ilitary, discretionary and unlimited power in the suppression of the
riots; that the sympathies of the King, the Administration, and both
Houses of Parliament, and indeed of all good men of every religious
persuasion, were strongly with the injured Catholics; and that justice
should be done them at any cost or hazard. He told him, moreover, that
other persons whose houses had been burnt, had for a time lost sight of
their children or their relatives, but had, in every case, within his
knowledge, succeeded in discovering them; that his complaint should be
remembered, and fully stated in the instructions given to the officers
in command, and to all the inferior myrmidons of justice; and that
everything that could be done to help him, should be done, with a
goodwill and in good faith.

Grateful for this consolation, feeble as it was in its reference to the
past, and little hope as it afforded him in connection with the subject
of distress which lay nearest to his heart; and really thankful for the
interest the minister expressed, and seemed to feel, in his condition;
Mr Haredale withdrew. He found himself, with the night coming on, alone
in the streets; and destitute of any place in which to lay his head.

He entered an hotel near Charing Cross, and ordered some refreshment and
a bed. He saw that his faint and worn appearance attracted the attention
of the landlord and his waiters; and thinking that they might suppose
him to be penniless, took out his purse, and laid it on the table. It
was not that, the landlord said, in a faltering voice. If he were one
of those who had suffered by the rioters, he durst not give him
entertainment. He had a family of children, and had been twice warned to
be careful in receiving guests. He heartily prayed his forgiveness, but
what could he do?

Nothing. No man felt that more sincerely than Mr Haredale. He told the
man as much, and left the house.

Feeling that he might have anticipated this occurrence, after what
he had seen at Chigwell in the morning, where no man dared to touch a
spade, though he offered a large reward to all who would come and dig
among the ruins of his house, he walked along the Strand; too proud
to expose himself to another refusal, and of too generous a spirit
to involve in distress or ruin any honest tradesman who might be weak
enough to give him shelter. He wandered into one of the streets by the
side of the river, and was pacing in a thoughtful manner up and