ready in case they should be wanted, separated and returned to their respective homes.

The day passed quietly; the workmen retired early to their houses, and the only difference observable in matters at Coalbrook was, that the furnaces-those huge chimneys run to seed-no longer belched forth flames and smoke, and the large hammer that flattened the iron plates was unheard.

The master of the works and his clerks, who had not joined in the strike, being suspicious that an attack might be made upon the works during the night, sat up at the cottage. Morning found them watching and watching in vain, for no sign of a disturbance had appeared. In this way a week passed. No correspondence took place between the employer and his men. The shops it is true had been opened in the borough, but anxiety and a sense of impending danger were visible in the looks of the townsmen.

Montacute and his clerks, weary of watching, and no longer dreading open violence, retired to their beds, leaving three constables to guard the works, and to rouse them if any thing should occur to render their presence necessary. For four nights their rest was undisturbed, but on the fifth they were called hastily from their beds. What a fearful sight presented itself to their eyes! The works were one mass of flame. Factories, storehouses, counting-houses, all burning

together!

As Montacute rushed down the path by the brook side towards the spot, he saw that an immense crowd stood, armed with sticks, pokers, and other weapons, in a circle round the building.

When he drew near he was told by a man whose face was covered by a piece of black crape, but by whose voice he recognised Hunter, that no person would be allowed to approach the works until they were entirely consumed. Montacute was a powerful and resolute man, and endeavoured to thrust this person aside and rush past him. He was seized in a moment and thrown to the ground. He rose and struggled with his antagonist, who told him that he had no wish to hurt him, but merely to keep him from entering the works before they were burnt to the ground. Montacute, with awful oaths, called him by his name, and assured him he would leave no stone unturned to have him hanged as an incendiary. Hunter thrust his hands into his master's neckcloth, and pressing his knuckles against his throat, would have choked him, had not a tremendous explosion thrown them both to the ground, where they lay for a time stunned. Several barrels of powder placed purposely under the two immense furnace-chimneys had ignited. The solid masses of brickwork were shivered to pieces, and the shrieks of men, women, and children, showed that many had been injured by the scattered fragments.

With these shrieks of agony were mingled shouts of triumph and the laughter of demons. They seemed to rouse both the fallen master and man, not only from stupor but to phrensy. Both sprang to their feet and renewed the struggle in which they had been engaged. It lasted not long however, for Hunter throwing his opponent to the ground, seized a fragment of the falling chimney, and hurling it at his head dashed out his brains.

The horrid event was quickly known to all the rioters, and they dis

persed in all directions, all with the exception of Hunter, who could not quit his victim. He had not meditated murder, and vile as he was, the notion of having destroyed life deprived him of energy enough even to escape the consequences of his crime. He was seized and thrown into prison, tried and executed. The rioters were many of them punished, but they preserved their secret so well that no one knew who of them it was that planned or carried into effect the burning of the works.

Now let us see the result of this most daring deed upon the other characters of our little drama.

Of the widow I will only say, at present, that some weeks passed without her being fully conscious of what was passing around her. The fire, the destruction of the property, and the murder of her husband, to whom she had been warmly attached, had been too much for her; her brain was affected, and for some days it was considered impossible for her to recover the shock. Her son attended upon her with the greatest affection; indeed, he only quitted her side at the bidding of the doctors to take rest and food.

Mr. Ernest Lowe, when he was informed of the sad result of the starving system which he had so cruelly recommended, was entertaining a few friends at his little cottage at Wimbledon. He read the letter which conveyed the news to his little party, which, if truth must be told, consisted only of two ladies of damaged reputation, and one very intimate friend, who made a great deal of money by advancing upon undoubtful security at cent. per cent. This gentleman, when the letter was read, did not pretend to be seriously affected, but whispered to his entertainer,

"You had better marry the widow, and you will be master of the whole property."

Mr. Ernest Lowe turned very pale-very pale indeed-which was attributed by the ladies to the excessive grief he felt for the horrid end of his late partner. He tossed off a bumper of wine, ordered posthorses to his travelling-chariot, and hurried down to Maythorn.

He was here engaged for some weeks in apprehending the rioters, and attending their examinations and subsequent trials, and never allowed a day to pass without calling at Coalbrook cottage to inquire after the health of its mistress, and to assure her son that all would be well, and that he might rely for advice and assistance in every matter on him— "the friend of the family."

