the parlour .'' 
 
 Maria turned to Counterjumper and requested him to walk in, which he im- 
 mediately did, with the parcel in his hand. 
 
 " Sit down, sir," said she, " and I will speak to Mr. Dunbrown about these 
 things." 
 
 The shopman accordingly sut down in the lobby, and Maria walked into the 
 parlour alone. 
 
 " My brother is here, sir," said Maria ; " I will bring him in, and fyou will 
 do what you can with him." 
 
 "Certainly, ma'am, introduce him." 
 
 The Counterjumper was accordingly called in. 
 
 " This is the person of whom I spoke to you — you will settle the matter with 
 him." 
 
 " Certainly. Sit down, sir, be seated," said Mr. Dunbrown to the counter- 
 jumper. 
 
 The request was immediately complied with, and Maria, taking the parcel 
 from his hand, walked up to Mr. Dunbrown, and said with a half smile, " They 
 really look well." 
 
 " Yes," answered Dunbrown, " they may look well, and not be worth any- 
 thing after all." 
 
 Counterjumper (rather pertly) : " Not worth anything ! Believe me, sir, 
 they cannot be bought at less than £Z 3s. each. Seai'ch all over London, and 
 you won't find better ones." 
 
 Mr. Dunbrown was about to reply, but Maria interrupted him, by request- 
 ing him to trust to what she had said concerning them, and to rest assured that 
 she had formed a correct judgment in the matter. The fact was, Maria felt 
 the perspiration rising upon her forehead, and she trembled like an aspen leaf, 
 for it was evident that ISIr. Dunbrown refen-ed to the counter-jumper's teeth, 
 when he spoke of their not being worth anything, although they looked well, 
 and that Counterjumper alluded to the handkerchiefs when he said they were 
 worth £3 3s. each ; therefore, in a minute or two the murder would have been 
 out, had she not interrupted the conversation. 
 
 "Then you will settle the matter with him," said Maria, addressing Mr. 
 Dunbrown, and turning round to Counterjumper to indicate who she meant 
 by "him." 
 
 " Certainly ; pray leave it to me." 
 
 Maria then left the room, and took the parcel with her j and as soon as she 
 got into the street she transferred it to me, and, taking separate routes, we made 
 our way as quickly as possible to the house of " Mr. Peter Donaldson," St. 
 Martin's-lane. 
 
 Now we must see how Mr. Dunbrown succeeded in settling the matter with 
 the counter-jumper. 
 
 " Beautiful weather this for the country," observed Mr. Dunbrown, when 
 Maria had shut the door. 
 " Excellent weather, sir," said Counterjumper. 
 
 Neither of the parties had taken the trouble to think anything at all about 
 the weather, for if they had they would have found that the weather was very 
 bad indeed ; but the object of Mr. Dunbrown was to draw his visitor into a 
 conversation, no matter wliat the subject should be at first, and tlie desire of 
 the other was simply to say something to sho^v that he wan not quite inatten- 
 tive to Mr, Dunbrown's remarks. 
 
40 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 "You have seen the new composition teeth, I presume, sir ?" said Mr. Dun- 
 
 brown, 
 
 « No, sir," obsorved the other," I can't say I have; are they better for sup- 
 plying deficiencies than the natui-al teeth «'* 
 
 « Why that's quite a matter of opinion ; they certainly look more pure, but 
 I do not think they are quite so agreeable in the mouth. There is a Bpecimeu 
 
 of them." 
 
 The counter-jumper assumed a curiosity which he did not in the least degree 
 feel, and having examined the specimen put into his hands, he pronounced 
 them beautiful. 
 
 " Tliey are certainly veiy pure. You have got excellent teeth apparently ; 
 but you have not taken proper care of them, or they might have had as good 
 an appearance as these." 
 
 « Indeed— do you say so ?" said the counter-jumper, pricking up his ears." 
 
 « Not the least doubt of it." 
 
 " I always take care to clean them properly." 
 
 " But that is not enough," observed Mr. Dunbrown. " Permit me to look at 
 your mouth ?" 
 
 Counterjumper threw back his head, and opened his mouth like an old maid 
 taking a handful of the Universal Pills to prolong life, and Mr. Dunbrown, 
 taking a small steel instrument from his pocket, commenced his examination 
 of both the upper and lower sets of grinders. 
 
 It is very rare indeed to find a person beyond the age of twenty-four or 
 twenty-five who has not got at least one tooth in his head slightly decayed, and 
 Mr. Dunbrown was not long in spying one in the mouth of the counter-jumper. 
 
 « You ought to have your teeth scaled," remarked Mr. Dunbrown. 
 
 Counter-jumper had not time to reply, when Mr. Dunbrown, giving the in- 
 strument he had in his hand a twist round, brought out the decayed tooth in 
 beautiful style. 
 
 " Dem'me, dem'me !" roared out Counterjumper, leaping from his seat, and 
 making a jnrouetU a ht TafjUoniy with both hands upon his bleeding mouth, and 
 apparently in the utmost agony. 
 
 Mr. Dunbrown stepped back a few paces, smiled, or rather giinned, like a 
 person conscious of having done a very clever trick, and bowing in the most 
 polite manner, presented the decayed tooth to its owner. 
 
 " Be assured, sir, you will be troubled with it no more," said he, still holding 
 the tooth between his finger and thumb, and offering it to the counter-jumpei-. 
 
 " Dem'me, dem'me !" was all thp reply ; but the pirouetU had now changed 
 to a sort of trotting dance round the apartment. 
 
 " It Mill give you no more pain, you may rest assured," observed Mr. Dim- 
 brown, " and you will not annoy any other person with it. 
 
 The poor linen-draper now stopped, and looking Mr. Dunbrown full in the 
 face, asked what he meant by his conduct ? Mr. Dunbrown did not see the 
 smallest use for withholding the explanation any longer, and he told the whole 
 story, not forgetting to mention the character Maria (Counterjumper's pre- 
 tended sister) had given him. 
 
 " My sister !" exclaimed Counterjumper, " my sister ! I ain't got a sister ! 
 Dem'me, it's a notorious swindle ; my tooth never hurt nie — it was not pain- 
 ful. Ain't she Mrs. Dunbrown, your wife, and are you not going to pay me 
 for the laco and tlie three-guinea liandkerchiefs? She said you would 'settle 
 the matter,' and you said, * certainly.' " 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 41 
 
 [The Artful Dodge— the broken China] 
 
 ;Mr. Dunbrown now saw through the Avhole affair, and when he found that 
 he had taken all the trouble about the tooth of Counterjuraper to no purpose, 
 he lowered his brows and looked most remarkably fierce. 
 
 " You must pay me, sir, for extracting that tooth," said he to Counterjumper, 
 who was standing in the centre of the room, staring towards the window with 
 his under lip hanging over his chin, as if the muscles had relaxed and lost their 
 elasticity. 
 
 "You must pay me for the lace and handkerchiefs," returned Counter- 
 jumper. 
 
 " Sir, leave my house !" said Mr. Dunbrown, opening the door of the apart- 
 ment, and motioning with his head to Counterjumper to be gone. 
 
 The order was soon obeyed, Counterjumper walking sideways, and keeping 
 both his hands behind his back to protect a part of his person which lio ex- 
 pected would be attacked by the boot of Mr. Dunbrown, in order to accelerate 
 liis outward march. 
 
 "Quick, make haste !" said Mr. Dunbrown, in a most determined tone, and 
 ;it the same time biting his lip in a very furious manner. 
 
 ;Mr. Counterjimiper took one step to the door (which the servant had by this 
 time opened), and at the second he cleared the half-dozen steps leading down 
 to the foot-pavement, and bounded off in the direction of Regent-street at 
 a railway rate. 
 
 6. 
 
42 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 "Who ever heard of such impudence!" said Mr. Dunbrown, shutting the 
 door after Counterjumper had disappeared. 
 
 Maria managed this business extremely well, I think. Reader, what is your 
 opinion i 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 av hour in bow-street police-office. 
 
