emony. The crowd assenting, substituted Gabriel Varden
for the nothing particular; and giving him one over, for good measure,
dispersed in high good-humour.

What congratulations were exchanged among the inmates at the Golden
Key, when they were left alone; what an overflowing of joy and happiness
there was among them; how incapable it was of expression in Barnaby's
own person; and how he went wildly from one to another, until he became
so far tranquillised, as to stretch himself on the ground beside his
mother's couch and fall into a deep sleep; are matters that need not be
told. And it is well they happened to be of this class, for they would
be very hard to tell, were their narration ever so indispensable.

Before leaving this bright picture, it may be well to glance at a dark
and very different one which was presented to only a few eyes, that same
night.

The scene was a churchyard; the time, midnight; the persons, Edward
Chester, a clergyman, a grave-digger, and the four bearers of a homely
coffin. They stood about a grave which had been newly dug, and one of
the bearers held up a dim lantern,--the only light there--which shed
its feeble ray upon the book of prayer. He placed it for a moment on the
coffin, when he and his companions were about to lower it down. There
was no inscription on the lid.

The mould fell solemnly upon the last house of this nameless man; and
the rattling dust left a dismal echo even in the accustomed ears of
those who had borne it to its resting-place. The grave was filled in to
the top, and trodden down. They all left the spot together.

'You never saw him, living?' asked the clergyman, of Edward.

'Often, years ago; not knowing him for my brother.'

'Never since?'

'Never. Yesterday, he steadily refused to see me. It was urged upon him,
many times, at my desire.'

'Still he refused? That was hardened and unnatural.'

'Do you think so?'

'I infer that you do not?'

'You are right. We hear the world wonder, every day, at monsters of
ingratitude. Did it never occur to you that it often looks for monsters
of affection, as though they were things of course?'

They had reached the gate by this time, and bidding each other good
night, departed on their separate ways.

Chapter 80

That afternoon, when he had slept off his fatigue; had shaved, and
washed, and dressed, and freshened himself from top to toe; when he had
dined, comforted himself with a pipe, an extra Toby, a