CHAPTER XXXII.

THE CLOSING SCENE.

TYBURN was now at hand. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. It was the gallows. Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour, except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting.

Just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention it was again shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of Mr. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him.

Jack instantly sprang to his feet, and as his guards construed the motion into an attempt to escape, several of them drew their swords, and motioned him to sit down. But Jack did not heed them. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor.

"God in heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried Wood, bursting into tears, "God bless you!"

Jack extended his hand towards him, and looked anxiously for Thames; but he was nowhere to be seen. A severe pang shot through Jack's heart, and he would have given worlds if he possessed them to have seen his friend once more. The wish was vain; and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer.

While this was passing, Jonathan had ridden back to Marvel to tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions.

"You'll lose no time," said the thieftaker. "A hundred pounds if you do it quickly."-" Rely on me," rejoined the executioner, throwing away his pipe, which was just finished.

A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunder-storm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. Not a breath was drawn. The troops had kept a large space clear around the gallows. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators, so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,- —so were the trees,-the walls of Hyde Park, -a neighbouring barn,-a shed,-in short, every available position.

The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. The guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. It was an awful moment--so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended.

At this terrible juncture Jack maintained his composure, a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it, and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move.

The next instant he was launched into eternity!

Scarcely had he been turned off a moment when a man with swarthy features leapt into the cart with an open clasp-knife in his hand, and, before he could be prevented, severed the rope, and cut down the body. It was Blueskin. His assistance came too late. A

ball from Wild's pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet breathing body of his leader.

Blueskin, however, was not unattended. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. Jack's body was caught, and passed from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the fatal tree.

The shouts of indignation, the frightful yells now raised, baffle description. A furious attack was made on Jonathan, who, though he defended himself like a lion, was desperately wounded, and would inevitably have perished, if he had not been protected by the guards, who were obliged to use both swords and fire-arms upon the mob in his defence. He was at length rescued from his assailants,-rescued to perish, seven months afterwards, with every ignominy, at the very gibbet to which he had brought his victim.

The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road.

At this point a carriage with servants in sumptuous liveries was stationed. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb, with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. At length the body was brought towards him. Instantly seizing it, the young man placed it in the carriage, shut the door, and commanded his servants to drive off. The order was promptly obeyed, and the horses proceeded at a furious pace along the Edgeware Road.

Half an hour afterwards the body of Jack was carefully examined. It had been cut down before life was extinet; but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart.

Thus died Jack Sheppard.

That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Sheppard had been interred. Two persons, besides the clergyman and sexton, alone attended the ceremony. They were a young man and an old one, and both appeared deeply affected. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus,

MR. NIBBLE.

In our schoolboy days with what a joyous heart we beheld our kites raised by the wind! To manhood grown, we now daily witness this pleasant pastime practically reversed by "children of a larger growth," who, more cunning, now "raise the wind" by means of "kites," for that name, innocent reader, is the technical or cant term for a bill or promissory note, the art of circulating which is called "kite-flying."

The extent to which this agreeable amusement is indulged in by thousands in the commercial world is incalculable. Necessity is the mother of the invention.

The plumber is led to accept the cheesemonger's bill for accommodation, and the cheesemonger (whose credit is probably as decayed as an old Cheshire, and who has not a mite to bless himself withal) is obliging enough to "put his name" to a "bit o' paper" for the same purpose.

This amiable reciprocity, in the elegant phraseology of the money-market, is called "pig upon bacon!"

The draft of the publican (who finds it as easy to draw bills as beer, and being on the verge of going to "pot," is compelled to resort to these illegal "measures") is accepted by a half-ruined hopmerchant, who has nothing in his "pockets."

The indigent poulterer, who, from his confined views of probity, might appropriately exclaim with Shakspeare's witches,

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair,"

keeps the "game alive" by drawing upon a bird of the same feather, and for a time feathers his nest, at the expense of every goose from whom he can get trust,-and most frequently the issue is, that he takes the benefit of the act; proving, in the language of the Alley, a lame duck, and-" pigeons" his creditors.

The tailor (celebrated for his fine drawing) gives a bill upon some worthy woollen-draper of the same "pattern;" and should the bill at maturity fall on the "ninth," of course he "cuts"-according to his cloth. It don't "fit," and he is probably sewn up ;" for a

suit at law is not in his line.

The timber-merchant draws upon the carpenter and builder, (who proves himself a joiner in the transaction by his acceptance,) and "out of debt, out of danger," and "right reckoning makes long friends," not being of the number of his "saws," impudently answers, when pressed for payment," that he is really bored, and has

no brads."

