"What made the baker's loaf and Luddites rise,
            And filled the butchers' shops with large blue flies?"

    "This was an event in my life.  Of Mr. Hunt I had imbibed a high opinion; and his first appearance did not diminish my expectations.  He was gentlemanly in his manner and attire; six feet and better in height, and extremely well formed.  He was dressed in a blue lapelled coat, light waistcoat and kerseys, and topped boots; his leg and foot were about the firmest and neatest I ever saw.  He wore his own hair; it was in moderate quantity, and a little gray.  His features were regular, and there was a kind of youthful blandness about them which.  in amicable discussion, gave his face a most agreeable expression.  His lips were delicately thin, and receding; but there was a dumb utterance about them which, in all the portraits I have seen of him, was never truly copied.  His eyes were blue or light gray—not very clear, nor quick, but rather heavy: except, as I afterwards had opportunities for observing, when he was excited in speaking; at which times they seemed to distend and protrude; and, if he worked himself furious, as he sometimes would, they became blood-streaked, and almost started from their sockets.  Then it was that the expression of his lips was to be observed—the kind smile was exchanged for the curl of scorn, or the curse of indignation.  His voice was bellowing; his face swollen and flushed; his griped hand beat as if it were to pulverize; and his whole manner gave token of a painful energy, struggling for utterance.

    "Thomas Cleary, the secretary to the Hampden Club, was also in the room; he was perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, about middle stature, slightly formed, and had a warmth and alacrity in his manner, which created at once respect and confidence.  He was, and I have no doubt is yet, if he be living, worthy of, and enjoying, the esteem of all who know him.  Hunt ferociously traduced his character at a subsequent election for Westminster; but the shame recoiled on the calumniator.

    "Cobbett I had not seen before.  Had I met him anywhere, save in that room and on that occasion, I should have taken him for a gentleman farming his own broad estate.  He seemed to have that kind of self-possession and ease about him, together with a certain bantering jollity, which are so natural to fast-handed and well-housed lords of the soil.  He was, I should suppose, not less than six feet in height; portly, with a fresh, clear and round cheek, and a small gray eye, twinkling with good-humored archness.  He was dressed in a blue coat, yellow swansdown waistcoat, drab kersey small-clothes, and top-boots.  His hair was gray, and his cravat and linen were fine and very white.  In short, he was the perfect representation of what he always wished to be—an English gentleman-farmer."—vol.  i., p.  18.

    "On the day when parliament was opened, a number of the delegates met Hunt at the Golden Cross, Charing Cross; and from thence, went with him, in procession, to the residence of Lord Cochrane, in Palace Yard.  * * * There had been some tumult in the morning; the prince regent had been insulted on his way to the house, and this part of the town was still in a degree of excitement.  We were crowded around and accompanied by a great multitude, which, at intervals, rent the air with shouts.  Now it was that I beheld Hunt in his element.  He unrolled the petition, which was many yards in length, and it was carried on the heads of the crowd, perfectly unharmed.  He seemed to know almost every man of them; and his confidence in, and entire mastery over them, made him quite at ease.  A louder huzza than common, was music to him; and when the questions were asked eagerly, 'Who is he?'  'What are they about?'  and the reply was, 'Hunt! Hunt! huzza!' his gratification was expressed by a stern smile.  He might be likened to the genius of commotion, calling forth its elements, and controlling them at will.  On arriving at Palace Yard, we were shown into a room below stairs, and whilst Lord Cochrane and Hunt conversed above, a slight and elegant young lady, dressed in white, and very interesting, served us with wine.  She is, if I am not misinformed, now Lady Dundonald.  At length, his lordship came to us.  He was a tall young man, cordial and unaffected in his manner.  He stooped a little, and had somewhat of a sailor's gait in walking; his face was rather oval—fair naturally, but now tanned and sun-freckled; the expression calm and self-possessed.  He took charge of our petitions, and, being seated in an arm-chair, we lifted him up, and bore him, on our shoulders, across Palace Yard, to the door of Westminster Hall the old rafters of which rung with the shouts of the vast multitude outside."— vol.  i., pp.  19, 20.

    "A number of us went, one morning, to visit Sir Francis at his house in Park place.  The outside was but of ordinary appearance, and the inside was not much better, so far as we were admitted.  To me it seemed like a cold, gloomy, barely furnished house; which I accounted for by supposing that it was perhaps the style of all great mansions.  We were shown into a large room, the only remarkable thing in which was a bust of John Horne Tooke.  Sir Francis came to us in a loose gray vest coat, which reached far towards his ankles.  He had not a cravat on his neck; his feet were in slippers; and a pair of wide cotton stockings hung in wrinkles on his long spare legs, which he kept alternately throwing across his knees, and rubbing down with his hands, as if he suffered, or recently had, some pain in those limbs.  He was a fine-looking man on the whole, of lofty stature, with a proud but not forbidding carriage of the head.  His manner was dignified and civilly familiar; submitting to, rather than seeking, conversation with men of our class.  He, however, discussed with us some points of the intended bill of reform, candidly and freely; and concluded with promising to support universal suffrage, though he was not sanguine of much cooperation in the house.  Under these circumstances, we left Sir Francis, approving of much that we found in and about him, and excusing much of what we could not approve.  He was one of our idols, and we were loath to give him up.

    Still I could not help my thoughts from reverting to the simple and homely welcome we received at Lord Cochrane's, and contrasting it with the kind of dreary stateliness of this great mansion and its rich owner.  At the former place, we had a brief refection bestowed with a grace which captivated our respect; and no health was ever drunk with more sincere good-will than was Lord Coebrane's; the little dark-haired and bright-eyed lady seemed to know it, and to be delighted that it was so.  But here, scarcely a servant appeared, and nothing in the shape of refreshment was seen."—-vol.  i., pp.  21, 22.

"I well recollect, though I cannot describe, all the conflicting emotions which arose within me as I approached that assembly, with the certainty of now seeing arid hearing those whom I considered to be the authors of my country's wrongs.  Curiosity certainly held its share of my feelings; but a strong dislike to the 'boroughmonger crew' and their measures held a far larger share.  After a tough struggle at elbowing and pushing along a passage, up a narrow staircase, and across a room, I found myself in a small gallery, from whence I looked on a dimly lighted place below.  At the head of the room, or rather den, for such it appeared to me, sat a person in a full loose robe of, I think, scarlet and white.  Above his head were the royal arms richly gilded; at his feet several men in robes and wigs were writing at a large table, on which lamps were burning, which cast a softened light on a rich ornament like a ponderous sceptre of silver and gold, or what appeared to be so.  Those persons I knew must be the speaker and the clerks of the house; and that rich ornament could be nothing else than the 'mace'—that same thing, or one in its place, to which Cromwell pointed and said, 'Take away that bauble; for shame—give way to honester men.'  On each side of this pit-looking place, leaving an open space in the centre of the floor, 'were benches one above another; and on these benches sat some three or four hundreds of the most ordinary-looking men I had ever beheld at one view.   Some were striking exceptions; several young fellows in military dresses gave relief to the sombre drapery of the others.  Canning, with his smooth, bare, and capacious forehead, sat there, a spirit beaming in his looks like that of the leopard waiting to spring upon its prey.  Castlereagh, with his handsome but immovable features—-Burdett, with his head carried back, and held high as in defiance—and Brougham, with his Arab soul ready to rush forth and challenge war to all  comers.  The question was to me solemnly interesting, whilst the spectacle wrought strangely on my feelings.  Our accusers were many and powerful, with words at will, and  applauding listeners.  Our friends were few and far between; with no applauders save their good, conscience , and the blessing of the poor.  What a scene was this to be enacted by the 'collective wisdom of the nation!'  Some of the members stood leaning again pillars, with their hats cocked awry; some were whispering by half dozens;  others were lolling upon their seats; some, with arms a-kimbo, were eye-glassing across the house; some were stiffened immovably by starch, or pride, or both; one was speaking, or appeared to be so, by the motion of his arms, which he shook in token of defiance, when his voice was drowned by a howl as wild and remorseless as that from a kennel of hounds at feeding time.  Now he points, menacing, to the ministerial benches—now he appeals to some members on his side—then to the speaker: all in vain.  At times he is heard in the pauses of that wild hubbub, but again he is borne down by the yell which awakes on all sides around him.  Some talked aloud; some whinnied in mock laughter, coming, like that of the damned, from bitter hearts.  Some called 'order, order,' some 'question, question;' some beat time with the heel of their boots; some snorted into their napkins; and one old gentleman in the side gallery actually coughed himself from a mock cough into a real one, and could not stop until he was almost black in the face.

