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CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH GILES IS INTRODUCED TO THE READER.

THE City of London was in a temporary flutter of excitement. Some news had arrived from the country, and every political seer was brimful of prophecies and bursting with declamations. At the door of his partially-shuttered shop, the clean-aproned Cheapside tradesman cried less lustily his memorable, "What lack ye? What d'ye lack ?" Itinerants, bartering brooms for old shoes, tinkers with their tools, and fish-wives, thumping their sticks on the pavements to give emphasis to the praises of their fish, were all busy in vain. Men were too curious to attend to their cries or their own wants. Barbers' shops were full of chatting men, and little knots of persons of both sexes con

gregated at street corners, or on the benches in front of the ancient ale-houses, to discuss the news of the day, whilst a thin line of news boys were thrown out around them like so many sharpshooters. News-sheets had a brisk circulation, and the news-letter writer was elbowing his way into club, coffee-room, and tavern. Amidst the excitement attendant upon the receipt of important news, it was difficult to tell which party had been doing extraordinary things, although from the warmth with which every one who wore the “buff* and bandolier" of the Roundhead was regarded, it was easy enough to conjecture that the news was military, and that the Parliamentary cause had been gaining ground.

By and by, the tide of excitement ebbed in the great thoroughfares to flow into quiet ancient streets and silent places, startling writers in their rooms, busy men in their offices, and clerks on their stools. Before a curiously-paned and dingy window, darkened

* A doublet, or leathern shooting-jacket, laced in front, of which specimens may be now seen in the Tower.

+ A broad belt worn crosswise and hung with small wooden cases, each containing a charge of powder.

by the overhanging story and a small hieroglyphical sign-board, a comely youth sat at work with an open parchment-skin before him. The hum of voices and the tramp of unusual feet reached his ear. He lifted up his head and looked over the blind to see what was the matter. It was the newsman, blown and voiceless, with a small attendant crowd, eager to catch the fragmentary news as he sold his Mercuries, Intelligences, and Perfect Diurnals. In an inner office, ever and anon making his existence manifest to himself and others in that short dry cough common to men who are long closeted by themselves at silent, inexcitable labour, was a portly gentleman, whose quill pen suddenly. gave a spurt, and came to a pause. Here; fetch me the news-sheet-there's a good fellow," he said to the young man.

The youth obeyed, and handed over to him the small, precious news-sheet, which, full of odd information and rumours of disturbances in Holland and Ireland, of earthquakes, monsters, and universal mishaps, constituted the newspaper and public enlightener of that conflicting time.

"There's news from Lincolnshire, seemingly," said the gentleman, after a few minutes' perusal of the paper. "Cromwell has clean swept it of Camdeners, Papists, and dishonest men; and many volunteers have joined the Parliament forces. But, boy, you look pale. What's the matter? I hope the news has not alarmed you ?"

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Rather, sir. You know that my father hath seen fit to join the Parliament forces, and I bethought me at the moment, that he might have fallen in the fight, for there must have been some hot work there, sir."

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Aye, aye, boy; perhaps so. But you'll hear from home soon, never fear—”

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The gentleman paused in what he meant to be a consolatory reply, and hastened to rid his conscience of a little matter that touched it.

"You know that I am rather opposite in these matters to your good father, but I wish him well nevertheless."

"I think, uncle, he has done what he thought to be right, and I hope you won't think me rude if I say it is what I think right, too."

"Well, well, boy; you see we look at these matters through different glasses. Cromwell's a good man, no doubt, and your father I know it, but it is not given to man to alter the purposes of God, or even dispose of the affairs of state, according to the phantasies of their own minds. There I didn't mean to say so much, but take the paper upstairs, and tell Maggie she must not go her usual jaunt this morning."

The alacrity of the youth's footsteps as he trod the stairs sent the kindly gentleman into a brown study, composed of the usual materials that make up that exceedingly indefinite, unfruitful, and inconsequential state of mind.

"Yes; he must keep the boy. But the Roundheads might succeed? Dear me, that parchment is not gone to Mr. Coppentocks. I wonder when the news arrived. No; it wouldn't be safe for Maggie to walk out alone to-day. But suppose the boy's father were killed? There was certainly something extraordinary in the boy's swiftness. I must write to his father. What can the King be doing now? I needn't grow suspicious about