prayers, I heard the shrill clamour of orange-girls, and small catchpenny traders offering their strange varieties of merchandise, to the utter hindrance and obstruction of all traffic. Instead of picturesque groups of turbaned Moors squatting in the Bengal sunshine, I saw a throng so diverse in dress and appearance that I might have fancied myself amidst a concourse of people from all the ends of the earth.

At one point the crowd bearing towards St. Sepulchre's Church was so dense that I was fairly brought to a standstill, and while waiting for the rabble to pass, inquired of a neighbour where all these people were going.

"I suppose they are going to see the execution to-morrow," my neighbour answered civilly.

"An execution ?"

"Yes; three brothers-mere lads-who are to be hung at eight tomorrow morning."

"And it is now six in the evening. Do you mean to tell me that this rabble will wait for fourteen hours, standing in an open street, for the brief delight of seeing three of their fellow-creatures hung?"

"Not only this rabble, sir, but the finest gentlemen in the town. There is not a window within view of the gallows where you will not see a group of bloods, drinking and gaming. 'Tis said that Mr. Selwyn, the wit, has a suit of black on purpose for executions."

"And pray, sir, what is the crime of these unfortunates? Is it murder, arson, or piracy for which they are to suffer?"

"No, sir; the lads are somewhat to be commiserated. Their sole offence is the appropriation of three oak-saplings, which they severally cut and converted into walking-sticks while enjoying a sabbath ramble in a copse at Edgeware. The law for the protection of timber is somewhat stringent."

I had seen something of the severity of English laws before I was sent to India, but this formal sacrifice of three young lives for as many oak-saplings seemed to me more appalling than the cruelties of Suraja Doulah, which were at least the blind impulses of passion.

"Yes," said my neighbour, perceiving my concern, "it is really a sad case, for the lads are of respectable parentage-the sons of a small yeoman and had no idea they were committing a felony."

"It is of a piece with the rest I hear of this country, sir,” I replied. "We frame laws that would have revolted Draco himself by their cruelty, and then regret their application. It was but last year that a body of English officers were compelled to condemn a brave man to an ignominious death, not because they thought him unworthy to live, but because the act of parliament that provided against his offence left them no alternative."

"Nay, sir," replied my neighbour; "Admiral Byng was the scapegoat of a party-a sacrifice to public disappointment. He could never have been so sacrificed if his judges had not been bound by the letter

of a cruel law. They condemned him to death in obedience to an act of parliament, and recommended that he should be spared in deference to the common instincts of humanity. Is this right, sir? Should not law and humanity go hand in hand? Byng would have been pardoned, I doubt not, sir, had not his Majesty given his promise to the City that he would allow proceedings to take their course. He would fain have saved the Admiral, but was bound hand and foot by that pledge."

"What, sir," I cried, "could a Christian king mortgage his divinest prerogative-the right to be merciful ?"

The stranger shrugged his shoulders in an evasive manner, as who should say, "Really, sir, this is no affair of ours ;" and the mob having by this time passed us, we bowed and parted.

I was glad to turn from the bustle of Holborn into the quiet of Lincoln's-inn-fields, whence I rambled on to Great Queen -street, and thence to Long-acre, staring about me as I went along with all the curiosity of a country bumpkin who surveys the town for the first time. It was but the random impulse of an idler that took me to this locality, yet no sooner was I there than it occurred to me this was a place which of all others I should visit.

It was here the milliner resided to whom Lady Barbara had desired me to address my letter—a woman of whom she had spoken as a “good soul," who might be trusted. She would scarce have said this of a person she was but little familiar with. I knew the intimacy that must of necessity obtain between a fine lady and her milliner, since the despotic changes and caprices of fashion must oblige a frequent intercourse, and it suddenly struck me that from this woman I might learn some details of the last year of Lady Barbara's life.

"I can at least call upon her," I said to myself. "If the visit prove useless, I would take much more trouble than that for the chance of hearing the smallest tidings of that dear friend."

I looked for the house, and after some time discovered a painted and gilded doll hanging over a doorway, and on the door below this sign an announcement to the effect that Mrs. Winbolt, mantua-maker and milliner to her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales, had correspondents at Paris and Vienna, and might be relied on for the newest modes in court-robes, sacs, cardinals, petticoats, and mantuas.

I rang the bell, and was speedily admitted by a grinning black boy, who ushered me into a small oak-parlour at the back of the house, where he set a candle upon the table and left me without a word. There was a half-open door between this and another apartment, whence I heard the animated tones of a female voice.

"Nay, indeed, madam, 'tis the very same material I sold but last Thursday week to the Princess of Wales. She said, 'I will have that, or nothing. I protest there's no living without a sac of Lyons brocade these days.' And for your complexion, ma'am, which is, I need scarce say, far superior to her Royal Highness's-"

"But the price," remonstrated another voice; "I had thought six guineas would have bought the finest sac you could make me, and for one of this material you have the conscience to ask ten."

"Her Royal Highness paid twenty guineas for the same stuff, ma'am, and found her own point. With a tucker of English lace I could not do it for sixpence less than eleven guineas, and then 'tis because I would not disoblige a customer."

"I am vastly afraid your obligingness will end in my ruin," replied the customer with a profound sigh, and then followed a little more haggling, which resulted in an order for the garment under discussion. This conquest achieved on the part of the mantua-maker, and the lady shown to the door, the black boy condescended to inform his mistress of my presence, and she came bustling in upon me.

"Upon my word, sir, I know not how to apologise," she exclaimed; "that Pompey is the most incorrigible rascal; and if he had not been given me by a lady of quality, who, I make no doubt, was heartily tired of his impish tricks, I should have turned him out of my house long ago."

I was pleased with the appearance of Mrs. Winbolt, who was that kind of person usually described as "a good motherly soul." She displayed that comfortable bulk of figure which is generally supposed to accompany an easy disposition, and her complexion was as fresh as if she had been the rustic wife of some prosperous farmer.

This matronly person saluted me with a profound curtsey, and then, as she approached nearer to me, stopped suddenly short, and regarded me with a closer scrutiny than the occasion warranted. For the moment some peculiarity in my appearance seemed fairly to be wilder her; she gave a little gasp, and then began to apologise for having stared at me with apparent rudeness.

"I trust you'll be so obliging as to pardon me, sir," she said; "but I never saw a more startling likeness-but for the darkness of your complexion it would be perfect-and for the moment I was so foolish as to take you for a gentleman who has been dead these five-and-twenty years."

"You took me for my father, Mr. Roderick Ainsleigh," I said. "Good heavens, sir! are you Mr. Robert Ainsleigh, the gentleman that was sent to India?"

"I am that ill-used person."

Mrs. Winbolt offered me both her plump hands, and shook mine with a heartiness that almost took me aback.

“O sir, you must be so good as to excuse the liberty, but I couldn't be better pleased than I am to see you,-unless, indeed, Lady Barbara had lived to see this day. Alas, sir, what a loss!"

She wiped some tears from her eyes with an unobtrusive gesture. "To me an irreparable one. 'Twas the merest hazard that brought me here; but I am very glad I came. It seems you loved my benefac tress? She was something more to you than an ordinary customer?"