    "And are these, thought I, the beings whose laws we must obey?  This the 'most illustrious assembly of freemen in the world?'  Perish freedom then, and her children too.  O! for the stamp of stern old Oliver on this floor; and the clank of his scabbard, and the rush of his iron-armed band, and his voice to arise above this Babel howl—'Take away that bauble'—'Begone; give place to honester men.'

    "Such was icy first view of the house of commons; and such the impressions strongly forced on icy feelings at the time.  The speaker alluded to was Henry Brougham.  I heard at first very little of what he said; but I understood from occasional words, and the remarks of some whom I took for reporters, that he was violently attacking the ministers and their whole home policy.  That he was so doing, might have been inferred from the great exertions of the ministerial party to render him inaudible, and to subdue his spirit by a bewildering and contemptuous disapprobation.  But they had before them a wrong one for being silenced, either by confusion or menace.  Like a brave stag, he held them at bay, and even hurled back their defiance with 'retorted scorn.'  In some time his words became more audible; presently there was comparative silence, and I soon understood that he had let go the ministry, and now unaccountably, as it seemed to me, had made a dead set at the reformers.  Oh! how he did scowl towards us—contemn and disparage our best actions, and wound our dearest feelings! Now stealing near our hearts with words of wonderful power, flashing with bright wit and happy thought; anon like a reckless wizard changing pleasant sunbeams into clouds, 'rough with black winds and storms,' and vivid with the cruellest shafts.  Then was he listened to as if not a pulse moved—then was he applauded to the very welkin.  And he stood in the pride of his power, his foes before him subdued but spared—his friends, derided, and disclaimed—and his former principles sacrificed to 'low ambition,' and the vanity of such a display as this.

    "I would have here essayed somewhat with respect to Canning, and the character and effects of his eloquence; but little appertaining to him remained on my mind.  Every feeling was absorbed by the contemplation of that man whom I now considered to be the most perfidious of his race.  I turned from the spectacle with disgust, and sought my lodgings in a kind of stupor; almost believing that I had escaped from a monstrous dream.

    "Such was my first view of Henry Brougham; and such the impressions I imbibed, and long entertained, of that extraordinary man.  He sinned then, and has often done so since, against the best interests of his country; bowing to his own image, and sacrificing reason and principle to caprice or offended self-love.  But has he not done much for mercy, and for the enlightenment of his kind?  See the African dancing above his chains! Behold the mild but irresistible light which education is diffusing over the land! These are indeed blessings beyond all price—rays of unfading glory.—They are Lord Brougham's; and will illumine his tomb when his errors and imperfections are forgotten."—vol.  i., pp.  25—29.

    "I considered it a mean thing, though the practice was coming much into use, and several of my friends without any scruple continued to do so until 'their occupation' was gone! It was a bad practice, however, and gave rise to a set of orators 'who made a trade of speechifying;—and the race has not become extinct.  These persons began to seek engagements of the kin; some would even thrust themselves upon public meetings, and then present themselves to the committees for remuneration, and generally received it.  He who produced the greatest excitement, the loudest cheering, and the most violent clappings, was the best orator, and was sure to be engaged and well paid; and in order to produce those manifestations, the wildest and most extravagant rhodomontade would too often suffice.  Such speakers quickly got a name; the calls on them were frequent; and they left their work or their business, for a more profitable and flattering employment; tramping from place to place, hawking their new fangles, and guzzling, fattening, and replenishing themselves, at the expense of the simple and credulous multitudes.  Steadiness of conduct, and consistency of principle, were soon placed, as it were, at a distance from us.  Our unity of action was relaxed new speakers sprung like mushrooms about our feet; plans were broached, quite different from any that had been recognized by the Hampden clubs; and the people, at a loss to distinguish friends from enemies, were soon prepared for the operations of informers, who, in the natural career of their business, became also promoters of secret plots and criminal measures of various descriptions.  The good and fatherly maxim of the worthy old Major, [Cartwright,] 'Hold fast by the laws,' was by many lost sight of.

    "How far the moral of these facts is applicable to the present day, will be judged by an observant public, and may perhaps not be deemed ill-timed by some of the more intelligent of those who have been found amongst the persons styled Chartists" —vol.  i., pp.  35, 36. 

    "We retired to rest and lay talking this strange matter over until sleep overtook us.  I was first to awake, and seeing a brightness behind the curtain, I stepped to the window, and sure enough beheld in the southern sky a stream of light which I thought must he that of a distant fire.  It was a fine crisped morning, and as I looked, a piece of a moon came wandering to the west from behind some masses of cloud.  Now she would he entirely obscured; then, streaks of her pale beams would be seen breaking on the edges of the vapours; then a broader gleam would come; then again it would be pale and receding; but the clouds were so connected that the fair traveller had seldom a space for showing her unveiled horn.  I saw how it was; my conflagration had dwindled to a moonbeam, and as I stood with the frost tingling at my toes, 'an unlucky thought' (as we say, when exusing our own sins we impute them to a much abused sable personage) came into my head, to have a small joke at the doctor's expense; and as it was a mode of amusement to which I must confess I was rather prone, I immediately began to carry it into effect.  I gave a loud cough or two; the doctor thereupon grunted and turned over in bed; when, in the very break of his sleep, I said aloud, as I crept beneath the bed-clothes, 'There 's a fine leet i' the welkin, as th' witch o' Brandwood sed when the devil wur ridin' o'er Rossenda.'  'Leet!'—said the doctor; 'a fine leet!—weer?  weer?'  'Why go to th' windo' and look.'  That instant my sanguine friend was out of bed and at the window, his head stuck behind the curtain.  'There 's a great leet,' he said, 'tor'd Manchester.'  'There is, indeed,' I replied, 'it's mitch but weary wark is gooin on omung yon foke.'  'It's awful,' said the doctor; 'thei'r agate as sure as wee'r heer.'  'I think there 's summut up,' I said.  I was now snugly rolled in the clothes, and perceived at the same time that the doctor was getting into a kind of dancing shiver, and my object being to keep him in his shirt till he was cooled and undeceived, and consequently a little sprung in temper, I asked, 'dun yo really think then ot' th' teawn 's o' foyer! 'Foyer '—he replied; 'there 's no deawt on't.'  'Con yo see th' flames, doctor?'  'Nowe, I conno' see th' flames, but I con see the leet ot comes fro' em.'  'That 's awful,' I ejaculated.  'Aye, it's awful,' he said; 'come an' see for yorsel.'  'Nowe, I 'd reyther not,' I answered; 'I dunno like sich seets; it 's lucky ot wee'r heer—they conno' say at wee'n had owt to do wi' it, at ony rate—con they, doctor?'  'Nowe' he said, 'they conno.'  'It keeps changing,' he said.  'Con yo yer owt?  I asked.  'Nowe, I conno yer nowt,' he said.  I however heard his teeth hacking in his head, and stuffed the sheet into my mouth to prevent my laughter from being noticed.  'Ar yo' sure, doctor?'  I asked.  No reply.  'Is it blazin up?'  I said.  'Blazin be hanged!' was the answer.  'Wot dun yo myen, doctor—is it gwon eawt then?  'Gullook!' he said, 'it 's nobbut th' moon, an' yo known it o' th' while.'  A loud burst of laughter followed, which I enjoyed till the bed shook."

    "A cloud of gloom and mistrust hung over the whole country.  The suspension of the habeas corpus act was a measure the result of which we young reformers could not judge, save by report, and that was of a nature to cause anxiety in the most indifferent of us.  The proscriptions, imprisonments, trials, and banishments of 1792 were brought to our recollections by the similarity of our situation to those of the sufferers of that period.  It seemed as if the sun of freedom were gone down, and a rayless expanse of oppression had finally closed over us.  Cobbett, in terror of imprisonment, had fled to America."—vol.  i.,p.  44.