At the bank all went on as usual, but no one was invited to Maythorn Manor but the senior clerk-the confidential man at the bank. This person spent his time, after banking hours, with his employer, and after taking a small quantity of wine, the servants were ordered to prepare coffee in the library, where a great many large leather-covered books occupied their attention until they retired to bed at a late hour.

As Mr. Ernest Lowe put on a suit of very elegant mourning, and wore a face of woe, he was pronounced by all his neighbours to be a most feeling person. His heart was said to be "in the right place." When Mrs. Montacute had recovered the shock sufficiently to be removed, the doctors recommended change of scene. Mr. Lowe offered his cottage at Wimbledon for her reception, and thither, as soon as cer

tain little removals had been effected by Mr. Lowe in person, she retreated with her son, and after a few weeks was completely restored to health, though not to happiness.

As soon as her complete restoration was made known to him by the medical gentleman whom he had engaged to attend her. Mr. Ernest Lowe having put every thing in training for the rebuilding of the works, hastened up to town. There he had an interview with his friend the fashionable advancer. What took place at that interview cannot be told, but one result of it was, that Mr. Lowe drove down to Wimbledon and put into execution the plan suggested by the money-lender, when the news of Mr. Montacute's murder reached them at the wine table. He proposed to the widow, whom he had prepared for the offer of his person and fortune in a series of letters, as he thought, but which she read to mean offers of friendship and assistance, of which she never entertained a doubt. She had always looked upon him as "the friend of the family." When his meaning, however, was personally explained to her, she felt at first greatly shocked; then, when he urged the matter very pressingly, she in a kind but firm manner begged to decline the offer. Mr. Ernest Lowe professed to be greatly hurt, and to shed tears of grief. He even muttered something about life being a burden to him, now that his happiness was destroyed for ever.

Mrs. Montacute, who believed him to be sincere, was much grieved, and said all she could to console him, assuring him of her gratitude for all past kindnesses, and her full reliance upon him in all matters as one who had proved himself to be "the friend of the family."

Mr. Lowe, after walking up and down the room with a cambric handkerchief to his eyes for some quarter of an hour, uttered a deep sigh, and promised never to allude to the subject again.

He did not take his leave, however, but turned the conversation to her future prospects, and her intentions with regard to her son. After he had ascertained that she intended to reside at Cambridge with her son until he should have taken his degree-a plan he very much approved of. Mr. Lowe made some inquiries and suggestions, which ended in obtaining her signature to a document, which, strange to say, he had in his pocket-book, and which is called a power of attorney. It enabled him to receive her dividends, to sell out and buy in stock-in short, to do as he pleased with her funded property, which she supposed to amount to a considerable sum. Could she do better than intrust the management of it to a wealthy banker, and the "friend of the family ?"

Mr. Lowe's fingers trembled as they returned the document into his pocket-book. He took a most affectionate leave of his dear friend and her son, and returned, after passing a few hours with his ally, the advancer, to his home at Maythorn Manor, where he opened house again to his friends and neighbours, and received plans and contracts for the rebuilding of the factories at Coalbrook.

Mrs. Montacute left Wimbledon on the morning following the important interview with "the friend of the family," and went to reside at Cambridge with her son, who had been already entered as a fellowcommoner in that University. At her request, Mr. Lowe paid 500i. into the Cambridge bank. Here I must leave the widow and her son, and return to Maythorn Manor.

It was on a beautiful day in June that a very large party was assembled at the Manor. There was an archery meeting followed by a dinner and a ball in the evening-every thing was done on the most splendid scale, and every body pronounced the giver of the entertainment a most splendid fellow. Shortly after midnight the guests ordered their carriages and departed. The servants wearied with their day's exertions retired to bed. Mr. Lowe partly undressed himself and dismissed his valet, bidding him not to disturb him too early in the morning.

About half an hour afterwards a person might have been seen to come out of Mr. Lowe's room dressed in the garb of a quaker, with gray locks and whiskers, and a large pair of tortoiseshell spectacles. He stooped very much and seemed to be suffering from a load of years if not of infirmities. He walked slowly and softly down the carpeted stairs, opened the hall-door very gently and closed it after him. He then looked up at the servants' windows and seeming satisfied with the inspection walked through the shrubbery to a small gate that opened into a lane communicating with the high-road to Chepstow. A low whistle was answered, and a gig driven by a man dressed as a quaker's servant came up from beneath some high trees which shaded the lane. Mr. Lowe-for it was himself-sprang into it, and was driven by his confidential clerk at a very smart trot to the Old Passage, where a boat was waiting for them.