 I VEVER liad any particular fancy for police-offices, but sometimes, when I 
 saw no other means of killing an hour, I walked into one on passing, to hear 
 Avhat might be going forward. Whilst I was slowly walking along Bow-street, 
 about ten o'clock in the morning, I observed a number of squalid-looking 
 wretches, and a few persons, rather respectable in appearance, conveyed from 
 tlie station-house to the police-office across the street, and I followed them. 
 "J'he magistrate was a little fidgetty creature, who, instead of listening to the 
 charges, read the newspapers and wrote letters all the time the prisoners were 
 at the bar ; and when the clerk had entered the charge on the book, it was ex- 
 plained to the worthy "justice," who then gave his judgment, and resumed the 
 pappi- again. This conduct I considered very unbecoming, and unjust towards 
 the poor unfortunate and generally unfriended persons who were brought 
 before him, and whoever had the power of dismissing him, if he really belonged 
 to that office, was highly culpable in allowing him to retain such an important 
 situation even for an hour. The callous manner in which he disposed of the 
 cases, showed that he was selfish in the extreme, and cared for nothing but 
 what contributed to his own individual comfort. His unfeeling "Take him 
 away, take him away !" addressed to the gaoler, when any miserable creature 
 wished to add a few words to his defence by way of extenuation, almost made 
 my blood nin cold, notwithstanding the hard-hearted crimes I had seen com- 
 mitted and also committed myself. His mind (if he had any mind) was wan- 
 dering far away from the discharge of his judicial duties, and the idea of tem- 
 pering justice with mercy did not appear ever to have occurred to him. Some- 
 times a case would come before him which involved several rather intricate 
 points, and these he never took time to consider, either dismissing the charge 
 at once, or remanding the prisoner to another day. I enquired of one of the 
 officers why he remanded these cases * " Oh," said he, putting his finger up 
 to his mouth, and lowering his voice to a whisper, "because some other 
 magistrate will be here that day— that's why." I saw several reporters pre- 
 sent, and I felt somewhat desirous to ascertain why they did not expose such 
 conduct on tlie part of the magistrate ; but none of them were at all talkative, 
 and I failed in my endeavour to enter into conversation with any 'of them : 
 but I gained my information from another quarter. An elderly gentleman 
 near me appeared to have something to do with the office, and I spoke to him 
 respecting the manner in which the magistrate discharged his duties, and he 
 said that it was not the fault of the reporters that such conduct did not appear 
 in the public prints. "The editors of newspapers will onlyinsert," he said,"case8 
 in which there is some atrocity developed, an immense amount of property 
 stolen, or where some fraud has been committed with any degree of ingenuity ; 
 therefore the magistrate is safe from that quarter, provided he is cautious in 
 such cases as those alluded to.'' I was very much shocked (do believe me, for 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 43 
 
 I speak my miud in this instance) at what I witnessed, and I determined, if I 
 should ever have the misfortune to be placed before him, that I would tell him 
 what I thought of his conduct, whether he might relish it or not. 
 
 The first charge that was brought in was that of seven or eight children, 
 from six to thirteen years of age, who had been found sleeping amongst the 
 old scenery and other theatrical properties heaped together in what was 
 originally the royal entrance to Covent-garden theatre. It is now, however, 
 shut up, and a strong iron gate placed at the entrance under the piazza ; but the 
 rails comprising the gate are some distance apart, and under it there is an 
 open space sufficient to admit a child. It appeared, then, that one boy who 
 had been unfortunate enough to lose both his father and mother before he 
 was able to do anything for his own support, occasionally, when unable to 
 collect a few pence for a bed, sought shelter from the inclemency of the wea- 
 ther amongst the worn-out scenery, and the previous night he had been 
 followed by the others. How many persons amongst the lower classes in this 
 toAvn are entirely unfriended, and depend for their daily bread upon the casual 
 jobs that may fall in tlieir way ! People from their infancy are trained to this 
 mode of deriving a subsistence, and when tliey are unsuccessful they look to 
 the workhouse for relief. This precarious manner of keeping the soul and 
 body together renders them imprudent and careless of the morrow, and when 
 pinching want comes upon them they turn tx) the parish for immediate relief ; 
 but as soon as their hunger for tlie time is appeased, they have recourse to their 
 favourite occupation — in fact, the only one in which they have ever been em- 
 ployed, namely, that of " getting their living in the streets.'' This is divided 
 into a great many branches, and very few take up more than two or three. A 
 lad who is in the habit of " minding horses," rarely goes to the river to gather 
 coals round the barges ; nor will the girl who begs under the pretence of sell- 
 ing matches, be seen standing at the corners of the streets Avitha fruit basket. 
 These branches are so entirely different, that they are never followed by the 
 same parties. The lad who minds horses really wishes to gain an honest live- 
 liJiood, if he could ; but his trade is often very dull, and very frequently he is 
 within a very short distance of starvation. However, his line of business is 
 preferable to many others, for, although the threepence necessary to procure 
 a bed may be wanting, his slight acquaintance with the grooms in the neigh- 
 bouring meuse, whom he assists occasionally, obtains a resting-place for him 
 in one of the empty stables, when the night is cold, and a horse-cloth for a 
 covering is a perfect luxury to him. IIow very different is it with the boy 
 who picks up coals ! lie is only honest when he has an opportunity of stealing. 
 It matteris little whether he fills his bag with coals from the mud or from the 
 bai^e ; and it not unfrequently happfns that he is interrupted in the exercise 
 of his calling, taken to the police-office, and sent to the House of Correction, in 
 order to impress upon his memory the difference between meum and tuum. 
 When he is unable to get a bed, he is badly off. He cannot sleep in the open 
 air, that he knows well, and his character being slightly tainted, he cannot ob- 
 tain ^lermission to stretch himself out in any loft or shed ; he is, therefore, 
 generally to be found passing the night under the dark arches in the Adelphi, 
 or sleeping in some waggon in a court-yard. The little beggar girl, again, is 
 seldom in want of any of the necessaries of life, for her trade is a very profit- 
 able one, and she generally succeeds in keeping her parents dnmk from the 
 one end of the week to the other, by her gains. She knows her customers 
 well, and when she meets with one of the proper sort, she sticks to him 
 
 g2 
 
44 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAiST. 
 
 until he brings out tlie money. An old man, who is unable to walk fast, will 
 often be favoured with the company of one of those little ladies for half-a- 
 milo, and during all the time she is drawling out a miserable tale of woe, 
 in order to move the flinty heart of the old man, who is at length tired com- 
 pletely out with lier, and ])rings forth, though very unwillingly, a few coppers 
 to send her away. Should she meet with a young gentleman walking with 
 a lady, then again she is active, and runs along by their side until she ob- 
 tains what she wants. Perhaps she carries in her hand an old cracked tm- 
 cup, or other valueless article of crockery, and if she should happen to be 
 pushed away from the person from whom she is begging, this article she 
 drops, as if by accident, and, as she gathei-s up the fragments, her lamenta- 
 tions are heard far and near. With the pieces in her hand, and the tears 
 in her eyes, she runs after the person who pushed her away, charges him 
 with the damage, and soon gathers together a crowd, who invariably sympa- 
 thise with her, and the unfortunate victim she has attacked is often mulcted 
 in a pretty large sum, in order to get the matter settled quietly, and without 
 the interference of the police. It does sometimes ocpur that this miserable 
 being is in want, although very seldom ; and when she is really destitute 
 and homeless, she is then to be found, in all probability, in the company of the 
 boy who gets his living by gathering coals and other articles from the river. 
 The fruit-girl leads a different life, and may be reckoned honest. During 
 the day she disposes of her little stock at some corner which she has gained 
 a i)rescriptive right to, and in the evening you will see her at the doors of the 
 theatre, running about, as busy and as active as a bee, disposing of the play- 
 bills. This is one of the street employments that has, like many other trades, 
 fallen away very much of late. In the good old Tory times, long before the 
 monopolies began to be broken up, this branch of the profession was worth 
 following, for it was only those who were regularly bred to the business that 
 were allowed to sell bills ; but now any one may do so, and consequently there 
 is a great deal of opposition. A stout boy, some distance from the theatre, 
 may, on a wet night, do tolerably well, provided he exerts himself by fol- 
 lowing every cab that passes, and holds the bills up to the window until one 
 is purchased. It is very easy to pick out those who are going to the theatre. 
 IJut a good-looking young woman has always the best business, if she can 
 get together a sufttcient sum of money to enable her to take the most re- 
 spectable part of the branch, for there are in this division of the street trade 
 a variety of departments. At Covent-garden theatre, it is often very profit- 
 able to sell books of the play along with the bills ; but no one will purchase 
 books in the streets, so that you must get within the rails. To obtain per- 
 mission to go there, however, the lessee obliges you to pay a shilling a niglit, 
 and this is a pretty large sum when trade is dull ; but the sale of one book 
 will make it up, and if a tragedy is played, you may sell eight or nine. Sup- 
 pose " King Lear" were played, several old copies of Oxberry's edition are 
 procured at twopence each, and sold for Is. Gd. "When a person is a little 
 accustomed to this line, employment may then be got from the lady renting 
 the exclusive right to sell in the inside of the house, and by care and atten- 
 tion you may soon be in a condition to put in an offer for the right yourself. 
 That is the top of the tree. The playbill-seller can never get farther. There 
 are numerous other branches of the street trade, but I have neither time nor 
 space to allude to them. 
 Amongst that group at the bar, there are two girls, one about twelve and 
 
DEVERiL THE CRACKSMAN. 4o 
 
 the other about six years of age, and they look as if they were well accustomed 
 to such scenes. So they are. They belong to the class of beggars I have 
 already noticed, but they never do any thing until dusk, when they watch 
 those who are going to the theatres, and, if the police are absent, they drive a 
 tolerably fair trade. They are also to be found standing in the various 
 passages near the theatres, when the people are coming out, and as soon as 
 they see an individual they think they can victimize, they spring upon him 
 and cling to him until he advances the coppers. The eldest girl at the bar is 
 training her sister to tlie trade, and in order to make her endure the hardships 
 consequent upon such a life, she has pawned the child's shoes, and obliges it 
 to wander about, in all weathers, bare-footed and half-naked. They were out 
 last night until a very late hour, and on going home they found that their 
 father and mother had not returned from the public-house, and, therefore, 
 they could not get in. It is no uncommon thing for the parents not to come 
 home at all ; therefore the children are compelled, on such occasions, to look 
 to their own comfort : and in wandering under the piazzas on the previous 
 night, they saw a boy creep under the gate, and they followed him, and slept 
 there until morning, when they were discovered and taken to the station- 
 house. A wretched life is before these two miserable children ; and they are 
 destined, evidently, to die of disease in the workhouse infirmary before they 
 arrive at womanhood. 
 