    "Doctor Healey was about five feet six in height; thirty-two or three years of age; with rather good features; small light-grey eyes; darker whiskers and hair; with a curl on his forehead, of which he was remarkably proud.  He was well set in body, but light of limb; his knees had an uncommonly supple motion, which gave them an appearance of weakness.  He had an assured look; and in walking, especially when with a little 'too much wind in the sheet,' he turned his toes inward, and carried an air of bravado which was richly grotesque.   In disposition he was, until afterwards corrupted, generous and confiding; credulous, proud of his person and
acquirements.  * * *

    "His hat was somewhat napless, with sundry dinges on the crown, and upsettings and down-flappings of the brim, which showed it to have tupped against harder substances than itself, as well as to have seen much 'winter and rough weather.'  He wore a long drab top-coat, which, from its present appearance, might never have gone through the process of perching.  His under-coat was of dark uncut fustian, which by his almost incessant occupation in 'the laboratory,' preparing ointment, salves, and lotions, had become smooth and shining as a duck's wing, and almost as impervious to wet; his hamsters were similar in material and condition to his coat, whilst his legs were encased in top-boots, no worse for wear, except perhaps a leaky seam or two and a cracked upper leather.  * *

    "But, the reader may say, we have only one of the travellers here; why does not the author furnish a portrait of the other?  Behold him then.  A young man twenty-nine years of age; five feet ten inches in height; with long well-formed limbs, short body, very upright carriage, free motion, and active and lithe, rather than strong.  His hair is of a deep dun colour, coarse, straight, and flaky; his complexion a swarthy pale; his eyes grey, lively, and observant; his features strongly defined and irregular, like a mass of rough and smooth matters, which, having been thrown into a heap, had found their own subsidence, and presented, as it were by accident, a profile of rude good-nature, with some intelligence.  His mouth is small; his lips a little prominent; his teeth white and well set; his nose rather snubby; his cheeks somewhat high; and his forehead deep and rather heavy above the eyes.  His hat is not quite so broken, but quite as well worn, as the doctor's; his coat of brown cloth, as yet unpatched, but wanting soon to be; his waistcoat of lighter colour, bare and decent; his hamsters of dark kerseymere, grey at the knees; and his stockings of lamb's wool, with some neat darning above the quarters of his strong nailed shoes.  Such, reader, was the personal appearance of him who now endeavours to amuse thee."—vol.  i., pp.  49—51.

    "Come in!—A glimmer shows that the place is inhabited; that the nest has not been rifled whilst the old bird was away.  Now shalt thou see what a miser a poor man can be in his heart's treasury.  A second door opens, and a flash of light shows we are in a weaving-room, clean and flagged, and in which are two looms with silken work of green and gold.  A young woman of short stature, fair, round, and fresh as Hebe—with light-brown hair in ringlets from the sides of her clean cap, and with a thoughtful and meditative look—sits darning beside a good fire, which sheds warmth upon the clean swept hearth, and gives light throughout the room, or rather cell.  A fine little girl, seven years of age, with a sensible and affectionate expression of countenance, is reading in a low tone to her mother:—' And he opened his mouth and taught them, saying, Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted.'

    "Observe the room and its furniture.  A humble but cleanly bed screened by a dark old-fashioned curtain, stands on our left.  At the foot of the bed is a window closed from the looks of all street passers.  Next are some chairs, and a round table of mahogany; then another chair, and next it a long table, scoured very white.  Above that is a looking-glass, with a picture on each side of the resurrection and ascension on glass, 'copied from Rubens.'  A well stocked shelf of crockery-ware is the next object, and in a nook near it are a black oak carved chair or two, with a curious desk, or box to match; and lastly, above the fire-place, are hung a rusty basket-hilted sword, an old fusee, and a leathern cap.  Such are the appearance and furniture of that humble abode.—But my wife!

Ah! did they hear the throb of my heart, when they sprung to embrace me—my little love-child to my knees, and my wife to my bosom?—

    "Such were the treasures I had hoarded in that lowly cell.  Treasures that, with contentment, would have made into a palace

They had been at prayers, and were reading the Testament before retiring to rest.  And now, as they a hundred times caressed me, they found that indeed 'Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.'  "

    "On the doctor being asked how he spelled his surname he answered in broad Lancashire—'haitch, hay, baa, 1, hay, y:' (H, e, a, l, e, y:) but the pronunciation of the e, and a, being different in London, there was some boggling about reducing the name to writing, and a pen and paper were handed to him.  The doctor knew that his forte lay not in feats of penmanship any more than in spelling; and to obviate any small embarrassment on that account, he pulled out an old pocketbook, and took from it one of his prescription labels, on which the figures of a pestle and mortar were imposed from a rudely engraved plate; and these words, 'JOSEPH HEALEY, SURGEON, MIDDLETON.  PLASE TAKE — TABLE SPOONFULS OF THIS MIXTURE EACH — HOURS.'  This he handed to Lord Sidmouth, who, as may he supposed, received it graciously, looked it carefully over, smiled, and read it again; and passed it round the council table.  Presently they were all tittering, and the doctor stood quite delighted at finding them such a set of merry gentlemen.  The fact was, the first blank had been originally filled with a figure of two: 'Plase take 2 Table Spoonfuls,' &c.; but some mischievous wag had inserted two ciphers after the figure, and made it read '200 Table Spoonfuls of this mixture each 2 hours.'  However it was, the doctor certainly imbibed a favourable opinion of the council."—vol.  1., pp.  108, 109.

    "That the industrious and poor man best serves his country by doing his duty to his family at home.—That he best amends his country by giving it good children; and if he have not any, by setting a good example himself.—That he best governs by obeying the laws; and by ruling in love and mercy his own little kingdom at home.—That his best reform is that which corrects irregularities on his own hearth.—That his best meetings are those with his own family, by his own fireside—That his best resolutions are those which he carries into effect for his own amendment, amid that of his household—That his best speeches are those which promote 'Peace on earth and goodwill towards mankind.'—That his best petitions are those of a contrite heart, addressed to THE KING OF HEAVEN, by whom 'they will not be despised;' and those to the governors of the earth, for the peaceable obtainment of ameliorations for his brother man.—And, that his best means for such obtainment is the cultivation of good feelings in the hearts, and of good sense in the heads of those around him.—That his best riches is contentment—That his best love is that which comforts his family.—That his best instruction is that which humanizes and ennobles their hearts.—And, that his best religion is that which leads to 'Do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with his God.'—Would lie triumph?  let him learn to endure—Would he be a hero?  let him subdue himself—Would he govern let him first obey."  —vol.  i., p.  112.

    "I now went to work, my wife weaving beside me, and my little girl, now become doubly dear, attending school or going short errands for her mother.  Why was I not content?—why was hot my soul filled and thankful?—what would I more?  —what could mortal enjoy beyond a sufficiency to satisfy hunger and thirst,—apparel, to make him warm and decent,—a home for shelter and repose, and the society of those he loved?  All these I had, and still was craving,—craving for something for 'the nation,'—for some good for every person — forgetting all the time to appreciate and to husband the blessings I had on every side around me; and, like some honest enthusiasts of the present day, supervising the affairs of the nation to the great neglect of my own,—of my

'Hours more dear than drops of gold.'

But it was not with us then as it is now; and we have that excuse to plead.  We had none to direct or oppose us, except a strong-handed government, whose politics were as much hated as their power was dreaded.  We had not any of our own rank with whom to advise for the better,—no man of other days who had gone through the ordeal of experience; and whose judgment might have directed our self-devotion, and have instructed us that before the reform we sought could be obtained and profited by, there must be another—a deeper reform—emerging from our hearts, and first blessing our households, by the production of every good we could possibly accomplish in our humble spheres,—informing us also, and confirming it by all history, that governments might change from the despotic to the anarchical, when, as surely as death, would come the despotic again; and that no redemption for the masses could exist, save one that should arise from their own knowledge and virtue,—that king-tyranny and mob-tyranny (the worst of all) might alternately bear sway; and that no barrier could be interposed, save the self-knowledge and self-control of a reformed people.

