the doctor averred, was the person he had brought in the night before, for the benefit of the purer air of the forest. Beyond this Sylvester saw nothing to warrant Fanny's suspicions; while the girl herself declared that that man certainly was not the father of whom they were in search. In fact, so admirably had the doctor managed, that Fanny began to think herself that she was labouring under mistake; more especially when the sick man concurred in the statement made by the doctor, and averred that he had been brought from Nabbfield the preceding night. And he spoke the truth; for, in fact, the sick man was no other than Robson, the doctor's assistant, fitted with a very consumptive-looking nightcap, a bedgown over his shirt, and a bottle of hot water at his heels to make him look like an invalid; while Woodruff himself, shortly after his arrival, had been again removed-in consequence of the doctor's suspicions that he was followed--to a more secret place in the heart of the waste, where, it was trusted, he might be safely kept the remainder of his days, or even put to death, if such a step should be deemed advisable.

In consequence of the doctor's stratagem, Fanny and Mr. Sylvester returned disappointed to their home.

Such, in substance, was the story related by Fanny to Colin on her visit to town and which he again had communicated to Mr. Lupton. Whether the arrest of Doctor Rowel, when it became known to the brother, of whom we have spoken, might not have precipitated some tragical conclusion of Woodruff's life, is doubtful, had not a singular communication concerning him been subsequently made to Colin.

CHAPTER XXVI.

London Bridge, and an unexpected scene upon it.

It was about four o'clock-sometime before daylight—one morning, nearly a month after the events described, that Mr. Lupton and Colin might have been seen wending their way along the chilly streets, in the direction of London-Bridge. Saving the footfalls of the watch, the rattle of some early carriage over the pavement, or now and then the asthmatical cough of some poor old creature turned out thus early, in cloak and covered chair, to sit with charcoal fire and coffee in the streets, there were no audible signs that any soul existed there besides themselves. London was asleep. This Goliah of cities had lain down wearied, and for a time lost itself in forgetfulness.

'Five,' said Colin, 'is, I think, the time, and the city side.'

As he said this he drew from his pocket the communication to which allusion was made in the last chapter, and again perused it.

The reader must here be informed that the letter now in Colin's hand had been addressed to him in the first instance at Mr. Veriquear's, and thence had been forwarded to his present residence. It came from some anonymous correspondent, evidently residing not far from the place to which Woodruff had been carried: but its confents will best explain themselves.

'Sir-I understand that you feel some interest in the fate of a Mr. James Woodruff. That man is now in my power, either to liberate or to detain for life, according as you may answer this. YOU HAVE AN

OBJECT TO CARRY OUT, SO HAVE I. If you are prepared to serve me I will put this Woodruff into your hands: if not, neither you nor his daughter may ever see him more. Meet me alone at the north end of London Bridge, at five on the morning of the -th, and I will explain particulars. At that time it will be as secret there as in a desert, and you will feel more secure. You will know the writer of this when you see a man make a cross with his finger in the air."

This strange communication Colin had laid before Mr. Lupton; and the only conjecture they could form was, that it had been written by Rowel's brother, who-having heard of the imprisonment of that gentleman had resorted to this expedient in the hope of compromising the matter by, as it were, exchanging prisoners, and perhaps stipulating for farther proceedings being stayed. There were objections to this interpretation, but it seemed the only plausible one they could hit on.

However, as Mr. Lupton suspected that possibly some treachery might be concealed, and that it was a plot to be revenged on Colin, -he determined to accompany him; but, on their arrival near the place appointed, to fall back, though still keeping sufficiently near to distinguish a signal which Colin was to give in case of need.

