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he already had his fingers on a royal pulse, whose harmonious throbbings communicating with his own ennobled anatomy, sweetly troubled his beating heart. However, with the will of a strong man he put down the emotion, and returned to his lordship's
“ You spoke of revenge, my lord? Upon that wealthy wretch, Snipeton? May I ask what sort of revenge your lordship desires to take ? " :
“ Faith! Mr. Crossbone, my revenge is like Shylock's. I'd take it," said the young gentleman, with a smile of significant bitterness_“I'd take it nearest his heart.''
“ Yes, I understand ; perfectly, my lord,” said Crossbone with new gaiety. “ The flesh of his flesh, eh? His wife ?”
“ His wife," cried St. James passionately.
“ Excellent, my lord ! Excellent! Ha! ha! ha!” And the apothecary could not resist the spirit of laughter that tickled him ; it was so droll to imagine a man-especially an old man—despoiled of his wife. “She would be sweet revenge," cried Crossbone, rubbing bis hands with an implied relish.
“And practicable, eh?" cried St. James. Crossbone smiled again, and rubbed his hands with renewed pleasure, nodding the while. “He has carried her from Dovesnest ; buried her some where ; for this much I know-she is not at his house in the city."
“I know all, my lord; all. I have received a letter-here it is”-and Crossbone gave the missive to St. James : “you see, he writes me that she is ill-very ill-and as he has great faith in my knowledge—for there is no man without some good point, let's hope that in my knowledge of her constitution, he desires me to come and see her. I've arrived this very morning in London. I was going direct to him ; but--surely there's providence in it, my lord-but something told me to come and see you first.”.
“And I am delighted,” said St. James, “that you gave ear to the good genius. You 'll assist me?”.
« My lord,” said Crossbone solemnly, “I have, I hope, a proper respect for the rights of birth and the institutions of my country. And I have always, my lord, considered politics as nothing more than enlarged morals."
"Thank you for the apophthegm”-said the flattering St. James. “May I use it in parliament when I get there?”.
“Oh, my lord !” simpered Crossbone, and continued. “Enlarged morals. Now, this man Snipeton, in opposing your lordship
for Liquorish, in bringing in a muffin-maker over your noble head -all the town is ringing with it-has, I conceive, violated wholesale morality, and should be punished accordingly. But how punished ? . You can't touch him through his money. No : 'tis his coat of mail. He's what I call a golden crocodile, my lord, with but one tender place—and that 's his wife. Then strike him there, and you punish him for his presumption, and revenge the disgrace he has put upon your family.”
“Exactly,” said St. James, a little impatient of the apothecary's morals. “But, my good sir, do you know where the lady is?'
« No. But I shall order her wherever may be most convenient. Would the air of Bath suit you ?" asked the apothecary with a leer.
“Excellently-nothing could be better,” said St. James.
“Bath be it, then. And she must go alone ; that is, without that Mrs. Wilton. I don't like that woman. There's á cold watchfulness about her that we can do without, my lord.”
“ But how separate them?” asked St. James.
“Leave that to me. Well handled, nothing cuts like a sharp lie ; it goes at once through heartstrings.” St. James passed his hand across his face: he felt his blood had mounted there. “ It has often separated flesh of flesh and bone of bone, and may easily part mistress and servant. Talking of servants, have you no trusty fellow to go between us, my lord ?”.
Even as the apothecary spoke Ralph brought in a card ; the card given by St. James to St. Giles. The returned transport awaited in the hall the command of his patron.
“Nothing could be more fortunate,” cried St. James. “ Ralph, tell the man who brings this, to attend this gentleman and take his orders. To-morrow I will see him myself.”
“And to-morrow, my lord,” said the apothecary, with new courage holding forth his hand,“ to-morrow you shall hear from me.”
“ To-morrow,” said St. James.
“ To-morrow ; heaven be with your lordship ;" and with this hope, the apothecary departed.
St. James hastily paced the room. The walls were hung with mirrors.
The young gentleman-was it a habit ?—still walked with his hand to his face.
THE POOR MAN'S COAT. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE “ PURGATORY OF SUICIDES.”
The sun shone out so gay, of late,
And talk unto myself I did,
To have their holidays of mirth;
Thus I sagely talked,
“ I did,” he answered, “ and I work