    "But, as I said, we had none such to advise.  Our worthy old major was to us a political reformer only; not a moral one.  His counsels were good so far as they went, but they did not go to the root-end of radicalism.  He seemed to have forgotten in the simplicity of a guileless heart, good old man as he was, that the people themselves wanted reforming,—that they were ignorant, and corrupt; and that the source must be purified before a pure and free government could be maintained.

    "In the absence, therefore, of such wholesome monition,—in the ardour, also, and levity of youth,—and impelled by a sincere and disinterested wish to deserve the gratitude of my working fellow- countrymen; it is scarcely to be wondered at that I soon forgot whatever merely prudential reflections my better sense had whispered to me whilst in durance; and that with a strong, though discreetly tempered zeal, I determined to go forward in the cause of parliamentary reform.

    "And so, as it were, like another Crusoe, I lay with my little boat in still water, waiting for the first breeze to carry me again to the billows.  —vol.  i., pp.  153, 154.

"Great God, who did of old inspire
    The patriot's ardent heart,
And filled him with a warm desire
    To die, or do his part;
Oh! let our shouts be heard by Thee,
Genius great of liberty!

When fell oppression o'er the land
    Hung like a darksome day;
And, crushed beneath a tyrant's hand,
    The groaning people lay;
The patriot band, impelled by Thee,
Nobly strove for liberty.

And shall we tamely now forego
    The rights for which they bled—
And crouch beneath a minion's blow,
    And basely bow the head?
Ah! no; it cannot, cannot be;
Death for us, or liberty!

Have we not heard the infant's cry,
    And marked the mother's tear—
That look, which told us mournfully
    That wo and want were there?
And shall they ever weep again—
And shall their pleadings be in vain?

By the dear blood of Hampden, shed
    In freedoms noble strife!
By gallant Sydney's gory head!
    By all that 's dear to life!
They shall not supplicate in vain,
No longer will we bear the chain.

Souls of our mighty sires! behold
    This band of brothers join.
Oh; never, never be it told,
    That we disgrace your line;
If England wills the glorious deed,
We 'll have another Runnimede."

"Methinks I now observe my elderly reader first secure his spectacles, and then shaking his head, say, 'Ah! he is wide at sea again; with a strong mast, a heavy sail, and not so much as the breadth of a duck's foot for oar or rudder.—What next?—Doth he founder head down, or again break ashore?'—Let us see."—vol.  i., p.  167.

"Thou raised'st thy voice, and the people awaking,
    Beheld the foul source of corruption displayed;
And, loyal stupidity quickly forsaking,
    They found themselves plundered, oppressed,
            and betrayed;
Then, loud as the storm in its fury out-rushing,
    The shouts of the thousands for freedom arose;
And liberty only shall soothe them to hushing,
    And liberty only shall lull to repose.

 "Such were the sentiments with which Henry Hunt
was received at Manchester, in January, 1819."
—vol.  i., p.  159.

    "Reader! hath it ever been thy fortune, or misfortune, to pass from Bridge-street in Manchester to New Bailey-street in Salford?  Hath business, or pleasure, or curiosity, or charity towards an afflicted prisoner, or mercy, or a yearning love for some of thine own in trouble, or interest, or duty, ever led thee that way?  If so, thou hast passed a very plain bridge, with high parapets of a dull red stone, and spanning, with two arches, a rather broad stream, which here flows torpid, black, and deep, betwixt the said towns.  Venice hath her 'Bridge of Sighs;' Manchester its 'Bridge of Tears,' and this is it.

    "Who, that recurs to recollections during forty years, and cannot enumerate tragedies enacted hereabouts, and calamities witnessed, which have called forth tears enow to have washed these channels with their stream?  Do not we still hear, as it were, the appalling cry, when, during a great flood, a scaffold, on which nine human beings stood, broke down, and they were swept away, whilst hundreds of their fellow-townsmen and relatives stretched forth their hands, and implored God and man to save them, hut in vain?  Who hath so soon forgotten the thirty-four fine fellows, who perished at the launch of a boat?  and that, still hears not the shout of horror which arose off this bridge at the dreadful sight?  the heart-broken moans of wives and children, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, as they came, distracted and weeping, to bestow an embrace which could not be returned?

    "And thou, too, poor and beautiful, and innocent Lavina Robinson — what heart but responds to thy affliction! It was midnight, and there came a deep moan, that told of grief not to be comforted —of a wounded spirit which could not be borne.  Soft, but hasty footsteps approached—and, again, tones were heard almost too plaintive for human woe.  Then there was a pause, and a plunge, and a choking, bubbling scream—and all was silent around that Bridge of Tears!

    "How many hundreds of human beings have crossed this bridge, conscious they were never to return?  What strings of victims have been dragged over it?—some in the serenity of innocence, some in the consciousness of habitual guilt, and others in a bowed and contrite spirit; but each followed by weeping friends, who still loved, when all the world besides was hostile or indifferent to their fate! * * *

    "And now a sad spectacle occurs to my recollection.  It was a fine sunny forenoon, and the church bells were tolling funereally, and Bridge-street was so crowded, that you might have walked on human heads.  All eyes was turned towards this Bridge of Tears, and what came there! Ah! men on horseback, with scarlet liveries, and white wands; and trumpeters richly invested, who sent forth a note of wail that might have won pity from a heart of stone.  Next came halberdiers, and javelin-men; and then a horseman of lofty, but gentle bearing, who, as he rode, turned, and cast a kind look towards one who followed, sitting high in a chair of shame, placed in a cart.  And who is he?  that youth so heart-broken and hopeless, that draws tears from all eyes?  at whose approach all heads are bared, all expressions are hushed, save sobs and prayers?  For though he was but a 'poor Irish lad,' they said 'he was very comely,' and 'it was a great pity,' and 'hard that he could not be spared,' and then, 'might God support and comfort him!' High lie sate, with his back to the horses, his whole person exposed, his feet and well-formed limbs being incased in white trousers, stockings, and pumps, as if he were going to a bridal.  His vest also was light coloured, and a short jacket displayed his square and elegant bust; his shirt was open at the collar, and his brown hair was parted gracefully on his forehead, and hung upon his shoulders.  Despair and grief beyond utterance, were stamped on his countenance, mingled with a resignation which said, 'Father, not my will, but thine be done.  Receive my spirit."  He seemed faint at times, and his colour changed, and he tasted an orange, listening anon to the consolations of religion.  Tears would gush down his cheeks, and as he stooped to wipe them with his handkerchief he was somewhat withheld by the cords which bound him to that seat of shame.  A coffin, a ladder and a rope, were in the cart below him; whilst by his side walked a dogged-looking fellow, whose eyes were perhaps the only ones unmoistened that day.

This was, indeed, a passage of tears; and a day of sadness, and of contemplation on the mysteries of life and death; with the consolement, at last that now 'his troubles were ended,' and 'all tears were wiped from his eyes.'

     "Such was the spectacle of that 'poor Irish lad,' George Russel, who was hanged on Newton Heath—for stealing a piece of fustian! or, as the old ballad had it—

    "Far be it from my wish, friend reader, to paliate wrong of any degree; but let us hope, and, if necessary, entreat, that all waste of life, like this, may have now passed forever from England."  —vol.  i., pp.  87-90.

    "I went over to the hall, and found Finnerty quite comfortably domiciled.  Lady Wolseley was in the straw up stairs, so that Sir Charles had much of his own way below.  Friend Finnerty, now that he had the run of a splendid suite of apartments, attendance of servants, and all hospitalities, was also somewhat changed in his manner.  His place was in the parlour with Sir Charles; mine in the housekeeper's room, with the occasional company of that amiable, respectable, and well-informed lady.  I dined with her in the servants' hall, and took my other meals in her apartment, in company with her, the lady's maid, a joking, smiling, and modest young girl, and a Monsieur something, the French cook.  I lived pretty agreeably amongst my kind-hearted new acquaintances, yet, at times, I could not prevent gloomy sensations from pressing on my mind.  Finnerty had become quite condescending, for which I could not prevail on myself to feel thankful.  Sir Charles was always kind and affable, without pretension; but still I could not but feel that in his house I was only a very humble guest.  I had read how 'an Ayrshire ploughman' had once been deemed good company for a Scottish duchess; but I found that the barriers of English rank were not to be moved by 'a Lancashire weaver,' though he could say, 'I also am a poet,' and, quite as much as the Scottish bard, a patriot also.  I lodged at the inn; and often on mornings would I stroll out solitarily to look at the deer on the moorlands.  Those majestic and beautiful animals would toss their proud antlers—gaze a moment in surprise, as if they also knew I was a stranger.

