ent for debt, which lets the mare be stolen, and then locks
up the bridle! O sharpers, bubbles, senators, beaux, taverns, brothels,
clubs, houses private and public!---O LONDON, in a word, receive my last
adieu! Long may you flourish in peace and plenteousness! May your knaves
be witty, and your fools be rich! May you alter only two things,--your
damnable tricks of transportation and hanging! Those are your sole
faults; but for those I would never desert you. Adieu!"

Here Tomlinson averted his head, and then hastily shaking the hand of
Long Ned with a tremulous and warm grasp, he hurried down the stairs and
entered the boat. Ned remained motionless for some moments, following
him with his eyes as he sat at the end of the boat, waving a white
pocket-handkerchief. At length a line of barges snatched him from the
sight of the lingerer; and Ned, slowly turning away, muttered,--"Yes,
I have always heard that Dame Lobkins's was the safest asylum for
misfortune like mine. I will go forthwith in search of a lodging, and
to-morrow I will make my breakfast at the Mug!"

Be it our pleasing task, dear reader, to forestall the good robber,
and return, at the hour of sunrise on the day following Tomlinson's
departure, to the scene at which our story commenced. We are now once
more at the house of Mrs. Margery Lobkins.

The room which served so many purposes was still the same as when Paul
turned it into the arena of his mischievous pranks. The dresser,
with its shelves of mingled delf and pewter, occupied its ancient and
important station. Only it might be noticed that the pewter was more
dull than of yore, and that sundry cracks made their erratic wanderings
over the yellow surface of the delf. The eye of the mistress had
become less keen than heretofore, and the care of the hand maid had, of
necessity, relaxed. The tall clock still ticked in monotonous warning;
the blanket-screen, haply innocent of soap since we last described it,
many-storied and polyballaded, still unfolded its ample leaves "rich
with the spoils of time;" the spit and the musket yet hung from the wall
in amicable proximation. And the long, smooth form, "with many a holy
text thereon bestrewn," still afforded rest to the weary traveller, and
an object to the vacant stare of Mrs. Margery Lobkins, as she lolled in
her opposite seat and forgot the world. But poor Piggy Lob!---there
was the alteration! The soul of the woman was gone; the spirit had
evaporated from