 Close beside them stands a fine little fellow, dressed as if he had been at sea. 
 It is true he has been one voyage, but on his return he Avent to the penny 
 theatres, where he met a great many boys and girls of his own age, who get 
 their living in the streets, and he has been lately trying to do so likewise. His 
 parents, instead of sending him to s'ea again, have permitted him to range the 
 streets, and the consequence is, that the next voyage he makes will be to New 
 South "Wales, at the expense of government. 
 
 The other boys have evidently been upon town for some time, for they have 
 all got the Brixton crop, which is certainly more cleanly than becoming. They 
 live by pilfering from old women's stalls, and carrying off pieces of bacon and 
 cheese from shop AvindoAVS. They will soon commence to draw tills and star 
 the glaze J but they will never do more. They are too stupid and clumsy, and 
 never will be able to crack a crib. 
 
 But the magistrate has now disj>osed of this charge ; he has sent those who 
 have offended before to the House of Correction, and dismissed the others 
 with a caution not to appear again. AVhy does he caution them not to appear 
 again ? Is it in order to frighten them from their vicious habits ? Not a bit 
 of it. It is perfectly clear, from the way he gives the caution, that his sole 
 desire is that they may be more careful in allowing themselves to be caught 
 by the police in future, for he cannot suffer the trouble they give him . I do 
 not think he is a whit better than those he has sentenced. He takes the 
 public money, and embezzles (if I may use the word) the public time. Let 
 us note what poor Lear says of such gentlemen : — " See how yon justice rails 
 on yon simple thief. Hark in thine ear : shake *eni together, and the first that 
 drops, be it thief or justice, is a villain.'* But I must pass from this subject, 
 and take a note of the next charge. 
 
 The prisoner is a young woman, about twenty-three or twenty-four years of 
 age, and she wears a black bombazeen gown, deeply trimmed with crape, a 
 bonnet of the same description, black gloves, black silk stockings, and her 
 shoes are clean and entirely free from mud. She has not a dissipated appear- 
 
46 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 ance, yet there is sumetbiug peculiar in iier face ; there is an earnestness in 
 her rauuner, and a quick Hashing about her eyes which is very remarkable. 
 Listen to the charge. The constable says, whilst he was on duty, about one 
 o'clock in the morning, in Drury-lane, she came up to him and inquired the 
 way to Oxford-street, lie gave her the information, and she went hurriedly 
 away, but he could observe that slie did not go as he had directed her. 
 8iie went along Great Queen-street towards Lincoln's-inn-fields. He followed 
 her, and before she reached Turnstile, she stood in the middle of the street, 
 looked around her, and ai)peared bewildered. She then Avent to the enclosure 
 and leant against the railings, as if she were very much fatigued. The police- 
 man went to hor, and asked her if she were ill. She looked in his face and 
 smiled. " Will you take me back ?" she said, with a melancholy look ; " do 
 take me back— I was happier there, and I have "been miserable ever since." 
 The policeman offered to conduct her home, and inquired where she lived ; 
 but she named a number of streets in different parts of the town, and he found 
 it impossible to learn any thing correctly from her. " You are a good man," 
 said she to him, " but why did you put me down here. I will give you a sove- 
 reign to drive me home — 1 want to go home. Where is your cab 2" The 
 policeman endeavoured to assure her that he had no cab, but in vain. She 
 took out her purse, and offered him money to bring his cab, and upbraided him 
 for not driving her home at once. He was <iuite convinced that she was not 
 in liquor, but he saw that she was not a fit person to be left in the streets 
 alone, and, therefore, he brought her to the station-house. She is more 
 collected, apparently, now, and wishes to go home, but decline* to give her 
 address or say who she is. The magistrate does not press her to give her 
 address, but orders a policeman to follow her, and see that she finds her way. 
 Now, 1 felt quite convinced that there was something about this girl* history 
 which would explain her conduct j and, being a little curious, I followed her 
 iUso. 1 soon found out where she lived, and in a very short time I knew her 
 whole life, which will be found in the following chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 THE STOllY OF AMELIA, OR THE FATAL FIGHT. 
 
 It IB a matter of no consequence in this case, although I hold it to be very 
 material sometimes, to state where the parties about to be introduced resided 
 at the date of the stery. Nor shall I be particular about dates and trifling 
 incidents, for, in my opinion, a tale told with great minuteness is in\ ariably 
 tiresome ; — ^but I find that whilst I am resolving to avoid certain errors in 
 story-telling, I am jiist falling into the very worst that can be made— I am 
 giving it a preface. But the story is short, and runs thus : — 
 
 One day, about the middle of summer, the bells of the village church rung 
 a merry peal, and the gladsome faces of the ])right-eyed maidens beamed with 
 unusual delight on hearing the happy sound. Thoy dressed themselves in 
 white, and decoi-atod their hair with the wild flowers that grew in abundance 
 on every mossy bank. The peasants around also participated in the pleasure 
 Avhicli pervaded the village, and pure delight was depicted in every eye. The 
 reason of the rejoicing was simply this :— It M-as the wedding-day of Amelia, 
 the pride of the village, and the daughter of one Avho befriended the poor and 
 always protected the weak against the power of the strong, and opened his 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 47 
 
 hospitable door to those whom sad misfortune liad cast abroad, penniless, upon 
 the cold charity of his fellow-creatures. Amelia was beautiful, young, and 
 unschooled in fashion's foibles, and her virtue was as pure as the snow^-white 
 veil which modestly concealed her lovely features. She was nature's child, 
 and sought not the aid of art to improve her loveliness. The bridegroom was 
 a person of her own choice ; they had been playmates in childhood, and -their 
 friendship had ripened into love. No one, in Amelia's estimation, possessed 
 half the good qualities of Herbert Stanley, and the virtues of every one else 
 were weak in comparison with his. He had a good farm, and lived as happily as 
 any squire in broad England. When business required his attention, he did 
 not neglect it, and in the sports of the field he was ever the foremost. Who 
 could have predicted thait the union of such two persons could have been 
 attended with any thing but unalloyed enjoyment ? Bright sunshine often 
 precedes a storm, and it is fortunate, perhaps, for us, that the future is hid from 
 our view. 
 
 At this time there lived in the neighbourhood — but the precise locality no one • 
 could tell — a person named Melville, who had gained an unenviable notoriety 
 by his daring exploits in the forest; and although those who were employed to 
 protect the game called him a robber and a poacher, he laughed at such names, 
 and ridiculed the attempts that were made to check his illegal pursuits. 
 Twenty stout fellows obeyed his call, and he spurned the threats of the lord 
 of the manor, and set the laAv at defiance. The fanner did not oppose him, for 
 he knew Melville's vengeance was easier provoked than appeased, and his 
 marvellous adventures and escapes from justice rendered Mm a person of con- 
 siderable consequence. By his frequent acts of generosity, too, he had created 
 a feeling in his favour which ensured him the hospitality of all but his most 
 deadly enemies. He was SL daring spirit, and occasionally appeared uninvited 
 at the table of the S^iiire, with a few of his followers, and drank to the speedy 
 abolition of the Game Laws, whilst his host was compelled to smile and seem 
 satisfied with the bold intruder, in order to save his property. He made the 
 larder of the rich supply the wants of the poor, and seldom wantonly injured 
 a fellow creature. But Melville had many vices. These, however, it is un- 
 necessary to particularise. 
 
 On the wedding night Amelia received the following note :— 
 
 " Melville the poacher has heard that Amelia, the pride of the village, is to 
 }ye married to Herbert Stanley, and he regrets that he cannot be present at 
 the marriage feast. He will soon, however, introduce himself to Amelia, be- 
 cause he has been told that she has often spoken well of him, and desired to 
 see him." 
 
 Amelia trembled on reading thenote#and her flushed cheek became suddenly 
 pale. She handed it to Herbert, who bit his lip, and tore the paper in pieces. 
 
 It was true that Amelia had once said that she should like to see' the man 
 whose deeds had made him so notorious ; but she was only actuated by a feel- 
 ing of curiosity, such as that which induces a person to walk to the place of 
 execution to obtain a glimpse of the countenance of an atrocious criminal. To 
 meet sueh a man alone would have given her as much alarm as to meet with a 
 band of robbers. 
 
 " Surely he will not keep his word," said Amelia, in a faltering tone, as she 
 saw Herbert dash the fragments of the note to the ground. 
 
 Herbert walked two or three times from one end of the room to the 
 other, and then sat down and folded his arms across his breast. This was the 
 
48 DEVEIIIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 first time that Amelia had ever peen him exhibit any si<?ns of anger, and she 
 looked ni)on his manner Avith the utmost astonishment. 
 
 " lie will come, be certain of tliat !" exclaimed Herbert, starting to his feet, 
 and walkhig hurriedly towards the window. " Tlie fellow always keeps his 
 word; but when he comes I will try and prevent his return." 
 