    "At length the glad morning came, when an end was to be put to this.  I was to go with Finnerty to London, with a gig and horse which Charles Pearson had left at Stafford, I think on his way down to Lancashire.  Sir Charles made me a present of two pound; Finnerty took the whip, and, bidding good morning to our worthy host, we drove slowly from Wolseley Hall."  vol.  ii., p.  29.

    "At Litchfield, Finnerty spent an hour in looking at the cathedral, whilst I looked after the mare at the inn.  At Birmingham, which we reached tardily, we dined, gave the mare a good feed, and, after resting two hours, my friend, 'unexpectedly by me, gave the word to proceed;—
and, with reluctance on my part, for I thought the beast had done enough for that day, we went on to some road-side inn, about nine miles further, where we got down, and the jaded thing was released and put into a warm stable.  On looking over the luggage, it was discovered that a new silk umbrella, which Finnerty had bought at Manchester, was missing.  He went into a passion, and stormed with all the wordiness and gesticulation for which his countrymen are remarkable; whilst I, sometimes provoked, sometimes amused, sat coolly and smoked a pipe until supper was ready.  He laid all the blame on me : he expected I would have seen that the luggage was safe; he had trusted all to me, and was thus disappointed, like a fool as he was, for troubling himself about other people's welfare.  He was sure it had been left at Birmingham, and it was my neglect in not putting it in the gig; arid then again he repeated what it had cost him—two pounds, I think.
*                 *                *                    *                    *                    *                    *

    "On entering Oxford I was struck by the noble and venerable appearance of many of its buildings, which I concluded, in my own mind, must be its churches and colleges.  The streets were occupied by a numerous and very respectable-looking population; and I was not long in descrying, by the peculiarity of their dress, some of those fortunate and ingenious youths who, 'born with silver spoons in their mouths,' are, as we are taught to believe, 'designed by a wise Providence,' and are certainly permitted by a wise people (!) to spoon up the riches and superfluities, which else would, by their very grossness, render said people dull of intellect, and sluggish in action; and yet I didn't think the young fellows looked like 'spoonies.'"—vol.  ii., p.  34.

    "Whilst we were chattering and enjoying ourselves comfortably with our pipes, some young fellows came into the next room, and called for ale.  They were in high glee, and from their conversation, which we could not but hear, we learned that there had been a kind of battle royal in the village, betwixt some of the lads of the place, and a party of collegians, and that the latter, after fighting bravely, which they allowed them the merit of generally doing, had been soundly thrashed, and compelled to retreat.  Some inquiries, on my part, elicited an opinion from the company as to the general conduct of the young gentlemen at college; and it certainly, like all other human emanations, had its dark side as well as its bright one, only rather more of the former than should be expected, considering they were to become exemplars to, and directors of, others.

    "They were represented as courageous fighters, generous remunerators, and profuse spenders; all of which most of the company allowed were good English gentlemanly qualities; but then, in their intercourse with those not of their class, they were represented as being arrogant, wilful, and capricious; and too prone to lay on hard, when they got the upper hand.

    "It was not to be wondered at, said an elderly person who sat on the other side of the room—it was not the young gentlemen's fault, but the fault of their ' Pa's' and 'Ma's' at home, and of the institutions of the country.  If Will was schooled to be an officer in the army, would he not begin by trying to domineer over, and command all who would submit to him? If Dick was to have his father's broad acres, how could he better prepare for the enjoyment of them, as things went, than by learning to drink, gamble, and box; by picking up stable-slang; and becoming a connoisseur in 'dogs, horse-flesh, and women? as they had it—and by an early imitation of that reckless self-willedness which he had seen practised by his class at home.  If James is for the church, should he not learn to be combative when a boy : inasmuch as he would have to contend against 'the world, the flesh,' and—another antagonist; and in favour of tithes, preferments, and fat livings? And if Jack was preparing for the navy, what so natural as that he should practise with a bamboo, instead of a rope's end, on the heads and shoulders of the king's subjects? Great folks, he said, sent their sons to college, and they came there tainted with the vices of their order, and the follies of their parents : they were here planted thick together like young trees the rank and worthless dragged the others up; the vicious overshadowed the virtuous, and when -they had become noxious or morally withered, they went back into the world, as their fathers had done, to prepare a new race to succeed them.  All allowed that the elderly gentleman's remarks were about the fact; I begged leave to drink his health, the company followed my example, and the conversation then becoming general, and chiefly on rural affairs, I went to bed."—vol.  ii., pp.  37, 38. 

    "He seemed, I thought, very mysterious and embarrassed in his manner; did not ask me to sit down, or take anything, but at last said, 'Would you like a walk round the square, Bamford? I, thinking he wished for more private conversation, said I would; and we went out, and walked round a large square hollow, like to those laid down for the foundations of houses, with a fence of deal boards all around.  We paced once round this place, chatting about indifferent matters, I expecting him to introduce my business with the Morning Chronicle : and at last, on my mentioning it, he did say he had not been able to see Mr. Perry yet.  We had then arrived at the angle from whence we set out, and were opposite his own door, when giving me his hand, he said, 'Good morning, Bamford; I shall be seeing you in town some of these days;' and with that he went into the house, and shut the door.  I was mute with astonishment : my first impulse was to send the pannel in with my foot; but then, I thought, neither the door nor its owner had done me harm, and at last consoling myself with the reflection that it was no place for a worthy honest man, and that I was better out of it than within it, I went away."—vol.  ii., pp.  45, 46. 

    "Earl Grosvenor was the nobleman selected to present my petition to the house of lords, and Sir Richard went with me to his mansion.  His lordship was not at home, and we were directed to call on a certain day.  It happened that Sir Richard was then engaged, and I went to his lordship myself.  The great burly porter, who wore a rich livery, trimmed with gold lace, would scarcely admit me within the door, when he found I had not a letter of introduction.  I explained to him my business with his lordship, but it was of no use, he could not send my message up.  A fine table, with pens and paper, was near the window of the hall, and in my simplicity I made, a move towards it, saying, I could soon write a note to his lordship; but he said he could not allow me to write there, it was contrary to orders, and would cost him his place if the other servants saw me.  I accordingly bundled out, and went to a tavern, and wrote a note, which I took back; the porter then took the note, and told me to come again in about twenty minutes, or half an hour.  It was raining, and I had nowhere to go under cover, save the tavern, so I went there again—not much liking, however, this mode of noble housekeeping—and waited with impatience the time for the interview.  I again went; and now the folding-doors were thrown open long before I arrived at the steps—the late surly porter received me with a respectful inclination and smile, saying my note had been sent up, and his lordship would see me.  He then rang a bell, and a servant appeared, to whom the porter announced my name.  The servant asked me to follow him, and he led me into a very grand room, where he left me, saying his lordship would be with me in a few minutes.  I had never seen anything like the richness of this place before—everything seemed almost too sumptuous and too delicate for a human habitation —and to me it seemed a little museum of curious and costly things arranged but to look at, and not to use.  There were mirrors, and pictures, and cushions, and carpets glowing like silk; and delicate hangings, and curtains, as fine as gossamer in summer : then the tables shone like glass, and the chairs, with their high cushions trussed up, quite tempted one to sit.  Well, I stood looking about me some time, and no one appeared; and at last I thought, 'I'll sit down at any rate; if his lordship should come in, he cannot be so greatly offended at one taking a seat in his house.' So I sat down, and was quite surprised—I almost sunk to my elbows in the soft downy cushion, and immediately jumped up again, thinking those seats could never really be meant for human bones to rest upon—and I would not for the world have been taken by his lordship, sitting there, with the cushion up to my elbows, like a puff of soap-suds.  I began to make the thing right again, and was so busied, when I heard a slight creaking noise; immediately I resumed my posture of attention, and a tall, gentlemanly-looking person, forty or forty-five years of age, dressed in a blue coat with yellow buttons, undoubtedly of gold, entered and accosted me in a very courteous and affable manner, and immediately entered upon the business of my petition.  I addressed him as 'my lord,' which indeed he was, and told him somewhat about the subject of my petition, which I now showed him, and requested he would be so kind as present to the house of lords.  He looked at it a few minutes, and said he would present it.  He then questioned me about the state of the country, and particularly of my own neighbourhood, to each of which I gave him brief and true answers, according to the best of my ability.  He then questioned me about our new rector, at Middleton, the Rev. John Haughton; and as I was bound in truth, though not at that time over-partial to him, I gave his lordship a fair and honourable account of the worthy clergyman, whereat he seemed much pleased; soon after I made my final bow, and was myself bowed out by the porter; and so I took my leave of that grand mansion and its immensely rich owner."—vol.  ii., pp.  42-44. 