In a few hours, and before the archery party had risen from their beds, the two sham quakers were on board the good ship Washington, aud on their way to the New World. Their passage had been paid, and their luggage put on board at Bristol, under the name of Aminadab Straight and servant. They were to be waited for at Portishead Point. The captain might have had his suspicions, but-it was no business of his.

At ten o'clock of the same day, when the bank ought to have opened, it did not. A small ticket on the door, however, kindly announced that, Lowe, Montacute, and Co., had suspended payment.

I shall not attempt to describe the consternation that ensued, or the ruin that followed; suffice it to say, that after the sale of every thing, including the cottage at Coalbrook, of which Mr. Lowe had managed to get possession, the creditors received 23d. in the pound, and cursed their folly for trusting a man who had landed property worth about 50007., and had issued notes to the tune of 80,0007.

The agreeable tidings of her entire ruin-for Lowe had stripped her of every farthing-was brought to Mrs. Montacute at an unfortunate moment. She had just heard that her son-her only hope in life-was drowned while bathing in the Cam.

A long and serious illness followed. She found many friends in the clergy of Cambridge, who learnt her history and sympathized in her griefs. Mrs. Lauderly was informed of her fate by a friend at Cambridge, and in the asylum at Mount Whistling, Mrs. Montacute was taught to forget her woes and to forgive

"THE FRIEND OF THE FAMILY."

June.-VOL. LXVIII. NO. CCLXX.

R

A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE IN GERMANY.

LAST Summer, after a most delightful voyage up the Rhine, that most lovely and picturesque of German towns, Baden-Baden, was honoured by my visit. And who shall draw the picture in colours sufficiently glowing to describe that sweet spot? Where the pencil bold enough to portray the lofty and grand mountains which encircle it? Where the pen that shall convey to the ideas of the stay-at-home half the delights of a visit to this, I may call it, "happy valley." My quill made an humble attempt, but after getting through pages enough to form a tolerably bulky folio, gave up the task in despair, and said, "It would have nothing to do with it."

But I was at Baden. True; and of course I did as Baden did. The Cursaal saw me every day amongst its throng of visiters, lounging as if I had been its possessor. The ball-rooms in the evening felt the step of my "light fantastic;" and the occupiers of the roulettetables eyed me with no very agreeable look; for I gazed on, quite unmoved by their temptations, never having played, except once, when I staked the enormous sum of a florin, which of course went to enrich the treasury. The old castle at the top of the hill frowned down on me as it viewed my panting efforts up the sides of its mountain, and the garçon smilingly handed me my demi-bouteille when I had reached the summit. And how proudly I took my seat at the table d'hôte of the Badischer Hof, or the Hotel d'Europe, and felt myself on a par with Lord This, and Prince That, and Foreign Ambassador So-and-so; and how agreeable I made myself, or tried to do so, when chatting to them as if they had been my most intimate friends. And how many gallons of soup (not turtle) did I swallow, and how many horrible viands did I eat, not that I liked them, but every body tasted them— so did I. But my grand adventure.—

I said above I was in the habit of attending the roulette-tables, though not with the intention of playing. Some few hours were always passed in this idle amusement. Well; I had been there nearly a month, and at two o'clock every day I had observed a man take his stand at the table, stake a rouleau of Napoleons on the highest number, and universally win; then taking up his gains, quietly retire. He was tall, very dark, and possessed most remarkably black and brilliant eyes, and was of a fine commanding figure.

When he made his appearance, I observed there was always a stir at the table, and way was instantly made for him. But the best of the joke was, that as soon as he laid down his stake, several people who had observed his sure success, immediately placed large sums on the number he did, and as regularly took up thirty-six times larger. Had he remained at them, he must have broken the bank, for the ball seemed under his perfect control. Of course, he soon got the reputation of being something more than human. He never spoke to any -merely walked in-staked-won-and walked out again, and nobody could say where he came from, or where he went; and the natives who, it is known, are rather inclined to belief in supernaturals, soon proclaimed him to be the —, and nought else; and not even the certain success of winning could induce them to stake when he