The farmer issues a scrap of paper upon some hay-salesman, who proves a man of straw."

The sage, who hath never dreamt of such proceedings in his philosophy, will, we are confident, upon perusing this veritable catalogue, begin himself to draw-certain inferences, not at all calculated to raise the delinquents in his estimation.

We have as yet, however, only imperfectly attempted to describe the manufacture of the commodity: we now proceed to unveil the system employed in the circulation. Nothing is easier than the invention of a lie (and these documents are nothing more than palpable lies, pretending to a value which in truth they have not); but in the circulation lies the difficulty. Learn, then, sapient and curious reader, there is a set of men known to the initiated as purchasers of these precious scraps, nay, who make a living by discounting these same "kites," ludicrously disproving the axiom, ex nihilo nihil fit." Mr. Nibble is one of the most notorious of the tribe, who so amiably offer succour and assistance to the unfortunate for a "consideration."

He lives in a dark room, which he calls an office, up three pair of stairs in an obscure alley, in the most obscure part of this foggy city. Two well-worn chairs, one hungry lad,-a sort of human "mule," between an errand-boy and a clerk, one rickety table with drawer, one brass candlestick, one cheque- book, writing materials, and one iron chest, form the interesting inventory of the "moveables" in his gloomy abode.

A "dim religious light" struggles through the dirty panes of glass, and adds to the chilling effect produced by the uncomfortableness of a dingy apartment, with a cold, rusty grate, whose iron jaws appear grinning with an expression of despair and famine!

As for Mr. Nibble, what pen can describe his person? His lank, attenuated body, in truth, somewhat resembles the three long, meagre red-ink lines in his own journal, while "£. s. d." may, perhaps, as appropriately indicate his head-for there is nothing else in it! His shabby suit of an indefinable colour "harmonises" with the sur

rounding objects. In fine, the place, as well as the occupant, appears, like mortal comfort-at a very considerable discount!

A timid tap at the door disturbs the slumbering silence of this sanctum; and a shabby little man, like a small tradesman reduced, glides softly into the office.

"Good mornin', Mister Nibble."

Mr. Nibble gravely answers this salutation by a freezing inclination of the head; his dull, cold eyes scanning his visitor from top

to toe.

"We done a little business together afore," continued the man. "Oh!-ay-yes-Mr. Brown"

"Smith," correctively interpolates the tradesman.

"Ay, Smith! Thirty at two months? Let me see, was that draft honoured ?"

"Punctooo-al-ly! I'm happy for to assure you on it, sir," replied Mr. Smith, with confidence. "And I've a trifle here, Mister Nibble, is as good as good as that ere any day, and no mistake."

And he presented the trifle-a bill for forty pounds at three months-for the inspection of the acute Nibble.

"Umph!" mutters he, turning it about. "Smith on Bubblebacked by Liggins. Won't do, sir! Money is now at such a premium that I do believe it would be difficult to raise it even on a bank-note. Six per cent. on the best paper, and a heavy commission; exchequer at a ruinous discount; bankers' acceptances touched with caution; for it's impossible to know in these serious times who's who. Must decline."

"Dear me!" says the discomfited Mr. Smith, taking back the bill, and scratching his ear,

"The infallible resource,

To which embarrassed people have recourse." "Then you won't discount this for me?"

"No, sir," coolly replied Mr. Nibble, "I can't-I've got a heavy bill to provide for myself."

"It's unfortnit-wery," soliloquizes Mr. Smith. "P'r'aps, do you happen to know anybody as is likely to"

"Why, let me see," says Nibble, paradoxically closing his eyes, "why, yes, there's Grabb; but then he won't do it unless you'll

make a sacrifice."

"Well, but I don't care standing anythink-in reason," cried Smith, eagerly grasping at the shadow of a chance. "What do you think, now?"

"I dare say (you see the paper's so very unmarketable) he might do it for--ten pounds!"

Smith opens his eyes, and fairly whistles. "No, by goles !" cries he, "that is coming it too strong.

"I've done," says Nibble mildly, extending his skinny palms, and dropping his long and melancholy head with an eloquent shrug. "Good morning, Mr. Smith. Excuse me, I have business. Samuel!"

The elderly errand-boy starts to the door, and Mr. Smith is "let out," only to be "taken in" ten minutes afterwards by the accommodating Mr. Nibble, who boldly ventures on his own responsibility to advance ten pounds on the unmarketable commodity, promising at the latter end of the ensuing week to give him a cheque for the remaining twenty! ALFRED CROWQUILL.