tion that the prejudice of society has fixed upon him. He will become a country gentleman. He will give away a bullock and blankets at Christmas. He will go regularly to church. Yes; he will show that he can be truly religious; for he will have a pew as fine, if not finer, than any pew he had peeped into yesterday. If fate, for this once-this last time-would only be kind to him! This virtuous determination so befooled the felon, that he felt his heart opened; felt all his nature softened to receive the best and kindliest impressions. Though, in his various crooked ways, Tom Blast had gulled many, many men, yet had he never so completely duped any man, as, at that moment, Tom duped Tom. He felt himself mightily comforted. He looked around him—at the hedges-the trees; as though carefully noting their particular whereabout. He rose blithely, with some new resolution. With renewed strength, he swung the box upon his shoulder, and in a few minutes he had hidden it. He would come back at a proper season -and with proper means-to make the surer of it.

Return we to Tangle's chamber. Oh, innocent sleep! There was the parliamentary agent-the man with the golden key to open the door of St. Stephen's to young St. James—there was he, still in port-wine slumbers-still sunk in the claret sea! Beautiful was the morning! The nimble air frolicked in at the open window-for the mercurial Jingo had not closed it when he departed with Tangle's treasures. The glorious sun rose blushing at the ways of slothful man. The sparrows, tenants of the eaves, flew from distant fields, many a one proving, by the early worm that writhed about its bill, the truthfulness of proverb lore. And still the attorney slept! Sleep on, poor innocence! Thou knowest not the gashes cut in thy pocket; thou knowest not how that is bleeding mortal drops of coined blood; for how much seeming gold is there, that, looked upon aright, is aught other metal? Sleep on.

And Tangle sleeps and dreams. A delicious vision creases and wrinkles his yellow face like folds in parchment. Yes; Tangle dreams. And we know the particular dream, and-sweet is the privilege!-we may and will tell it. Somnus, father of dreams—what a progeny has he to answer for !-did not kindly send to the lawyer a visionary courier to apprise him of his loss; and so to break the affliction to his sleep that, waking, he might perhaps the better endure it. Oh, no there would have been no sport in that. Contrast is the soul of whim; and Somnus was inclined to a joke with the razor-sharp attorney.

Whereupon, Tangle dreamt that he was on his death-bed-and nevertheless, bed to him had never been so delicious.

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He knew his hour was come: a smiling angel-all effulgence-on either side-had told him so. And Tangle, calling up a decent look of regret at his wife and children, standing about them, told them to be comforted, as he was going immediately to heaven. This he knew; and it showed their ignorance to look any doubt of the matter. That chest of gold-the gold once taken to pay the electors of Liquorish-was, after the manner of dreams, somehow his own property. And therefore, he ordered the chest to be placed on the foot of his bed, and opened. The lid was raised; and oh, what a glory! It was filled to the edge with bright, bright guineas, all bearing the benevolent face-a wonderful likeness, in fact, as every face on gold is, a speaking likeness, for it talks every tongue-of George the Third! When Tangle saw them, he smiled a smile-ay, could we have followed it-to the very roots of his heart. "I am going to heaven," said he ; I have toiled all my life for that goodly end; I have scraped and scraped those blessed things together, knowing that if I had enough of them to bear my weight, they would carry me straight to Paradise. No, my dear wife, my darling children, think not my brain is wandering; think me not light-headed; for at this solemn time, this awful moment, I only hope to consummate the great object of my life. I have made money in this world, that, by its means, I might make sure of heaven in the next. And they"-and Tangle again pointed to the guineas-" those bright celestials will carry me there!" And now comes the wonderful part of the dream. When Tangle had ceased speaking, every guinea rose, as upon tiny wings, from the box; and, like a swarm of bees, filled the death-chamber with a humming sound. And then gradually every King George the Third face upon the guinea grew and rounded into a cherub head of glittering gold, the wings extending and expanding. And who shall count the number of the cherubim glorifying the chamber with their effulgence, and making it resound with their tremendous music! A short time, and then Tangle dreamt that the cherubim were bearing him from his bed-all lifting, all supporting him, all tending him in his upward flight. And then again he smiled at his worldly wisdom, for he felt that every guinea he had madeno matter how, upon earth-was become an angel, helping him to heaven. And still in his dream-smiling and smiling, he went up-up-up!

Now, if any cavilling reader disputes the authenticity of this dream-if, pushing it aside, he calls it extravagant and ridiculous, we are, without further preparation, ready to prove it a very reasonable and likely dream; a dream that is no other than a visionary embodiment of the waking thoughts of many a man, who hoards and hoards, as though every bit of gold was, as the lawyers have it, seizin of Paradise. When (and it does sometimes happen) a high dignitary of the Church dies with a coffer of some hundred and forty thousand pounds, who shall say that the good man has not hoarded them, in the belief that every pound will serve him as an angel to help him to heaven? He knows he cannot take them to bliss; but, with a wisdom unknown to much of the ignorant laity, he evidently believes that they can carry him there. Hence even Church avarice, properly considered, may be excellent religion-hence a crawling, caterpillar miser may only crawl to soar the higher-a triumphant Psyche!

And still Tangle, in his dream, was ascending to the stars. Was ever man brought back to this earth with so terrible a shock? Compared with it, a drop from a balloon upon Stonehenge would be a few feet fall upon a feather-bed.

"Hallo! Bless me! My good friend! Well, you have a constitution! Sleep with the window open!"