The bridge was at hand. Over the parapet to the left, and considerably below them, long rows of lights, illuminating the walls of life-deserted warehouses, pointed out the site of that noisy gully, Thames Street. Before them, farther on, lost in inist, and yet lingering smoke, rose beyond the water one solitary tower, looming darker than all around it, but relieved still farther back by a flush of dull, mysterious light, which, though it showed nothing distinctly, emphatically marked the existence beyond of many an unseen mass of building like that by which they were immediately surrounded. And now they are on the bridge alone. It is not yet five. The sight is magnificent. Behold these two sides of a mighty city, separated by a scarcely-seen gulf, on which streams of light, reflected from night-lamps afar off, ripple as though so many of the pillars of fire that lighted the Israelites of old were on the waves. Up the great stream, or down it-the uprearing of men's hands-house, church, and palace, appear alike illimitable. All those mean and minor details, which confound the eye and distract the attention during daylight, are now swallowed up and resolved into one broad whole. The dense and unmeasured mass of building which meets the sight every way, seems resolved into a solid. Line on line and height on height extending away till lost utterly in the far obscurity of the void hori zon. Without any great strain of the imagination this scene might be mistaken for a splendid dream of Tyre, Palmyra, or Babylon-cities whose giant memories loom in the mind as images that cannot be fully compassed from their very vastness. While under our feet flows the dull, deceptive stream, that has borne on its bosom the wealth of kingdoms; that has found in its bed a thousand last resting-places for human misery; and that in its stormy wrath has swallowed happiness, when jollity forgot in temporary delirium that boats are frail, and that but a slender plank stood between itself and a deep grave. As Colin cast a scrutinizing eye around, in the hope of meeting his correspondent, the clocks far and near chimed five. Almost with the last stroke of the bell footsteps were heard on the city side of

the bridge. A bricklayer's labourer, with a short pipe in his mouth, passed; then a woman-if woman she could be called-torn, dirty, and deplorable to look upon, staggering under the influence of last night's excess; but neither made a sign. Behind them followed an old man, roughly clad in the costume of the poorer classes of our country villages, saving that a long coat supplied the place of smockfrock, while his nether extremities were finished off with quarter boots, laced up to the ancles.

A feeling, which displayed itself in his flushed features, shot through Colin's veins as the first sight of this man came across him. Had he seen him before? It seemed so; but when? where?

The old man hesitated as he gazed on Colin, and then cast a searching glance around. The figure of Mr. Lupton was dimly visible at some distance. Colin leaned idly against the wall, his eyes fixed intently on the old man, who now again was approaching him. The sign was made-the cross in the air-and our hero accosted him. 'I believe you wish to speak to me: you sent a letter to me a short time ago.'

Nay, now!' replied the old man, 'what occasion have you to tell me that. If I wrote I know it without explanation; and your appearance here is a sufficient assurance that you have received it. Do you know who I am?'

I do not,' said Colin, though it seems as I had seen you before.' Humph! well-well!' exclaimed the old man, then you are now talking to old Jerry Clink, your own grandfather.'

'Clink!' ejaculated the young man. My grandfather!'

Now, why ask them queshtons again? Havn't I answered 'em?' 'But, is it possible? I never knew I had a grandfather.'

Ay, ay, I see how it is,' replied Jerry; 'I'm a goor man, and you are apeing the gentleman. But I risked my life once to be revenged for you, only some meddler came across and baulked me. I'll do it yet, though; and I want you to help me. The cause is yours as well as mine; for the injury is of a mother to you, though of a daughter to me; and the man who will not defend his mother, or revenge her disgrace, ought to be cast into the bottomless pit.'

Colin stood astonished at this speech. He scarcely knew what he said, but faltered out,

'Who, sir, has dared to say anything to my mother's dishonour, or to bring her into any disgrace?'

Old Jerry tapped him with serious significance on the shoulder. "Your father, boy-your father!'

'How!' exclaimed the young man in a tone of deep excitement: 'who is he? for I never knew who was my father.'

'You-' replied Jerry bitterly, ought never to have been born!' 'What can you mean, man, by all this?' demanded Colin.

'I tell you,' answered the man, 'your father is a villain, and you -but never mind. Since you are alive, show that you are worthy to live by resenting your mother's injuries. My vengeance has been untiring, but it has not succeeded. Together we can do anything. True, the man must be called as he is, your father. What then? The punishment of such fathers cannot come from better hands than their son's. They that sow the wind, let them reap the whirlwind.' 'What is it?' demanded Colin, 'that you would propose?'

'See you,' said Jerry, drawing closer, 'you are in love with a girl, Fanny Woodruff. Nay, do not interrupt me. I tell you you love her, and can never marry any one else. Her father is confined as a madman. I am his keeper. You want to liberate him, and rightly too. He has told me all about it. Now, let me see the spirit of a man in you; take up your mother's 's cause, and he shall by me be set at liberty. Join hand and heart with me against the villain your father.' 'Who is he?' again demanded Colin.

'Lupton of Kiddal,' answered Jerry. 'Mr. Lupton my father!'

And I,' added Colin, 'prevented it, and saved you from the gal lows.'

Old Jerry stood confounded. His countenance changed with deadly fury, and in the next moment he rushed upon Colin with ap. parently the intention of forcing him over the balustrades.