    "Every night Hunt retired with his friends, discussing the occurrences of the day, and preparing for the next; consequently, he came into court ready at all points, and, like a loaded gun, he only required a sudden impulse to make a grand discharge.  Under these circumstances, it was no wonder that he performed so well; that he appeared to be so greatly talented, whilst his co-defendants had not credit for the talent which some of them really possessed.  This was just the position which Hunt wished himself and us to occupy.  He would be all in all; and he could not endure that the humblest of us should come betwixt the public and himself; that the smallest shadow should intercept one ray of his luminous presence.  This intense selfishness was constantly displayed in all his actions.  I saw it and was astonished; I could not account for it except by condemning him and that was not to be thought of; though the facts came oozing out like water-drops, I could not harbour an unkind thought of our leader; 'it was his way;' 'it was the way of great folks;' 'it was perhaps necessary that he should do so and so.'

    "Healey was one of the five defendants who had a seat at the barristers' table.  On the second day, Mr. Scarlet had a smelling-bottle which he frequently used, and then laid on the table before him.  Our friend the doctor was seated nearly opposite to the learned gentleman; and I observed him once or twice cast very desirous looks towards the phial whilst the barrister was using it.  Mr. Scarlet, however, did not, or affected not to notice our surgical friend, and at last, the patience of the latter being tried beyond control, he leaned across the table and very respectfully solicited the loan of the bottle, which was readily granted : 'Oh yes, doctor! by all means,' said Mr. Scarlet, politely handing it to him, who immediately applied it to his nose, and evinced its pungency by very zestful sneezing, which obliged him to apply his handkerchief to his eyes.  Of course there was some tittering around the table, and Mr. Scarlet was declared to have 'taken the doctor fairly by the nose.' Hunt laughed till his eyes were brimful, whilst Healey sat quite unconscious and serious.  Soon after the bottle was returned with compliments, and the trial claimed our attention.  On the third day Mr. Scarlet did not bring the smelling-bottle, and the doctor seemed disappointed.  On the fourth day the doctor lugged a long square smelling-bottle out of his pocket and laid it down before him.  Mr. Scarlet took no notice.  The doctor smelled and laid it down.  Mr. Scarlet took no notice.  The doctor smelled again.  Mr. Scarlet did not see him.  At length, determined not to be out-done in generosity, the doctor thrust it towards Mr. Scarlet with a bow, and a request that he would use it.  Mr. Scarlet coloured, but he good-humoredly took the phial, and, having smelled, he politely returned it with thanks, which the doctor as politely acknowledged : the same ceremony was repeated once, if not oftener afterwards, and the doctor then, perfectly satisfied, gave up the farce."

    "It became apparent towards the noon of Monday, the fourth day of the trial, that the prosecutors were about to close their case, and that the defence must be commenced on the afternoon of that day.  Whilst we were talking of the matter, Hunt said, 'Bamford, you will be called on to address the court the first of all the defendants.' I said I thought that scarcely probable, as we should most likely be called in the order in which our names stood in the indictment.  Hunt said he knew that was contemplated by the opposing council, and particularly by Mr. Scarlet, who wanted to bring him out in the evening when he was exhausted, the court wearied, and the public satiated and listless.  But—with an oath—he said he was not to be taken aback that way; he was too old a bird to be caught by such a manoeuvre.  'Now, Bamford, by —,' he said, 'I'll tell you what you must do if called this afternoon.' 'Well, what should I do?' I inquired.  'You must talk against time.' 'Talk against time!—what 's that? 'You must keep possession of the court an hour and a half,' he said; 'you must talk to put on time, in order to prevent them from calling on me, under any circumstances to-night.  I know well that is what Scarlet is aiming at, and we must play our game so as to put it beyond his power.' 'But I am not prepared with matter for an hour and-a half's speech—I should break down if I attempted it.' 'Don't mind that—don't mind anything—only keep on.' 'I should make myself look like a fool; and they would be laughing at me, and stopping me.'—' Pshaw! and suppose they did, you could listen, and, when they had done, begin again.'—' But I should not know what to say.'—' Say! say anything—the d—est nonsense in the world : never mind what you say —only keep on until they cannot call me to—day.' Something like a glimmer of the naked truth flashed across my reluctant mind; and I replied, 'No, Mr. Hunt, I will not do as you desire; I will not exhibit myself before this court as a fool; I will speak as long as I can speak to the purpose, and with common sense.  I would speak until dark if that would serve you, and I was prepared for the task; but I am not, and I won't make myself ridiculous.' 'Very well,' said Hunt, and looked another way, quite cool and distant."—vol.ii., pp.  75-77. 

"I took my way down Middleton and towards Manchester.  I could not but reflect that when I went that way on the 16th of August, there were ten thousand with me ready to shout, sing, or do whatever I requested; now, as if they were afraid I should want something from them, not a soul came forth to say, 'God be with you.' One or two, whom I saw on the road, did, as they passed, ask if I was 'going off,' to which I replied by a nod.  The words stuck in my throat; I was ashamed both for myself and them; ashamed of my past folly, and of their present faithlessness.  Reader, that shilling was the only Middleton coin which I had in my pocket when I started for London to receive judgment.  So much for the shouting, huzzaing, and empty applause of multitudes.  A young aspirant to public notoriety may be excused if he feel a little tickled with the shouts of adulation; but whenever I see a gray-headed orator courting such acclamations, I set him down as being a very shallow, or a very designing person."  —vol.  ii., p.  106. 

    "We were now in a right farming country where large stacks, barns, and cattle-sheds were quite common on the road-sides.  The roads were broad and in good condition, and there were very often wide slips of good land on each side, apparently much trodden by cattle.  Occasionally we came to a neat, homely-looking cottage, with perhaps a large garden, and a potato-ground attached, and with rose-shrubs and honey-bines clustering around the door.  These were specimens of our real English homes; there was no mistaking them; in no other country do such exist; and he or she who leaves this land expecting to meet with like homes in foreign ones will be miserably disappointed.  In England alone is the term home, with all its domestic comforts and associations, properly understood.  May it long continue the home of the brave! and eventually become the home of the really free!—

    "There had been some rain a few days before; the Trent had been flooded, and of all the verdant pastures I have ever beheld, none have surpassed the rich, vivid green of the meadows betwixt Shardlow and Kegworth.  As the sweet air came across them, cooling one's dewy brows, one almost felt tempted to stop and seek an abiding place in that delicious valley.

    "During our walk we had a very agreeable chat : I entered into some particulars of my early life, and into matters always interesting to females —namely, the histories of some tender attachments which I had formed, but which had lapsed, either through my own indifference, or, as I was pleased to suppose, the faithlessness of the objects I loved.  This seemed to touch a tender chord in my companion : she was all attention, and when I paused, she put questions which compelled me to resume my narrative.  I spoke of the noble and exalted pleasures of true affection, and pictured the sickening pangs of love betrayed, and the unhappiness which must eventually haunt the betrayer, whether man or woman.  I repeated some verses of poetry, which heightened the picture; and at last, on looking aside, I found that her cheeks were glistening with tears.  She now became more communicative, and informed me that she had somewhat to accuse herself of with respect to a young man, the first indeed whose addresses she had encouraged; that she now often thought she behaved coldly towards him, without any just cause, and that in consequence the lad enlisted, and joined his regiment before his friends knew what had become of him; that she soon afterwards was married, and he was killed in battle.  Weeping freely, she added, that at times she accused herself of having been the cause of his death.  I consoled her as well as I could, by the reflection that her conduct appeared to have arisen more from youthful carelessness than want of feeling.  She said he was an only child, and his mother was still living; and she thought if she could get settled down beside the old woman, it would afford her some consolation to assist her, and be a child to her in her old age.  I approved of this with all my heart; and now being at Kegworth, we stepped into a public house and waited the arrival of the cart, which soon came up; and after a cup or two of ale betwixt John and myself, and a whiff of tobacco, we set forward, and a short journey through a pleasant neighbourhood brought us to Loughborough.

