ed in the room. The form pressed heavily against my
bosom--at last methought it moved. Yes, I was right, there was a heaving
of the breast, and then a gasping. Were those words which I heard? Yes,
they were words, low and indistinct at first, and then audible. The mind
of the dying man was reverting to former scenes. I heard him mention
names which I had often heard him mention before. It was an awful
moment; I felt stupefied, but I still contrived to support my dying
father. There was a pause, again my father spoke: I heard him speak of
Minden, and of Meredith, the old Minden sergeant, and then he uttered
another name, which at one period of his life was much on his lips, the
name of--but this is a solemn moment! There was a deep gasp: I shook,
and thought all was over; but I was mistaken--my father moved and revived
for a moment; he supported himself in bed without my assistance. I make
no doubt that for a moment he was perfectly sensible, and it was then
that, clasping his hands, he uttered another name clearly, distinctly--it
was the name of Christ. With that name upon his lips, the brave old
soldier sank back upon my bosom, and, with his hands still clasped,
yielded up his soul.

[_End of Vol._ _I._, 1851.]

CHAPTER XXIX.

"One-and-ninepence, sir, or the things which you have brought with you
will be taken away from you!"

Such were the first words which greeted my ears, one damp, misty morning
in March, as I dismounted from the top of a coach in the yard of a London
inn.

I turned round, for I felt that the words were addressed to myself.
Plenty of people were in the yard--porters, passengers, coachmen,
ostlers, and others, who appeared to be intent on anything but myself,
with the exception of one individual whose business appeared to lie with
me, and who now confronted me at the distance of about two yards.

I looked hard at the man--and a queer kind of individual he was to look
at--a rakish figure, about thirty, and of the middle size, dressed in a
coat smartly cut, but threadbare, very tight pantaloons of blue stuff,
tied at the ankles, dirty white stockings, and thin shoes, like those of
a dancing-master; his features were not ugly, but rather haggard, and he
appeared to owe his complexion less to nature than carmine; in fact, in
every respect, a very queer figure.

"One-and-ninepence, sir, or your things will be taken away from you!" he
said, in a kind of lisping tone, coming yet nea