Such were the exclamations of Mr. Folder, up and arrayed for an early walk. Though by no means unwell from the last night— certainly not, for he was never soberer in his life—he thought he would take a ramble in the fields just to dissipate a little dulness, a slight heaviness he felt; and being of a companionable nature, he thought he would hold out to Mr. Tangle the advantage of accompanying him. Whereupon, he tried the attorney's door, and, finding it unlocked, with the pleasant freedom of a friend, he entered the chamber. The opened window struck him with vast astonishment. The election was not over, and Mr. Tangle might catch his death. Again he gave voice to his anxiety. "My dear sir, Mr. Tangle the window-"

"Ten thousand cherubs," said Tangle, still in the clouds,— "ten thousand, and not one less. I knew I had ten thousand; and all good: not a pocket-piece among 'em. Cherubs!"

"Bless 'my soul!" said Folder, "he's in some sweet dream; and with the window open. Well, if I could dream at all under such circumstances, I should certainly dream I was in a saw-mill with a saw going through every joint of my body. And, what 's more, I should wake and find it all true. Mr. Tangle!"

With other exclamations-with still more strenuous pullingMr. Folder saw that he was about to achieve success. There were undeniable symptoms of Mr. Tangle's gradual return to a consciousness of the £ s. d. of this world. Gradually, cherub by cherub was letting him down easily to this muddy earth. The attorney stretched out his legs like a spider-flung up his armsand with a tremendous yawn opened his mouth so wide, that Mr. Folder-but he was not a man of high courage-might have seen that attorney's very bowels. Tangle unclosed his stiffly-opening eyelids. It was plain there was a mist-possibly a cloud, as from burnt claret-passing before his orbs: for it was some moments. before the face of Mr. Folder loomed through the vapour. At length, Tangle-with every vein in his head beating away as though it would not beat in such fashion much longer; no, it would rather burst—at length Tangle, resolving to be most courageously jolly, laughed and cried out" Well, what's the matter?"

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"Why, my dear friend," said Folder, "as to-day is a busy day, I thought we could not be too fresh for work: and so, as we were a little late, I may say, too, a little wild last night—' Pooh, pooh; not a bit. I never felt better: never, in all my life. I always know when I'm safe, and drink accordingly. Never was yet deceived, sir; never. There's no port in the world I'd trust, like the port you get from the gentlemen of the cloth: they're men above deceit, sir; above deceit."

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Nevertheless, I do think a walk in the fields—just a turn before breakfast—”

"No," said Tangle, " turning upon his side, evidently set upon another nap: "no; I like buttercups and daisies, and all that sort of thing-breath of cows, and so forth—but not upon an empty stomach."

"Well to be sure," said Folder, "you economize. You get your air and sleep together.'

"What do you mean?" grunted Tangle.

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Why you sleep with your window open, don't you?" asked Folder.

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Never," replied Tangle.

"No: then who has opened it for you?"

Mr. Tangle raised himself in his bed. We will not put down the oath which, to the astonishment of Folder, he thundered forth, when he saw his casement open to the winds. Suddenly he leapt from the bed; and as suddenly Mr. Folder quitted the chamber. "Robbery! Murder!" cried Tangle, with amazing lungs.

Now, we have never known this confusion of terms in any way accounted for. True it is, Mr. Tangle saw, as he believed, the clearest evidence of robbery; but there was no drop, no speck of blood, to afford the slightest hint of homicide. Wherefore, then, should he, falling into a common error of humanity, couple murder with theft? Why is it, we ask, that infirm man, suddenly awakened to a loss of pelf, almost always connects with the misfortune, the loss of life? Are purse-strings and heart-strings so inevitably interwoven? We merely let fall this subject for the elucidation of the metaphysician; and so pursue our story.

"Robbery! Murder!" yelled Tangle, dancing in his shirt about the room like a frantic Indian. Mr. Folder, at the door, took up the cry, and in a few minutes landlord and landlady, chambermaid, waiter, and boots, with half-a-dozen tenants of the Olive Branch, were at Tangle's door. “A minute-only a minute,” cried Tangle, as they were about to enter-" Not dressed yet-the murderous thieves-nearly naked-the scoundrel malefactors -guineas, guineas-gone-gone-where's my stockings?" Very distressing to a soul of sympathy was the condition of Mr. Tangle. As he hunted about the floor for his scattered articles of dress, his face-he could not help it was turned towards the empty closet, as though in his despair he thought some good fairy might replace the treasure there, even while he looked. -Thus, looking one way, and seeking his raiment in divers others, he brought his head two or three times in roughest companionship with the bed-post. At length, very sternly rebuked by one of these monitors, he made a desperate effort at tranquillity. He ceased to look towards the closet. Setting his teeth, and breathing like a walrus, he drew on his stockings. He then encased his lower members in their customary covering; and then the turned-out pockets once more smit his bruised soul. He dropt upon the bed, and sent forth one long, deep, piteous groan. "The murderous villains! Even my 'bacco-stopper!" he cried : and then his eyelids quivered; but he repressed the weakness, and did not weep. "Somebody shall swing for this-somebody!" he said; and this sweet, sustaining thought seemed for a time mightily to comfort him. And thus, the attorney continued to dress himself, his hand trembling about every button-hole; whilst the crowd at his chamber-door exchanged sundry speculations as to the mode and extent of the robbery, the landlord loudly exclaiming that nothing of the sort had ever been known in his house: a statement emphatically confirmed by his dutiful wife.