 Amelia endeavoured by every means in her power to soothe the temper of 
 Ilerbe'rt, but she failed. It was no feeling of jealousy that prompted this 
 ebullition of passion, but solely the unceremonious familiarity of Melville on 
 such an occasion. 
 
 Weeks passed on, and no one crossed the threshold whose visit disturbed 
 the tranquillity of the house, and Melville the poacher was forgotten. Her- 
 bert attended to his agricultural duties, and indulged in the sports of the field 
 as formerly, and his hearth was surrounded by every happiness which the best 
 domestic arrangements could produce. The first violent impulse of love had 
 subsided, but that strong and imperishable affection which in young hearts 
 always takes its place, bound him with still stronger ties than before to tlie 
 object of his first attachment. 
 
 It was a dull, foggy evening, about the beginning of November, when the 
 sere and yellow leaf was falling noiselessly from the forest tree, and the even- 
 ing gale was scarcely strong enough to make the aspen tremble, that Amelia 
 sat alone by the window, watching attentively for the arrival of Herbert, w ho 
 liad been absent all day, and no one knew upon what business he was engaged, 
 or wliere he had gone to. Amelia became restless and uneasy, and she was 
 evidently just in that state which would have led her to chide him for his ab- 
 sence ; but she was startled by a sudden knocking at the door, and before she 
 had time to rise from her chair a tall, dark-haired, military-looking man entered 
 the apartment, and stood before her. She would have shrieked with alarm 
 had she been able, but fear had taken away the power of utterance. 
 
 " Your husband, ma'am, has met wdtli a slight accident in riding through the 
 forest, and he has sent me for a change of apparel, as he has got his clothes 
 somewhat destroyed." 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimod Amelia, the words almost choking her, " is he 
 hurt 1" 
 
 "No, no," returned the stranger carelessly ; "no — perhaps slightly: but you 
 may see him if you come to the hut, where he remains until I return." 
 
 Amelia was not one instant in getting the clothes the stranger wanted, and 
 with a variety of other little things that are considered beneficial to a sick 
 person, and which none but a woman would ever dream of, she prepared to 
 accompany the stranger. 
 
 A little distance from the house stood a man M'ith two horses, and as soon 
 as Amelia approached he raised his hat from his head and presented the reins 
 of one of the horses to the person who was with her. 
 
 " I rode from the forest, ma'am,'' said the stranger, " in order that no time 
 might be lost, and if you please we will ride slowly back." 
 
 Amelia at any other time would probably have objected, for she was not at 
 all prepared for riding, but the emergency would not admit of any ceremony 
 being observed, and she unhesitatingly complied with the suggestion. The 
 stranger mounted one horse and Amelia rode the other, and they were soon 
 on the borders of the forest. 
 
 " We shall very soon arrive now," said the stranger ; « the hut is not far off." 
 
 Amelia's whole mind was filled with ai)prehensions respecting Herbert's 
 
DEVEUIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 49 
 
 cMi/^'&r 
 
 [Death of Melville the Poacher.] 
 
 safety, and she returned no answer. They had now entered the forest, and 
 the stranger took Amelia's horse by the bridle, and guided it at a brisk pace 
 along a winding foot-track, until they arrived at a marshy piece of ground, 
 where the trees stood wider apart, and the grass became more rank. 
 
 ** We must now walk," said the stranger, dismounting, and assisting Amelia 
 from her horse. 
 
 " Are we near him now ?'' inquired Amelia, anxiously looking round for the 
 hut alluded to. 
 
 The stranger was taking the saddles from the horses^ and did not hear the 
 question. He hung the bridles upon the branch of a tree, threw the saddles 
 under it, and set the horses at liberty. 
 
 " Will you follow me, lady ?" he then said, walking round the marsh \ " the 
 place is just beyond this thicket." 
 
 It may appear singular that Amelia should never, during all this time, have 
 felt the slightest alarm ; but there are moments when a person, under a certain 
 degree of excitement, may be induced to do what, under any other circum- 
 stances, would entirely unnerve him : and so it was here with Amelia ; for 
 she was always timid in ordinary cases, and could not have accomplished the 
 task she was now performing, had her frame not been doubly strengthened 
 by the fears she entertained respecting the fate of her husband. 
 
 They had now to thread their way through the thick brushwood, which 
 
 7. 
 
50 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 almost entirely blocked up the path, and the stranger was compelled to walk 
 first, in order to clear the way for Amelia. 
 
 " We are within gun-shot of our destination," observed the stranger, as 
 they emerged from the thicket. 
 
 Amelia's heart now beat quicker, and she felt her limbs tremble as she 
 walked. She heard the sound of voices in the distance, and shouts of laughter 
 occasionally reached her ear. 
 
 " We liave arrived at last, lady,** said the stranger with a smile, in which 
 there was mixed a degree of familiarity that at once awoke a suspicion in 
 Amelia's mind that she had been misled. 
 " Where are we ? — where is Herbert f she asked impatiently. 
 ** By this time, lady," replied the stranger, " he is home, and sitting comfort- 
 ably by the fire-side ; therefore you may dismiss your fears respecting him 
 now, and allow me to introduce you to Master Stephen Baron, my lieutenant, 
 a good and deserving youth, and one who will attend to all your commands so 
 long as you honour us with your presence." 
 
 Amelia would have fainted, but Baron caught her in his arms. She looked 
 like a person distracted ; and when she saw before her a large blazing fire, 
 around which were, some sitting and others standing, about a dozen of men, 
 all drinking and laughing, she felt a sort of film come over her eyes, and she 
 looked upon the objects presented to her view as through a thick veil. 
 
 Something may be said here of Baron. He was the younger son of a digni- 
 tary of the church ; and, being severely tasked, and but scantily supplied with 
 money, he became disgusted with his home, and joined Melville's band. Few 
 fired a better shot, and none lived more happily under the greenwood-tree, than 
 Baron ; but he was a gentle youth, notwithstanding, and seemed better fitted 
 for a lady's bower than the rough sports of the forest. Such was the person 
 who acted as lieutenant of the band. 
 
 When Amelia recovered sufficiently to be aware of the true situation in 
 which she was placed, her sorrow knew no bounds. She entreated the person 
 who had brought her into the forest to conduct her home, and she promised 
 him large rewards for his trouble ; but he answered all her entreaties only 
 with a smile, and assured her that, so long as she remained in the forest, she 
 would not be injured, nor would the slightest insult be offered to her. 
 
 " But," continued he, " you must stay for a fortnight at least, for I have pro- 
 mised to keep you during that time," 
 
 " And in whose custody must I remain ?" asked Amelia, weeping bitterly, 
 and beating her breast. 
 " In my custody, lady. You will be safe with Melville the poacher !" 
 At the sound of the name " Melville," Amelia shrank back, and looked with 
 a feeling of horror upon the person who spoke. 
 
 " I informed you, lady, on your wedding night, that I would soon pay you a 
 visit, and I have kept my word," said Melville. 
 
 Amelia trembled with fear, and, although she could not perceive anything 
 ferocious, or even denoting unkindness, in the countenance of the poacher, still 
 she could not divest herself of the alarm which shook her frame on hearing 
 him announce who he was. 
 
 " I knew that you would not accept any invitation from me, lady, therefore 
 I have taken the only course which could have succeeded to procure your 
 company here for a time, and I will show you that we never injure those who 
 do not injure us-; but I have sworn that you shall remain with us for a fort- 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 56 
 
 certain extent. A young gentleman at length came in and sat down opposite 
 to him at the same table, apparently desirous of engaging him in conversation. 
 He spoke of the theatres, and alluded to several new pieces that had been 
 lately produced. Herbert listened attentively, but said very little at first ; he 
 gradually, however, became more talkative, and in less than an hour they 
 were familiar friends. Wine will often cement together, for a time, the most 
 heterogeneous materials ; the most opposite interests will be reconciled so 
 long as its influence remains. The stranger drank as deeply, and seemed quite 
 as much inclined to forget everything but present enjoyment, as Herbert ; 
 and they were, therefore, well met. 
 
 " Shall we play a game of billiards ?" said the stranger, after he had almost 
 exhausted the intelligence respecting every place of public amusement in 
 town. 
 " I can't play," replied Herbert. 
 
 " Not play !" returned the stranger ; you mean, you are not a first-rate 
 player, and you imagine I may beat you. Modesty — modesty ! — nothing like 
 modesty !" 
 
 The last words were accompanied by a laugh, showing that he did not 
 believe Herbert. 
 
 " I can't play, I assure you — I wish I could now, for I think I should like 
 a game," said Herbert. 
 ■ " Shall I learn you ?" enquired the stranger, smiling. 
 
 " Thank you — some other time." 
 
 The stranger evidently believed that Herbert could play, but was afraid to 
 lose his money. That was not the fact, for Herbert was rather too fond of 
 betting. In this case, however, he could not join in the sport. He never had 
 a cue in his hand. 
 
 ** Perhaps you will come up-stairs to the room, whilst I play a game then ?" 
 
 Herbert had not the slightest objection to do this, and they walked to the 
 billiard-room together. The marker was the only person in the room, and 
 after playing one game with him, the stranger threw down his cue, and pro- 
 posed to Herbert that they should go to the theatre. Herbert was tired of 
 watching a game he did not understand, and gladly acceded to the proposition. 
 As they walked into the street, one might observe that they had taken rather 
 more wine than did them good service, but neither of them could be said to 
 be intoxicated. 
 
