st have amassed his riches by robbery, then," remarked Leonard.

"True," returned Rainbird. "He helps himself without scruple to the
clothes, goods, and other property, of all who die of the pestilence;
and after ransacking their houses, conveys his plunder in the dead-cart
to his own dwelling."

"In Saint Paul's?" asked Leonard.

"No--a large house in Nicholas-lane, once belonging to a wealthy
merchant, who perished, with his family, of the plague," replied
Rainbird. "He has filled it from cellar to garret with the spoil he has
obtained."

"And how has he preserved it?" inquired the apprentice.

"The plague has preserved it for him," replied Rainbird. "The few
authorities who now act have, perhaps, no knowledge of his proceedings;
or if they have, have not cared to interfere, awaiting a more favourable
season, if it should ever arrive, to dispossess him of his hoard, and
punish him for his delinquencies; while, in the mean time, they are
glad, on any terms, to avail themselves of his services as a burier.
Other people do not care to meddle with him, and the most daring robber
would be afraid to touch infected money or clothes."

"If you are going towards Nicholas-lane," said Leonard, as if struck
with a sudden idea, "and will point out to me the house in question, you
will do me a favour."

Rainbird nodded assent, and they walked on together towards
Fish-street-hill. Ascending it, and turning off on the right, they
entered Great Eastcheap, but had not proceeded far when they were
obliged to turn back, the street being literally choked up with a pile
of carcasses deposited there by the burier's assistants. Shaping their
course along Gracechurch-street, they turned off into Lombard-street,
and as Leonard gazed at the goldsmiths' houses on either side, which
were all shut up, with the fatal red cross on the doors, he could not
help remarking to his companion, "The plague has not spared any of these
on account of their riches."

"True," replied the other; "and of the thousands who used formerly to
throng this street not one is left. Wo to London!--wo!--wo!"

Leonard echoed the sentiment, and fell into a melancholy train of
reflection. It has been more than once remarked that the particular day
now under consideration was the one in which the plague exercised its
fiercest dominion over the city; and though at first its decline was as
imperceptible as the gradual diminution of the day after the longest has
passed,