the hand of death had seized him; he recognised me, smiled, and gently pressed my hand. Every misery missed,' he whispered, is a mercy!' A faint struggle, and a short sigh succeeded, and he was gone to his rest!" "What a poor figure would this simple record of good works, lively faith, and filial piety make in a modern obituary, where incoherent ravings are eagerly noted down by officious death-bed gossipers, and wrought into a romance, always egotistical, and too often profane ! To you, madam," added Uncle Timothy, "consolation and hope have been brought by a heaven-appointed messenger. Something, however, remains to be done in a worldly sense. But I see our friend is on the eve of departure; what I was about to propose shall be submitted to him when we are alone. In the mean time, you will please to consider this humble roof but as a temporary home. It abounds in sad remembrances, which change of scene may soften down, if not entirely dispel. I have a dear, affectionate relative, who would deeply regard you, were it only for your sorrow. And as there is a special providence in the falling of a sparrow,' I cannot doubt that some good spirit directed me hither. God bless you! We shall very soon meet again." And locking the kind pastor's arm in his own, he hurried down the little garden, pausing for a moment to gather a pale rose, which he placed in his bosom. CHAPTER XI. "RAILLY, Master Jackimo, I'm quite ashamed on your laziness! you only gits up to lie down, and only lies down to git up! and, instead of making your bow to the ladies and gentlemen, and holding out your cap to catch the coppers, you are everlastingly a-doing o' nuffin but pulling up your shirt-collar, and cracking o' nuts. Hav'n't I treated you more like a relation than a monkey -giving you the best of adwice? But if ever I find you at your old fun ag'in, as sure as my name's Blinking Billy, I'll take off your goold scarlet waistcoat!" This was addressed by an itinerant musician, in a shocking bad hat, with a garnish of old red cotton nightcaps, to his mendicant monkey, that he had perched upon Whittington's Stone for the purpose of taking him more conveniently to task. The offender was of a grave aspect, with a remarkably knowing look. He was dressed en militaire, with an old-fashioned scarlet waistcoat embroidered with tinsel, of which he seemed monstrously vain. He listened with becoming seriousness to the musician's expostulation, slyly reserving in the corner of his jaw a nut that he deferred to crack till opportunity should offer. But at the threat of losing his red waistcoat, he gibbered, chattered, and by every species of pantomimical begging and bowing, promised future amend ment. Had not the mind of Uncle Timothy been too much occupied with recent events, he would have scraped acquaintance with monkey and man, who were evidently eccentrics, and Uncle Tim was a lover of eccentricity. The moment that the monkey spied a customer, he began his work of reformation, by jumping off the stone, running the full tether of his chain, making a graceful bow, and holding out his cap for a contribution. His politeness was rewarded with sixpence from Uncle Timothy, and an approving word from his master; and the middle-aged gentleman, sere naded by a passing grind from the barrel-organ, walked slowly on. A caravansary of exhibitors bound to Bartholomew Fair had halted at Mother Red Cap's,' an ancient hostelrie at the foot of Highgate Hill. Although weary and parched with thirst, Uncle Timothy might probably have journeyed onward, had not the "beck'ning ghost" of jovial John 1 Mother Red Cap, doubtless an emanation from Elinour Rumming, was a favourite sign during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and the black Jack that she held in her hand was a symbol of good ale. Two ancient hostelries still bear her prepossessing effigy one in the Hampstead Road, near Kentish Town; and one at Holloway. It is said that a remarkable shrew, Mother Damnable, of Kentish town, (of whom the late Mr. Bindley had an unique engraving,) gave rise to the former sign. This ill-favoured lady looks more like a witch than an ale-wife. She would have frightened her customers out of the house, and their horses out of the stable! We are inclined to give the palm of priority to the venerable red-capped mother at Holloway, who must have been moderately notorious in the time of Drunken Barnaby, when he halted to regale himself at her portal. "Thence to Holloway, Mother Red-cap In a troop of trulls I did hap; Wh-s of Babylon me impalled, With me toy'd they, buss'd me, cull'd me, VOL. I. L |