 " Suppose, instead of going to the theatre, we go to my house, and have a 
 bottle of wine and a song ?" said the stranger, as they were crossing Leicester- 
 square, to go to Co vent Garden. 
 
 " I shall be happy to do any thing you propose, for a few hours* enjoyment," 
 answered Herbert. 
 
 « The theatre is very dull, at any rate— not worth anything now. Come, 
 you will go with me to my house V* 
 
 " With pleasure ! but I think, somehow, that I have been drinking a good 
 deal, and that it tells upon me j and, therefore, I must make rather a bad first 
 appearance on your boards." 
 
 " Nonsense ! no one could even say you have been drinking ; and, although 
 you had, what matters it V* 
 
 " Your wife would think you make strange acquaintances sometimes." 
 
 « My wife !— where did you learn that I had a wife 2" 
 
 " Oh, I merely guessed it." 
 
56 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 " Ah ! I thought so, for you made a mistake. I am not married, I am liapp 
 to say ; but I have a friend residing with me : that, however, will not preveu 
 us from taking a glass of wine together." 
 
 They conversed on various subjects, political, literary, and scientific, and a 
 last they got to sporting matters, where they both seemed to be entirely a 
 liome. In the middle of an interesting discussion respecting the great-grand 
 father of a certain celebrated greyhound, they arrived at their destination. 
 
 " Walk in, sir," said Herbert's newly-made acquaintance, throwing open th 
 door of an apartment that appeared intended for a drawing-room ; but it wa 
 strangely furnished, and, although everything was of the most elegant, anc 
 certainly, of the richest description, nothing seemed in its proper place. 
 
 A large couch, covered with crimson velvet, was drawn to one side of th 
 fire, and a lady, who had been reclining upon it, rose when the door opened 
 The room was so dark that her features could scarcely be perceived where sh 
 stood. A small table was before her, upon which was placed a shadowlei 
 lamp, by which she had been reading. 
 
 " Good God ! who do I see !'' exclaimed Herbert, on approaching the lady 
 « is it you?" 
 
 " Herbert I" was all the reply she could make, and she sunk down in a stat 
 of insensibility. 
 
 " Your name is Baron ?" cried Herbert, furiously, addressing the stranger. 
 
 " Did I ever deny my name ? It is Baron, and I am not ashamed of it." 
 
 Herbert can-ied a stout walking-stick, and he now made good use of ii 
 Baron received several terrible blows before he had time to seize a chair t 
 protect himself. The noise that took place brought several persons into th 
 room, and Herbert, who was mad with rage, struck right and left amongs 
 them. He was soon secured, dragged into the street, and carried away by th 
 police. They thought him insane, and he appeared to have become real! 
 mad. As they proceeded along with him, he uttered many fearful curse 
 against both Baron and Amelia, for it was her he had recognised on enterin 
 the room. He had^now no doubt of her infidelity, and his rage was divide 
 between her and Baron. He was locked up in one of the common cells, bu 
 his ravings disturbed the whole neighbourhood, and the constables could nc 
 persuade him to be quiet. At length they removed him to one of the undei 
 ground cells, when they told him to make as much noise as he might thin" 
 proper, and left him. He soon became calm there, and began to reflect upo: 
 the situation the events of the evening had placed him in. Towards morniu, 
 he became completely sensible, and asked himself what he should do on obtair 
 ing his liberty. To seek out Baron again, was the first idea that occurred t 
 Iiim, but, when he reflected a little, he at once saw that by doing so he woulc 
 in all probability, be locked up a second time, without getting his mind satit 
 fied. What was to be done ? To send him a challenge, and trust to th( 
 chance of his accepting it and coming out, was the only course. This, thei 
 he resolved to do. 
 
 During this time Baron, it may be well conceived, did not feel quite so mud 
 at ease as he had done previous to the unexpected meeting with Herbert. H 
 saw that the conduct of Melville towards Amelia had been productive of th 
 most serious consequences, inasmuch as it had created a suspicion in Hei 
 bert's mind that she was blameable and guilty, whereas she had alway 
 behaved with the most strict propriety. Baron was as much puzzled how t 
 act in the matter as Herbert ; but his object was to produce a result entiicl 
 
DEVEEIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 67 
 
 [Seizure of Jones and Escape of Devcri!.] 
 
 different from that desired by his opponent. To conciliate HorLert, and con- 
 vince him of Amelia's innocence, were the points to wliich he directed his 
 attention ; bnt he could not arrange in his mind any satisfactory mode of pro- 
 ceeding. At length he determined to prevent any further proceedings in the 
 meantime, similar to those Avhich had lately occurred, by removing to another 
 part of the town, where he could remain quietly until he should finally resolve 
 upon what was necessary to be done. 
 
 The shock that Amelia had received increased the symptoms of mental dis- 
 ease, which were before only apparent at times ; but her bodily health did not 
 seem in the least degree to suffer, and on no occasion did she exhibit the 
 smallest excitement or violence. On the contrary, she looked like a person 
 in a day-dream, unconscious even of what was passing immediately before her 
 eyes, unless her attention was particularly draAvn to it : — 
 
 Baron had everything prepared for moving, and was sitting down to break- 
 fast, when the servant placed a letter on the table before him. He broke the 
 seal, and read it immediately. 
 
 "Sin,— Our meeting yesterday must be fresh in your recollection, and the 
 result of it, although painful to me at the time, has, upon reflection, afforded 
 me very great satisfaction. It has convinced me that I have hitlierto confided 
 in a person who was unAVorthy of my confidence ; but she is certainly not, on 
 that account, the less deserving of your protection. You have, however, done 
 
 8. 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 me an injury, which must be repaired. "VSHiile you live I can never regain my 
 peace of mind, therefore it is necessary that one of us should quit this world 
 without delay. IVIeet me then immediately, and come armed. I have no 
 second — I have no friend. 
 
 "Herbert Stanley." 
 
 Baron, ^fter reading this epistle, threw it carelessly down upon the table 
 again, and finished his breakfast without allowing its contents to disturb him. 
 Afterwards ho made i)reparations for the meeting, and he appeared delighted 
 tliat lie had been allowed an opportunity of settling the matter in the way 
 pointed out by Herbert. 
 
 It was on a quiet afternoon that Baron left his apartments, stating that he 
 would return again in the evening, and intimating that he would remove the 
 following day to the country. The evening came, but Baron did hot arrive. 
 About a week afterwards the body of Herbert Stanley was found on the banks 
 of the Thames, near Richmond. A pistol bullet had pierced his heart, and it 
 was evident that it must have produced instant death. For some time no 
 trace of a second party could be found. At length Amelia received a note, 
 signed by Baron, informing her that he had been the cause of Herbert's death, 
 and, adding, that he himself had received a wound from which he did not ex- 
 pect to recover. From the letter his residence Avas discovered ; but he was 
 then beyond the reach of the law. He had survived scarcely an hour after 
 addressing the letter to Amelia. What became of Amelia, it will now be 
 asked. I cannot answer the question ; however, I believe she still lives, and 
 if I, at any time before I shall have "shuffled off this mortal coil," hear more 
 of her, my autobiography will certainly contain some note of it ; for I cannot 
 help feeling rather interested in the fate of one who has been so cnielly used, 
 and so wrongfully accused of an offence that she never for a moment con- 
 templated. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY. 
 
 Although I was not much in want of money now, still to be idle was con- 
 trary to my disposition, therefore I set my wits to work, in order to devise 
 what could be done next. I had not for a considei-able time attempted any- 
 thing very extensive, and I now thought that I would try something which 
 might produce a sum sufficient to remunerate me for the risk ; but in these 
 matters it is on almost every occasion necessary to work in couples, and I had 
 now lost nearly all my friends ; they had arrived at the close of their career, 
 and Avere lagged in due course of law. There was yet one, however, who was 
 both able and willing to join me, and that was my friend Jones. I might, if I 
 had wished, had the assistance of fifty other individuals, but I would not move 
 a step with a person who could not show himself as expert in every branch of 
 the profession as myself. Jones, therefore, was the only man who answered 
 my purpose, and I, went to Mother Carey's, where I knew he took his 
 glass and smoked his pipe or cigar every evening. I was fortunate enough 
 to find him there, and we talked over a variety of matters, and from his account 
 it appeared that trade had been very dull indeed with him for a long time. 
 lie was consequently very anxious to commence work as soon as possible, 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 69 
 
 and mentioned a place where, he said, we could not fail to be successful. It 
 was a house in one of the squares at the west-end, and the only persons living 
 in it were an old gentleman, who had made a fortune in India when fortunes 
 could be made there, his butler, and the butler's wife, who acted as a sort of 
 servant of all-work. There were two ways of accomplishing our purpose : by 
 getting acquainted with the butler, and through him obtaining access to the 
 house ; or by forcing an entry in the ordinary way, after having chosen the 
 proper opportunity. As the first plan would have required time, Jones would 
 not listen to it, and we therefore came to the resolution of adopting the latter 
 course. 
 