A moment sufficed for his signal, which brought Mr. Lupton to the spot. The recognition between Jerry and himself was the process of a moment; and, while the latter strove to secure the former without violence, Jerry desperately aimed to bury in his bosom a long knife, which he held open in his hand. The combined exertions of Mr. Lupton and Colin were, however, too much for him, and would eventually have achieved his capture, had not Jerry, with a reckless desperation and agility, which struck both his assailants with horror and astonishment, leapt the wall of the bridge on finding himself at the point of being taken, and casting his knife and coat from him, plunged headlong into the Thames.

It was a wild leap, an insane flight into the arms of death. There was no splash in the water, but a dull, leaden sound came up, as when a heavy weight is plunged into a deep gulf. It was as though the water made no aperture, and threw up no spray; but gulfed him sullenly, as though such prey was not worth rejoicing over.

Father and son seemed petrified; not more from what they had seen than in the case of the latter, at least-had heard also from the suicide. For that a suicide he was who could doubt? Who might take that leap, and live?

During a brief space they dared not even cast their eyes down the fearful height; the deed had paralyzed them. But, as Colin's eyes were fixed intensely on the waves, a something seemed to struggle across a ripple of light. Could it be the old man?

Boats were got out, the river was traversed, and both banks were searched, in hopes of finding him, providing that he had escaped; but all efforts proved ineffectual.

The cause of Mr. Lupton's kindness was a secret to Colin no longer. But in how different a position did he seem to stand to that gentleman now, to what he had done even one brief hour ago! Within that space what painful truths had been cleared up; what difficulties and embarrassments thrown around his future conduct towards nearly every person in whose fate his heart was interested! But the case of old Jerry, his grandfather, so resolutely bent on spilling the blood of his own father, out of a stern principle of mistaken justice, seemed to him the worst. He foresaw, that unless Jerry was drowned, all his address 26

VOL. VI

would be required to settle the hostility between that man and his father without that bitter and ignominious consequence which would doom him to behold his mother's parent expiate upon a scaffold his crime of having twice attempted the assassination of Mr. Lupton; more especially as the last-named gentleman was with the utmost difficulty dissuaded from instantaneously setting on foot such measures as could scarcely have failed in producing the apprehension of old Clink. In this, however, he for the present succeeded; but so deeply was he overwhelmed with the fearful transactions of the morning that he begged the Squire to allow him a day or two's reflection ere he undertook the duty of explaining to him what had passed between the old man and himself, as well as his reasons for earnestly desiring that an intended murderer should be left unmolested. It was on one condition only that Mr. Lupton consented to acquiesce in this request. That condition was-to be told who his fierce assailant could possibly be. Colin hesitated and at length burst into tears as he uttered-My mother's father!'

The Squire turned pale as ashes, while a sensible tremor shook his whole frame. He grasped Colin's hand, but said nothing. Those words called up something in each mind, which now made both dumb. They shook hands, and parted.

THE DUKE OF KENT'S LODGE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE CLOCKMAKER; OR, THE SAYINGS AND DOINGS OF SAM SLICK OF SLICKVILLE.'*

THE Communication by steam between Nova Scotia and England will form a new era in colonial history. It will draw closer the bonds of affection between the two countries, afford a new and extended field for English capital, and develope the resources of that valuable but neglected province. Mr. Slick, with his usual vanity, claims the honour of suggesting it, as well as the merit of having by argument and ridicule reasoned and shamed the Government into its adoption. His remarks upon the cruelty of employing the unsafe and unfortunate gun-brigs, that constituted the line of Falmouth packets, until they severally foundered and disappeared with their gallant crews, are too personal and too severe to be recorded in this place, and the credit he claims for having attracted the attention, and directed the indignation of the public to this disgraceful sacrifice of human life, is so extravagant, that one would suppose this obvious and palpable error had escaped the observation of all the world but himself, and was altogether a new discovery. But, whatever praise he may deserve for his calculations and suggestions, or whatever blame is to be attached to the Admiralty for their obstinate adherence to the memorable coffin-ships,' I prefer looking forward to dwelling on a painful retrospect, and indulging in pleasing anticipations of the future, to commenting on the errors of the past.

This route, by its connection with that of New York, will afford an agreeable tour, commencing at Halifax, passing through the colonies, and terminating at the Hudson. It will offer a delightful substitute

*We are happy to present our readers in the present number with the above contribution, and another under the title of Too knowing by half,' from the forthcoming volume of the Sayings and Doings of Sam Slick of Slickville,' third series.