    "Nothing would satisfy my fellow-travellers but my accompanying them to the house of the old folks, as they called them.  I was not much averse to going with them, especially as I knew that I must stop somewhere in the town all night.  I accordingly accompanied them along several streets and turnings, until we were in an humble but decent-looking thoroughfare, when, knocking at a door, the woman in a whisper told me her parents lived there.  A tall, venerable-looking dame opened the door, and in a moment our female traveller was locked in her arms.  A cheerful, clear-complexioned old man at the same time got up from his chair and shook John heartily by the hand; and on John mentioning me as a fellow-traveller, he gave me a like frank reception.  He then embraced his daughter; and when the first emotions of tenderness were over, we sat down to a very comfortable but homely refection, and the family party became quite cheerful and communicative.  Meantime, the news had got abroad amongst the neighbours; several came in, and in a short time we were joined by a fine-looking girl, a younger daughter of the old folks, who had been at work in one of the manufactories.  In short, we had a joyful family and neighbourly meeting; liquor was sent for; a young fellow tuned up his fiddle, and the old couple led off a dance, which was followed by others; liquor was brought in abundance, and the hours flew uncounted.

    "John and I, and the old man, were seated in a corner smoking and conversing, when I observed the younger sister come in somewhat fluttered.  She took the old mother and her sister aside, and by the expression of their countenances, and the motion of her hands, I perceived that something troublesome and mysterious had occurred.  In fact, she was explaining to them, as I afterwards learned, that in going to the public house for more liquor, she had to pass a stage-coach which was stopped, and that, on looking up, she saw a young soldier getting off the coach, with his knapsack slung on one shoulder, and a foraging-cap pulled over his face; but she saw enough to convince her that he was Robert—the same who once courted her sister, and who, they had heard, was killed in battle.  This news, as may be imagined, was soon known in the house, and caused a great sensation, particularly amongst the women.  We had just learned the cause of their whisperings, when the door opened, and a young fellow, pale, slender, and well-formed, wearing regimentals and an undress cap, with a knapsack properly adjusted, stepped respectfully into the room, and seeing the old woman, he put out his hand and took hers, and spoke to her affectionately, calling her mother.  She gazed a moment on his face, as if incredulous of what she beheld.  The company had drawn in a half circle at a distance around them; John, myself, and the old man, kept our seats; the younger sister stood beside her mother, and the married one was on a low seat behind her.

    "'I scarcely know what to say to you, Robert,' said the old woman.  'I am glad to see that you are safe for your mother's sake; but I almost wish you had not called here to-night.'

    "'And why not mother! my other mother'—he said, trying to force a smile.  'Why not call at a house where I left friends, and mayhap a little of something more than friendship?

    "'Nothing beyond friendship now, Robert,' said the mother, endeavouring to appear cool.

    "'Why, where is Margaret?' he said; 'I hope nothing has befallen her?'

    "'Margaret is your friend,' said the old woman; 'but she is nothing more now.  Yonder sits her husband,' pointing to John.

    "John advanced towards the young man and took his hand; and, looking towards Margaret, said he believed she had been his wife about two years.

    "The soldier trembled, and staggered to a seat.

    "Margaret got up and gave her hand to the young soldier, saying she welcomed him home with all the regard of a sister.  She was now married, as he had heard, and was about to settle in Loughborough; and if he had never returned, his old mother should not have wanted the tender offices of a child whilst she lived.

    "'Thank you, Margaret,' he said; 'that is some consolation; you would not neglect my old mother, I know.' He put his hand over his eyes, and burst into tears.

    "'I would not, Robert,' she said; 'and if in former times I did not value you, as perhaps you deserved, I was willing to make the only atonement I could, by cheering the drooping years of your supposed childless parent.'

    "'That is very good!' 'very fair on both sides! ' 'very handsome!' said a number of voices.  Neither of the interested parties spoke —they were both deeply affected.

    "The old woman and youngest daughter then conducted Margaret into another room.  The old man shook hands with the soldier, and endeavoured to cheer him.  Meantime, information had been conveyed to Robert's mother, and she now entered the room, shaking and leaning on a stick.  The meeting was most tender; it was such as could only take place betwixt a parent and child equally affectionate.  The dancing had at first been given up; a warm substantial supper was in a short time spread on the board; Robert and his mother took some of the refreshment, and then went home; Margaret did not make her appearance.  Shortly after supper I was conducted to lodgings at an inn, and spent most of the night in confused dreams of the strange scenes which, like those of a romance, had passed before me.

    "The following morning I breakfasted at the old folks', according to promise.  I asked not any question, nor did I hear anything further.  Margaret's eyes appeared as if she had been weeping.  John was attentive to her, and she seemed as if she valued his attentions; but could not entirely cast the weight from her heart.  I left the family, to pursue my way, and John accompanied me as far as Quorn, where we parted, and I never saw him afterwards."—vol ii., pp.  112-117.

    "To be sure, the booksellers were not entirely blamable; my appearance was, no doubt, somewhat against me.  My clothes and shoes were covered with dust, my linen soiled, and my features brown and weathered like leather, which circumstances, in combination with my stature and gaunt appearance, made me an object not of the most agreeable or poetical cast.  Still, I thought these booksellers must be very owls at mid-day, not to conceive the possibility of finding good ore under a rude exterior like mine.  And then I bethought me—and comforted myself therewith—inasmuch as others had trodden the same weary road before me—of Otway, and Savage, and Chatterton, and of the great son of learning, as ungainly as myself—Samuel the lexicographer—and I might have added of Crabbe, and others of later date, but their names had not then caught my ear."

    "I was half-inclined to believe that the people I met seemed as if they knew I was pennyless.  I had become quite wolfish, and the sight of good subtantial meats, arid delicate viands in the windows of the eating-houses, all of which I stopped before and contemplated, tended to increase the pangs of hunger, which were no ways allayed by the savory fumes arising from the cooking cellars.  At last I wandered round Fleet-market, and coming to the prison, I found a poor debtor begging at the grate.  'Please to bestow a trifle on a poor prisoner,' he said.  'God bless thee, lad,' I replied, 'I am more poor than thyself.' 'How is that?' 'Why,' I said, 'thou hast a room to retire to, and a bed to repose upon, but I have neither home nor lodging, nor food, nor a farthing of money towards procuring them! ' ' Why, then, God help thee!' he said, 'thou art indeed worse off than myself, except as to liberty.'—' And that I may not have long.'—He asked me what I meant? and I told him that I was come up from the country to receive judgment for attending the Manchester meeting.  ' If that be the case,' he said, 'come back in an hour, and if I get as much as three-pence or sixpence, thou shalt have it.' I thanked him sincerely, and gratefully, and promised I would come back if no better fortune befel me, and so, pleased that I had found one friend in the course of the morning, I bade him good bye, and went on towards Bridge-street. 