 This business being settled, I went home for my instruments. On opening 
 the door, what was my astonishment to find everything in confusion ; all my 
 drawers had been opened, and not an article of the smallest value was left in 
 them. Every room was in the same condition, and everything but the furni- 
 ture of the old fence was carried off. This was an unexpected pleasure for 
 me, and, as I never had the good fortune to be used so before,!' could not help 
 cursing, and that deeply too, the dishonest knave who had taken such a liberty 
 with my property. At first I thought of informing the police of the robbery ; 
 but it had escaped my mind that almost everything that had been carried 
 away I had collected from various places, with as little ceremony as that ob- 
 served by the gentleman or lady who had now taken a fancy to them. All the 
 time I was surveying the beautiful state of my rooms, I never once thought 
 that Maria ought to have been there. If she had, her presence would have saved 
 my property. I certainly entertained a good deal of regard for her ; but on 
 this occasion I bestowed upon her a few epithets, Avhich would not have 
 sounded very agreeably in her eai'S if she had been near enough to hear me. 
 It was useless, however, to make any more noise about the matter, and I tried 
 to forget all about my property, and went to procure ray jenimks and screws for 
 the night's work. Fortunately they had not been taken away ; probably the 
 person who fancied the other property, had already a stock of these articles. 
 Upon examining the doors, I could find no marks of the jemmy y and the locks 
 were not at all injured. I, therefore, merely locked them, and left the house 
 in the best state of security I could, without getting new locks. To be sure 
 there was nothing now in the apartments that I cared a rush about ; my own 
 collection having been talcen, nothing remained but the furniture, and it was 
 a matter of indifference to me whether it should be stolen or not. 
 
 Jones was waiting for me at Mother Carey's. I communicated to him what 
 had occurred to me, and he laughed heartily. The loss I did not regard very 
 much, but I did not like to see him apparently exulting in my misfortunes, 
 and I told him so. 
 
 " My dear Deveril — ha, ha, ha !— my dear fellow— ha, ha, ha !" and he held 
 his sides with his hands, and seemed unable to finish what he had to say from 
 laughing. 
 
 " What the devil does all this mean ?" I inquired, rather annoyed at his 
 manner. 
 
 He laughed ten times louder than before, and I lost all patience. 
 
 " r can't stand any more of this, Jones," said I ; " tell me, immediately, what 
 you mean." 
 
 " Sit down, my boy, sit down, and I'll explain to you how your property 
 has disappeai'ed." 
 
 I sat down, and he endeavoured to commence his explanation j but, every 
 
 i2 
 
GO DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 minute, au explosion of merriment took place, and rendered the whole affair, 
 to me, more mysterious and unintelligible than ever. 
 
 " 1 have had quite enough of this now, Jones. It's my opinion you have 
 been engiiged in this yourself. It's damned uubusiness like." 
 
 « :My dear fellow," said Jones, interrupting mc, " you don't mean to imagine 
 I could have been guilty of cracking your crib, when I know of a thousand 
 others of easier access and greater value. 
 
 " There were not a thousand easier-won prizes in London." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Let mc tell you, Deveril, you're a deuced clever cracksman, 
 but a very great simpleton, nevertheless." 
 
 " Explain what you mean." 
 
 ** That I shall do in a very few words. Who lived in the house with you V* 
 
 "What has that to do with the matter ?" 
 
 ** Everythmg, depend upon it." 
 
 I told him who had access to my apartments, and, indeed, narrated to him 
 almost the whole of ^Maria's history. 
 
 " That's a good tale— there's a great deal of cimning in it : but, surely, 
 Deveril, you do not believe it, do you ?'* 
 
 « Certainly I do." 
 
 " Then there is the mistake you have committed." 
 
 " Why, you would have placed credit in it also." 
 
 " Not I, my boy, not 1 1 I've seen too much of the world for that.'* 
 
 " Had you heard her tell it herself you would.'* 
 
 " Not I ; if there was truth in it, she would not have so soon consented to 
 reside in the house of 
 
 Mr. PETER DONALDSON, 
 
 AGENT FOR 
 
 MUGGERIDGE, MUCKLESTONE, AND MURRAY'S 
 
 Genuine Scotch Ale. 
 or, to be more explicit, to take up her abode in the crib of Deveril the 
 Cracksman !" 
 
 " She is innocent, I feci quite sure." 
 
 " It is very charitable in vou to believe so until the contrary is proved to 
 you." 
 
 " I shall find her at home, no doubt, Avhen I return." 
 
 " No doubt," said Jones ; meaning, however, the reverse. 
 
 Our conversation was noAv interrupted by the entrance of a stranger, who 
 seated himself at a table on the opposite side of the room, and stared at us as 
 if we liad been a couple of wild beasts. 
 
 " I think as I know you, sir," said the stranger to mc. 
 
 " Possibly,-' said I ; " but I cannot say I know you." 
 
 " I'm blow'd if I ain't seen you before though." 
 
 " Well, old l)oy !" said Jones, " what if you have ? do you wish to treat all 
 your old friends ? If that be the case, perhaps you'll have the kindness to 
 endeavour to recollect having seen me before." 
 
 " No, T don't know as I ever see you, but I'm almost sure that I've seen your 
 friend." 
 . " Not my friend, sir, more than you are.'* 
 
 " Beg pardon, 1 took him for your friend." 
 
 "We arc all friends," said I, "when we meet here, whether we have seen 
 each other before or not." 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 61 
 
 The fellow cast a most suspicious glance at me as I spoke, and it then struck 
 me that he was right in recognising me as an old friend. His face, I thought, 
 was very familiar to me, but where I had met him I could not recollect. He 
 could liardly keep his eyes off me, and I felt considerably annoyed, but I did 
 not know how to divert his attention to any other object. He at length rung 
 the bell, and whispered something to the waiter. After this, I imagined that 
 he smoked his pipe in a careless manner, without seeming to notice me, for 
 fear of exciting my suspicions. I did not like his manner at all, and began to 
 think of going, Avhen he turned round, and again fixed his eyes upon me. 
 
 " I've been looking after you, young gentleman, for a long time," he said, 
 knocking the ashes out of his pipe, upon the table, and scowling fiercely across 
 the room. 
 
 I expected an immediate attack, and prepared for it j but he did not rise 
 from his seat. I have often found that, in such cases, it is best to act imme* 
 diately on the offensive, and I was about to walk over to him, when he, after 
 having filled and lighted another pipe, asked me if I did not remember having 
 met him, on one occasion near Charing Cross. 
 
 " Never !" said I, in a determined tone, and with a pugnacious look— 
 " never ! but if you stand up now, I'm ready to meet you. You seem to want 
 something of that sort." 
 
 Although I put on a bold front, I must acknowledge that I felt, in sonie 
 degree, nervous ; for, as soon as he mentioned Charing Cross, I recollected 
 that he was the very individual upon whom I had practised the old trick of 
 ringing the changes ; but the loss of his money seemed to have made him tpiite 
 another man, and he now looked as sharp as a needle. 
 
 " Ain't you got my money, young gentleman ? Because if you don't return 
 it to me now, it's all over with you." 
 
 " Do you intend to insult me, sir ?" I inquired, bristling up as much as my 
 alarm would allow me. 
 
 " Come in now," he called out, at the top of his voice, and the dool* was im- 
 mediately opened, and in walked a constable. 
 
 This was a pretty scrape for me, but I always make it a rule to try all the 
 chances before giving anything entirely up for lost ; and, therefore, the instant 
 the constable appeared, I pointed to Jones. 
 
 " That's the man !" I exclaimed — " that's the man— take him !" 
 
 He was immediately seized, and as I saw that although yokel was per- 
 fectly thunderstruck at the turn affairs had taken, he was about to explain 
 the matter, I threw a glass of spirits in his face, and shut his mouth for a 
 time. He called out "murder I" as loud as he could. Jones protested that 
 he was not the person intended to be given in charge ; the constable disbeliev- 
 ing him, declared that that was none of his business, and held him fast. The 
 landlord and the waiters came in, and a scene of glorious confusion took 
 place, in the midst of which I contrived to make my exit. I had scarcely 
 reached the door, when I heard the countryman joining Jones in his declara- 
 tion that the wrong man was in custody, and my friend would, I knew then, 
 be immediately released ; but as I was determined that this time, at least, they 
 should not get the right man, I did not go back to ascertain how the matter 
 was settled. 
 
 Taking the shortest passages, and occasionally doubling in some dark court, 
 I made my Avay to my house. On arriving, I found the doors as I had left 
 them ; but on opening the front one, I discovered that a small scrap of paper 
 
62 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 had been pushed underneath. I did not conceive that it would be advisable 
 for me to remain in the house, therefore I walked out, in order to see the 
 contents of the note under the gas-lamp. I opened it ; it was in Maria's 
 handwriting, dated from the station-house, Bow-street. This astonished me, 
 and I read on to discover the cause of her apprehension; but all that she said 
 was, that she had been lodged there, and she wished me to get her bailed out. 
 To any other pei*son this might have been an easy matter ; but to me it was 
 somewhat difficult. I did not much like to run myself into the lion's mouth ; 
 but how could the matter be managed without risk and danger. Besides, too, 
 it was a constable of that division who was brought into Mother Carey's to 
 take me into custody, and if I should by any accident see him, it would be 
 all over with mo, as yokel had ah-eady said. Whilst I was standing in a 
 court nearly opposite to my house, I saw a person go up to the door and 
 knock. I crept out of the shade, and went forward a few steps, when I dis- 
 covered that it was my friend Jones who had called, in order to ascertain 
 whether I had got home or not. I went over to him, and tapped him on the 
 shoulder ; when he was off like a shot, before I Ihad time to say a word. J 
 called after him, and he slackened his pace, and ventured to look back. See- 
 ing that no one followed him, he took courage, and stood in the middle of 
 the street, until I had an opportunity of showing myself to him, when he came 
 back slowly to the place where I was ; but he seemed still to be somewhat 
 suspicious, and kept a sharp look-out as he approached me. 
 
