er,
wiping his eyes; "I hope I'm not dreaming! Thames, my dear boy, as soon
as Winny has done with you, let me embrace you."

"My turn comes before yours, Sir," interposed his better half. "Come to
my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!"

To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or
describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged
his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the
breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the
empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in
order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction--to describe the
scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued,
but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as
it must occur to every one's imagination. Supper was quickly served; the
oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel
of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink--their
hearts were too full.

Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a
recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. Carried out to sea
by Van Galgebrok, and thrown overboard, while struggling with the waves,
he had been picked up by a French fishing-boat, and carried to Ostend.
After encountering various hardships and privations for a long time,
during which he had no means of communicating with England, he, at
length, found his way to Paris, where he was taken notice of by Cardinal
Dubois, who employed him as one of his secretaries, and subsequently
advanced to the service of Philip of Orleans, from whom he received a
commission. On the death of his royal patron, he resolved to return to
his own country; and, after various delays, which had postponed it to
the present time, he had succeeded in accomplishing his object.

Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and,
when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply
her feelings had been interested.

The discourse, then, turned to Darrell's old playmate, Jack Sheppard;
and Mr. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy
condition to which it had reduced his mother.

"For my part, it's only what I expected of him," observed Mrs. Wood,
"and I'm sorry and surprised he hasn't swung for his crimes before this.
The gallows has groaned for him for years. As to his mother, I've no
pity for