    "At sight of the bridge I recollected a gentleman on the other side of the river, who had behaved very kindly to me the last time I was in London, and I thought I might as well call upon  him, for, at all events, I could not be more disappointed than I had been.  I therefore passed over the bridge, and soon found the shop of my friend in the main thoroughfare, called Surrey-road, I think.  Several young men were busy in the shop, and I asked one of them if Mr. Gibb was within? 'Oh yes,' he said: 'Is that you, Mr. Bamford? Walk forward, he's in the sitting-room at breakfast; he'll be glad to see you; step in.' I thought that was like a lucky beginning at any rate; and with-out a second invitation I entered the room.  A glance of one moment brought the gentleman to his feet.  He took my hand and made me sit down, and rang the bell, and ordered another cup, and more butter and toast, and eggs and ham.  'You have not breakfasted, I suppose,' he said.  I replied that I had not; it was just what I had been wanting to do the last hour and a half.  'Bamford,' he said, as we went on with our repast, 'What 's the matter with you? you don't seem as you did the last time you were in London.' 'How am I changed? '—' Why, the last time you were up, you were all life and cheerfulness when I saw you, and now you seem quite thoughtful.  Are you afraid of being Sent to prison?' 'No,' I said, 'I was not.' 'What's the reason you are so serious?'—I said, 'I could not help being so.' 'What 's the cause?' he said; 'tell me the reason of this great change?' ' Well, then, to tell you God's truth,' I said, 'I have not a farthing in the world, and I could not have had a meal if I had not come here.' ' Oh if that 's all, man,' he said, 'make yourself easy again.  Come! take some more, and make a good breakfast,' and I took him at his word—I did make a good breakfast.  When we had finished, he took me to his dressing-room, where were water and towels to wash.  He also ordered the servant to clean my shoes, and found me a clean neckerchief, and a pair of stockings.  When I returned to the sitting-room, I was quite smart, comparatively.  'Now, Bamford,' he said, 'this is my breakfast hour; at one we dine, at five take tea, and supper at eight; and so long as you are in London, my table is yours, if you will attend at meals.  Take this one pound note,' putting one into my hand, 'and if there is not a change in your circumstances for the better, when that is done come for another.' I thanked him most sincerely.  I never was more affected by an act of kindness in my life.  He was, in truth, ' a friend in need, a friend indeed.' "

    "The detection of Arthur Thistlewood and his companions took place, if I mistake not, during our trial at York; it caused a great sensation at the time, and the conviction of the same misguided men occurred soon after our arrival in London.  It was the subject of general conversation, and particularly the intrepid hearing of the prisoners during their trial.  Mrs. Thistlewood had an asylum with the family of our friend West, the wire-worker in the Strand, and I frequently saw the unfortunate woman there.  She was rather low in stature; with handsome regular features, of the Grecian cast; very pale, and with hair, eyes, and eyebrows as black as night.  Still she was not what may be called interesting; she had a coldness of manner, which was almost repulsive.  She seemed as if she had no natural sensibilities, or as if affliction had benumbed them.  She wore her hair very long, and when she went to visit her husband, which she did with devoted attention, she was strictly examined, and, amongst other precautions, her long hair was unbound and combed out.  Hunt frequently indulged in imprecations against Thistlewood and his party.  He aspersed their courage, the fame of which seemed to have hurt him.  But the worst thing I ever knew him do was his slandering Mrs. Thistlewood, whom he represented as carrying on a criminal intimacy with West, during her husband's incarceration.  A baser, more unfounded, or more improbable slander was never uttered.  Its atrocity was its antidote.  In fact, he would have said anything of any one, against whom he entertained a pique.  My blind adherence to Hunt could not but be much shaken by such oft repeated instances of an ignoble mind.

    "On the morning of the execution of the conspirators, I remained in my room, earnestly praying God to sustain them in their last hour; for though they professed not to believe in a future existence, I did, and could therefore sincerely say, 'Father, forgive them! they knew not what they did.' At noon, when all was over, I came down stairs."

    "We continued our journey through a level country, full of woods and plantations, till the broad waters of the Trent suddenly appeared before us.  A shout and a signal brought the ferryman over, and, after some persuasion, with fear and trembling, my wife at length went on board, and we were ferried over and landed in the county of Nottingham.  A short and very agree able walk through a rural country, with pretty English cottages, embowered in gardens and fruit-trees, brought us to the village of Great Markham, where we entered a snug little public house, and took up our quarters.

    "We sat, chatting over our tea, until it was nearly bed-time, and when I requested that we should be shown to our room, the landlady gave an enquiring and dubious glance at us, and retired, evidently to take a second thought upon the subject.  The servant-woman, next, came into the room, pretending to fetch something, but, once or twice, I observed her taking side-looks at us; and, as I perceived there were misgivings of some sort, I ordered a glass of liquor and a pipe, resolved to amuse myself by watching the shifts and manoeuvres of these simple country -folks.

    "The mistress brought the glass, and the girl brought the pipe, and each gave a scrutinizing glance, which we seemed not to notice.  We were both ready to burst into laughter, only my wife was a little apprehensive lest we should be turned out of doors.  I thee'd and thou'd her in their presence, as a man might do his wife—and talked to her in my ordinary careless way; and, at last, the land lady came, and begging we would not be offended, asked if the young woman was my wife.   I now laughed outright, and my wife could not refrain, though she covered her face.  I assured the good woman that my companion had been my wife many years.  'Nay, she had no ill opinion of her,' she said—' only, she looked so young.' 'But, young as she appears, she reckons to be my age within about three weeks,' I said; 'and she was mother to a fine girl, now in the ninth year of her age.' 'Oh! she was sorry to have mistaken us, she said; 'we should have a comfortable bed ready in a few minutes.' And, so saying, she left the room, satisfied, no doubt, with the explantation which had set at rest her troublesome qualms of conscience.  We had most excellent lodgings; and, in the morning, we rose early, and commenced our journey by lanes and shady foot paths—sweet with the breath of flowers, and echoing the music of birds."—vol.  ii., p.  221:

    " * * * * We stopped not at Whaley Bridge, for the sun was getting low, but hastened to Disley, and, after a brief rest there, we again started, though neither I nor my fellow-traveller were so alert as in the morning.   In fact, our feet began to be worse for our two days' travel, and when we got upon the paved causeway, betwixt Bullock Smithy and Stockport, it was like treading on red-hot stones.  Thus, long after nightfall, we went, limping, arm in arm, into Stockport.  We found the dwelling of our friend Moorhouse, at the lower end of the town, and knocking at the door, were received with every hospitality.

    "My friend and his wife bustled about, and did all they could to make us comfortable.  We got a supper of good refreshing tea, and then essayed to go to rest; but my poor little companion had to mount the stairs on her knees,—she would not be carried up; and, when her stockings were removed, her feet were found covered with blood-red blisters.  I got some hot water and soap, washed her feet well, wiped them carefully till quite dry, wrapped them in her flannel petticoat, and put her to bed.   I, then, washed my own feet, for they were not much better than hers, and committing ourselves to divine care, we were soon oblivious of all weariness and anxiety, and, on awaking the next morning, our feet were as sound, for any thing we felt, as they were when we set out from Lincoln.

    "Our walk to Manchester the next morning was a mere pleasure trip.  We scarcely stopped there, but hastening onwards, we entered Middleton in the afternoon, and were met in the street by our dear child, who came running, wild with delight, to our arms.  We soon made ourselves comfortable in our own humble dwelling; the fire
was lighted, the hearth was clean swept, friends came to welcome us, and we were once more at home.

        "'Be it ever so humble,
        There 's no place like home.'"—vol.  ii., p.  230. 

God help the poor who on this wintry mom,
    Come forth of alleys dim and courts obscure.
God help the poor pale girl who droops forlorn,
    And meekly her affliction doth endure.
God help the outcast lamb! she trembling stands,
All wan her lips, and frozen red her hands;
Her mournful hands are modestly down cast;
Her night-black hair streams on the fitful blast;
Her bosom, passing fair, is half revealed,
And oh! so cold the snow lies there congealed;
Her feet benumbed, her shoes all rent and worn,
God help thee, outcast lamb, who standst forlorn!
                                                    God help the poor!

God help the poor! another have I found,
    A bow'd and venerable man is he;
His slouchèd hat with faded crape is bound;
    His coat is grey, and threadbare, too, I see;
"The rude winds" seem "to mock his hoary hair,"
His shirtless bosom to the blast is bare.
Anon he turns and casts a wistful eye,
    And with scant napkin wipes the blinding spray,
And looks again as if he fain would spy
    Friends he hath feasted in his better day.
Ah, some are dead, and some have long forborne
To know the poor; and he is left forlorn,
                                                    God help the poor!