 " Come along, Jones," said I ; " what ai'e you afraid of?" 
 
 " Why do you slap me on the shoulder at such a rate ? I did not know|who 
 it might be. The sensation such slaps give me, I can assure you, is anything 
 but pleasant." 
 
 I could not help smiling, when I found out the cause of his bolt. Certainly 
 I have heard of some nervous people who could be put into a state of the 
 greatest alarm by simply knocking at the door, or ringing the bell in a par- 
 ticular way ; and it is not therefore very surprising that a slap on the 
 shoulder (which is generally the prelude to "you ai'e my prisoner !") should 
 occasion some little fear. 
 
 " Did you imagine you were grabbed V I enquired. 
 
 **No, I did'nt ; but I thought I was making a very nai-row escape." 
 
 " You certainly went out well. But you have not said any thing about your 
 escape from ^Mother Carey's." 
 
 When I remembered the ludicrous (and, for a man of his reputation, rather 
 dangerous) situation in which I had placed poor Jones, I laughed in his face. 
 I found I could not check it ; but his countenance exhibited a very different 
 expression. He always imagined that I was a fool compared with him, and 
 to be made my cat's-paw, although only for once, annoyed him beyond con- 
 ception. 
 
 " You may laugh, you have won ; but don't be too merry, for you may, per- 
 haps, have to put a stopper on your mirth soon. The fact is, Deveril, I don't 
 quite like such tricks as that you just now played me ; for, if I had remained 
 long in custody, depend upon it, plenty of charges, and many good ones pro- 
 bably, too, would have been brought forward against me." 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, you were not the man. I was the person, and the 
 devil of a felloAv identified me ; so that I should, to a certainty, have been 
 shipped if taken, and you Avere sure to get off." 
 
 « Sure to get oft' on that charge ; but think of the risk of being taken to a 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 63 
 
 station-house upon any charge ! All the police endeavour to recognise you, 
 and the beaks examine you too ; therefore, although the charge faUs, twenty 
 others may soon be got up against any one that has led such a busy life as I 
 have done, in the short space of half an hour. Don't do such a thing again, 
 Deveril." 
 
 " It was the only course that could Iiave saved me, and it could not have 
 injured you, for the old fellow, the countryman, Icoew that I was the man, 
 and that you were not, so that you were certain to be instantly released." 
 
 " Well, I was, thanks to fortune ; and I have given the constable your ad- 
 dress at Deptford, so that he will have a walk in search of you to-morrow. It 
 will improve his health." 
 
 We had now got into the Strand, but to walk there would not suit us, so 
 we detemiined to patronise some publican about Westminster for a few 
 hours. We went into a quiet small house, situated in a court leading out of 
 Brydges-street, and there found a couple of old curmudgeons, who had been 
 with Wellington at Waterloo ; and as they " fought their battles o'er again," 
 their moist eyes filled with tears of joy and pride, and their strength in- 
 creased with every glass. They were too much engaged to listen to our con- 
 versation, therefore we proceeded with our business without fear of inter- 
 ruption from them. I told Jones that I had received a note from Maria, and 
 mentioned its contents. 
 
 " Now, my boy, turn to that subject, and I can afford to laugh at you." 
 
 "But that is no laughing matter." 
 
 "That is your opinion— I think otherwise. You acted like a goose in 
 tnisting so much to that girl." 
 
 " Pooh, the girl is honest ! but, poor creature, she has been so much accus- 
 tomed to misfortunes, that she appears wedded to ill-luck. I dare say she's 
 honest." 
 
 Jones smiled, and looked at me with a countenance beaming with malicious 
 pleasure. 
 
 " You dai*e say she's honest — perhaps she is ;" said he, curling his lip, in- 
 dicating contempt for my opinion, and at the same time raising and lowering 
 his eyebrows, as if he desired to show me that I was nevertheless to be pitied. 
 
 " We will soon ascertain," I observed carelessly. 
 
 " Probably we will. What do you mean to do ?" 
 
 " I don't know. What would you do ?" 
 
 " Cut your connexion as soon as possible, my boy, with that humbug Scotch 
 ale agency, go to the country for a few weeks, and let your lady get out of 
 the scrape she's got into the best way she can." 
 
 " And would you not look after the property 1" 
 
 " What property ? all fudge ! Our swag at the old chap's in the square, had 
 we gone there to-night, but it is too late now, would have made up for it all." 
 
 " But Maria may be innocent." 
 
 " Perhaps ; but you are not." 
 
 " I should like to know how she has got among the grabs, however." 
 
 " And your curiosity will be the cause of your being grabbed." 
 
 « Probably not." 
 
 " Well, take what course you like." 
 
 " I will go and see her at all events." 
 
 " Go then, go— by all means go." 
 
 I took his last advice, and did go. The charge on the sheet was, I blush to 
 
CA PEVERIL THE CRACKS3[AN. 
 
 "ivrite it, " l')nink, and incapablo of taking care of herself." Maria drunk ! I 
 repeated to myself. Good God, there must ])e some mistake, I thought. An 
 ofiicer conducted me to the cell, and when I called her name, through the small 
 aperture in the door, three or four drunken wretches answered me in the 
 foulest and most disgusting language. Surely, said I, Maria can't be here. 
 
 " I am sorry to give you the trouble, Dcveril," said a voice within ,• " but 
 really 1 want to be bailed out." 
 
 I recognised that it was Maria, when she came nearer the aperture. I did 
 not know what to say ; but it appeared clear to me that it was no time to re- 
 proach her, therefore, I told her I should endeavour to get her out. I went 
 back to tlie charge-room and offered myself as bail ; but the inspector at first 
 doubted whether she was yet in a fit state to be set at liberty. 1 assured him, 
 however, tliat she had recovered, and representing her as a cousin of mine, I 
 promised to take care of lier, and be answerable for her appearance the fol- 
 lowing day. lie accordingly took my bail, and JNIaria Avas liberated. When 
 we got into the street I looked reproachfully in her face, in order to show her 
 that I was angry Avith her, and to induce her to give some explanation. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, old fellow 2" said she, putting on a very comic 
 face. " Going to stand anything, now 2" 
 
 I gasped for breath, and she burst into a loud laugh. Wliat Jones had said, 
 I had now no doubt, was quite true. She was not the person I had taken her 
 to be. 
 " Are you mad ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Not at all ; but you are, poor old chap. Come, tip— a quartern only." 
 " Now," said I, endeavouring to be as calm as my nerves would allow me, 
 " now just tell me, have you been coming over me with that long story of 
 yours ? Is it true or false 2" 
 
 " False as hell !" she answered. " But, can you upbraid me ? you tried to 
 deceive me too, and I saw it. All my life has been spent in London and the 
 neighbourhood, and what is it to you now how I get my living. The truth is, 
 Deveril, neither of us have been honest— but, old chap, come — the gin." 
 
 At this instant Jones joined us, and I immediately saw that he knew Maria 
 well. I was almost distracted. 
 
 ** Jones," said I in a whisper, "can wo do anything to-night ? I must part 
 company instantly with my friend here, for she has proved to be exactly what 
 you siLspected." 
 
 .Tones laughed, and suggested that I should give her money to purchase 
 liquor, and desire her to bring it to St. ISIartin's-lane ; if she once had the 
 money, he said, we should not see her again for some time. I followed his 
 advice, and the result was as he had anticipated. 
 
 " Now," said he, " let us go to the place I spoke to you about, we may be in 
 time yet." 
 " It must be too late." 
 " No, let us try our luck at any rate." 
 
 I was almost mad, and I cared not what I risked, therefore I accompanied 
 him, and we soon reached the house. 
 
 " You are the most expert at the screws," said Jones to me ; "go to work, 
 and I will keep a look out." 
 
 I was not long in getting admittance, and Jones followed me. We walked 
 along the passage, and after looking into the drawing-room, in which there 
 was nothing worth touching, we went up stairs. In consequence of the noise 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 65 
 
 Jones made, I was afraid we should disturb the house, and I listened to hear if 
 any one was stirring. 
 
 " Go on," he called out ; "go on, what are you afraid of J" 
 
 I turned round and bit my lip with rage ; but it was useless to say anything, 
 and I went forward. 
 
 " There is a door, Devcril, look in," said he, coming up close to me, 
 
 I opened the door and walked quietly into the apartment, followed by him. 
 Tie shut the door when he entered, and I turned round to order him to keep 
 it open, when I discovered a large pistol lying on a table at the side of the door 
 I turned my darkey full upon the table, when, to my utter astonishment, I dis- 
 covered another light gradually appearing from the side of the door. In 
 another instant the room was perfectly lighted up, and I, to my horror, saw 
 sitting behind the table a large blue devil, grinning most maliciously at me. 
 
 "That is the man now," said Jones, pointing to me; "I have brought him 
 to you at last." 
 
 No words can describe my sensations on finding that I had been betrayed by 
 my friend Jones. I sprang towards the table, for the purpose of seizing the 
 pistol ; but the constable grasped it before me, and pointed it at my head. I 
 was now desperate, however, and cared not for death, and I seized him by the 
 collar, but he struck me a stunning blow on the temple with the heavy pistol 
 barrel, which rendered me helpless. I was conveyed easily then to the station- 
 house, where I soon regained my senses, and became acutely alive to all the 
 horrors of my situation. A great many charges were brought against me, and 
 I saw no prospect of extricating myself from the difficulty that surrounded me, 
 therefore I quietly submitted to my fate. The next morning I appeared before 
 the magistrate, and no less than half-a-dozen cases were gone into against me, 
 any one of which entitled me to the benefit of transportation at least. AYhat 
 the deuce could I do ? Nothing, of course, therefore I did nothing. 
 
 " What have you to say, prisoner ?" said the worthy magistrate, after cau- 
 tioning me not to commit myself, although he had previously stated that he 
 himself was determined to commit me. 
 
 " Nothing !" was my answer. ^ 
 
 I was immediately led from the bar to this beautiful stone jug in the Old 
 Bailey. What will be the result of my case I can't tell yet. :Maria has just 
 visited me, and I could not help observing that she appeared very melancholy. 
 She had been at a masquerade last night, and sported her figure in a sailor's 
 dress. She got admission to me by representing herself to be a clerk to a re- 
 spectable attorney, who was employed for my defence. I employed no attor- 
 ney, for such a step would have been useless. I took the opportunity of 
 making some inquiries of Maria respecting my property, and I ascertained 
 from her that she had disposed of the greater part of it. 
 
 " I am sorry now for having deceived you so much— really I am," said she. 
 
 I looked at her, to see whether she smiled or not. She did not move a 
 muscle of her face ; but there was something sad and melancholy about her 
 that I had not before observed. I had been so much deceived, however, 
 already, that I could not believe that she felt the smallest sorrow for what she 
 had done. 
 
 " You behaved most cunningly," I observed, " and you told rather a melting 
 sort of a story." 
 
 " I was trained to deception very early, I regret to acknowledge, and I prac- 
 tised it well, I dare gay." 
 
 9. 
 
66 DEVERIL THE CRACKSMAN. 
 
 " None could have done it better ; bnt there was one thing in your tale which 
 f do not yet understand. About the old man 1 saw lying dead in your apart- 
 )nents ?" 
 
 " He was my landlord only. The fact was, I thought he had got money, 
 and I invited him, when he became sick, to live with me. He came, a blood- 
 vessel burst t)ie following day, and he instantly went oft'." 
 
 " And as to the money ?" 
 
 "He had deceived me — he had not a farthing— the parish had to Imry 
 him." 
 
 " Really this world is full of deception ; what shall I hear of next ?" 
 
 " IJy-the-bye, Deveril, you knew a Miss Hampton,'* said Maria, looking me 
 steadfastly in the face. 
 
 "Well, what if I did?" 
 
 " Not much. What became of her ? Yon used her shamefully, poor girl." 
 
 " Bah ! nonsense." 
 
 " If you do not know what became of her, I can tell you." 
 
 " Did she go home ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Yes, to that home where you and I may shortly join her. She was taken 
 up in the streets for begging, a week ago, and died yesterday in the workhouse 
 of disease and starvation. You may take the credit of her crimes." 
 
 " I am sorry for her," said I. 
 
 She smiled, as though she did not believe I could feel for any one ; but I did, 
 from my heart, sincerely regret the fate of the poor young girl that I had 
 di-awn from her father's happy home, and aliaudoned helpless and penniless 
 in the wide world, without a friend to advise her. It was cruel indeed. 
 
 " There is the turnkey coming to warn me to leave you," said Maria ; " I 
 must go instantly — perhaj)s I shall never see you again." 
 
 As she spoke a tear filled her eye, and she looked mournfully round my 
 little cell. 
 
 "Come here again, won't you ?" said I. 
 
 " Perhaps ; but there is the turnkey, I hear him approaching. Stay an 
 instant, I brought a little phial filled \\ith a pleasant cordial for you ; bnt the 
 turnkey will see it. Here,'' said she, handing to me a small bottle, ** drink it 
 before ho comes, and let me put the phial in my pocket." 
 
 I had scarcely time to do so, when the turnkey came in, and Maria prepared 
 to leave me. She had also put into my hand two or three papers. As she did 
 not remain an instant afterwards, however, I had no time to inquire what they 
 were, or what she intended me to do with them. 
 
 " Farewell !" said she, in a melancholy tone, as she left the cell. 
 
 "Farewell !" I repeated mechanically, for the sound of the word, as uttered 
 by Maria, seemed so strange to me, that I scarcely knew what I said in return. 
 
 I listened to her receding steps ; but the sound soon died away. Tlie noise 
 of unlocking and again locking the doors as she passed along the i)assages with 
 the turnkey, was heard almost imtil she reached the outer door of the prison^ 
 As soon as everything was still, I sat down upon my bed, and immediately got 
 into a day-dream, which brought before my eyes in rapid succession almost all 
 my former life. I came to the last page, and found myself in Newgate, with 
 the bright and beautiful prospect before me of speedily being shipped " beyond 
 the seas, to siu-h i)lace as his Majesty, by the advice of his Privy Council, may 
 direct and appoint, for the term of my natural life." 
 
 " What have 1 done to deserve such treatment at the hands of the govern- 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKS^EAN. 67 
 
 ment ?" I exclaimed, when I thought of the hardships that were in store for 
 me 
 
 When I became calm, I found I could answer the question myself. I had 
 been guilty of deeds which I now blushed to think of. Regardless of every 
 one but myself, I had robbed the poor old widow of her last farthing, I had be- 
 trayed the confidence of all who trusted me, I had been the ruin and the death, 
 indeed, of the only person who ever truly loved me, and, in short, I had done 
 all the evil to society that I could. I reluctantly confessed, at length, that 1 
 did deserve punishment. I thought my conscience had been dead to all feel- 
 ing ; but I now found, for the first time, that I was mistaken. It is a dreadful 
 thing for a person, who is certain of punishment, to sit down and recal to his 
 mind his past life, when there is not in that life one single redeeming action, 
 one point upon which he can rest for an instant, and say to himself, " Here I 
 have acted like an honest man." It is awful to think of the evil he has pro- 
 duced, the grief he has caused, and the ruin which has followed his unlawful 
 deeds. All this he might have prevented ; it was his own desire to pursue the 
 path of vice ; but rather than do the smallest portion of good to his fellow- 
 creatures, he chose to be a pest to society, and to prey upon honesty. All this 
 I now felt, and I sought in vain for one good or generous act to bring to my 
 troubled mind one gleam of hope. I must forget all. I passed my hand across 
 my forehead, and felt it unusually warm, and my temples throbbed violently. 
 I was somewhat sick, and I thought I would sleep for a short time. I was 
 about to stretch myself on the bed, when I found that I had still got Maria's 
 papers in my hand. I looked at the first one ; it was a letter addressed to my- 
 self. "This is rather singular," said I, "if she had anything to communicate 
 to me of importance, she might have done so without writing me a letter." I 
 broke the seal, and read the communication. 
 
 " My dear Deveril, — I write what I could not otherwise communicate to 
 you. We cannot meet again. I have resolved to take leave of life in a few 
 hours, for I am sick of the world. I have sought pleasure everywhere, and I 
 am wearied with the profitless pursuit. I never found a person, in the whole 
 course of my life, whose aim was not to deceive his neighbours in'one way or 
 another. This is true ; think of it for an instant, and I am sure you will sa}' 
 that there does not exist a person devoid of deception. It is a very sad thing 
 to contemplate ; but take a glance at society as it is now formed, and you will 
 observe that horrid cancer — deception — preying upon every branch of it. Do 
 not wonder, then, that I am tired of the world— disgusted with it. You have 
 been deceiving all your life ; so have I. The manner in which society is now 
 constituted compelled us to do so. But I am tired of such a life, and I, with 
 pleasure, rather than regret, resign it. — Farewell. 
 
 "Maria." 
 
 The reading of this letter has produced a strange feeling of giddiness in my 
 head. I must drop my pen. 
 
 2k 
 
DEVERIL THE CRACKS^IAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 TIn^s ends the niamisrript of Deveril ; Lut vre are able to bring it to a con- 
 clusion. The sleep that closed his eyes when lie dropped his pen, was the 
 last sleep of death. In the morning he was a cold, stiff corpse. The cordial 
 ^laria gave him was too powerful for him — the half of it was laudanum. She 
 intended to leave the world that night herself, and she Avanted Deveril with 
 her. But the dose she administered to him was stronger than her own, for 
 she survived him two da5'S. Jones is now living in Norfolk Island. Such w;i 
 the end of Deveril the Cracksman, and the consequences resulting froui 
 a life of crime will be observed iu the melancholy fate of his friends. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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