"That such a precious flower should be thrown away!" cried Mrs. Simmer to herself: and then to St. Giles: "You're a good boy; I'm sure you're a good boy. And tell me; I hope you go to church?"

66

Oh, I should like it so !" cried St. Giles: "but you see, mum, it's impossible."

"How so, my boy ?" asked Mrs. Simmer.

"Parson wouldn't

"Look here, mum," and St. Giles, with the coolness of a philosopher, drew his feet up almost level with the table, and with his forefinger pointed to his ten muddy toes, that showed themselves through the parted shoe-leather. have 'em, by no means. I did once try to go to church; I did begin to feel so wicked. Well, mum, if the beadle didn't come up, mum, and nearly cut me in two, mum."

"How wicked-how barbarous!" said the ingenuous Mrs. Simmer.

"And only for my bad shoes, and the oles in my coat; but that's how they serves poor boys, mum. I don't think it's kind, mum: do you, mum?" And St. Giles tried to look at once injured and innocent.

Mrs. Simmer wiped her eyes, making an effort to be calm. She then said, "I've been thinking, if I could get you a place in a gentleman's house."

"Wouldn't that be prime?" cried St. Giles: and as he spoke, there rang through the house a loud and hurried knock at the street-door. Mrs. Simmer, without a word, jumped to her feet, and ran to the window.

66

Well, I declare! if it isn't that blessed child! if it isn't his lordship!" she cried.

Young St. Giles, at the word lordship, slid from his chair, and looked slyly about him. Was it possible that a lord could be coming into that room? Could he imagine such a thing as to see a real lord in such a place? Ere St. Giles had done wondering, the room-door was flung open, and in ran young St. James. St. Giles seemed to shrink into himself at the splendid appearance of the new-comer. He wore a bright scarlet coat, thickly ornamented with gold buttons; and a black beaver hat with a large, heavy feather of the same colour, brought out in strong contrast his flushed and happy face. For the moment, young St. Giles felt himself overpowered, abashed by the magnificent outside of the little stranger. He sidled into a corner

of the room, and looked at that scarlet coat as though it had been something dropt from the heavens. "Well, nurse, cried St. James with a loud, ringing laugh, "I told you I'd come and see you, and here I am. I went out riding with Mr. Folder. Well, he stopt to talk to somebody, and so I just gave him the slip, put Jessy into such a gallop! and was here in a minute. I say, can't that boy"- and St. James pointed his riding-whip towards St. Giles" can't that boy hold Jessy, instead of the girl?" "To be sure, my lord-to be sure," cried Mrs. Simmer.

66

Certainly, my lord-directly, my lord-I knows how to hold osses, my lord," said St. Giles in a flutter.

"Just walk her up and down a little, will you, for she's hot," said St. James, with an early knowledge of horse-flesh.

66

Yes, my lord-to be sure, my lord-walk her up and down, my lord;" and St. Giles flew down the stairs, and relieved the girl of her charge. Young St. James was then left to have hiş gossip with Mrs. Simmer: from which gossip a stranger might have learned that the good woman had, for years, been in the service of the family of St. James; that she had been the favourite nurse of his young lordship; and that for the first time in her life she had come to London from the country, where, made comfortable by a pension granted to her by the marchioness, after a short sojourn in the metropolis, it was her purpose to return. She had been to the house in the square, where young St. James had made his chivalrous promise to visit her; yes, at all hazards, to seek Plumtree-street, out of pure love, and a little frolic, to his old nurse. Oh, I shall be at home now before Mr. Folder," said young St. James, in answer to the fears of Mrs. Simmer, alarmed at the escape of the young gentleman from his tutor. However, we must leave them and descend to the pavement to St. Giles.

66

With an air of becoming gravity, the boy led the pony up and down before the door, his eyes riveted upon the beast; certainly a creature of extreme beauty. She was jet black, of exquisite delicacy of outline; and her arched neck, quivering nostril, and fiery eye, told something for the spirit and horsemanship of the boy who rode her. Up and down St. Giles walked; and now looking at the animal, now thinking of the boy lord, it appeared to him that all the treasures of the world were concentrated in that pony-that St. James was a sort of earthly angel; a being of altogether another kind to the boys St. Giles had ordinarily

met with. There was something so magnificent about the pony and its rider,—that only to have had his lordship speak to him— that only to hold the bridle of his steed, seemed in the confused brain of St. Giles to redeem him from somewhat of his misery and lowliness. He could not but think the better of himself for all time to come. He had spoken to a lord-had held his horse! Could any of his gutter companions boast such greatness? These thoughts were busying the mind of St. Giles, when he heard himself addressed by a familiar voice. "What! my flower?" was the greeting; and St. Giles, turning, beheld his friend and tutor, Tom Blast. St. Giles, in his last retirement to Bridewell, had had the advantage of Tom's tuition; and, to speak truly, the teacher and pupil were worthy of each other. Tom was a scoundrel of most extensive experience; and had the happy art of so simplifying his knowledge, that he made it available to the meanest understanding. St. Giles, however, had no need of any such condescension: he could jump at a meaning-good or badhalf-way. Hence, the teacher and the taught respected each other for their mutual excellence. In fact, Tom Blast looked upon Young St. Giles, as his Newgate son; and St. Giles-in default of another-considered Tom as the best of fathers.

"What have you got here?" asked Tom, his eye sparkling all over the pony.

"Got a oss to old," said St. Giles, with an inquiring look at Tom. Then he added, sinking his voice" it belongs to a lord: sich a little chap, and yet a lord.'

Well, she's a beauty," said Blast; "make her walk a little faster."

"She is a beauty," cried St. Giles, boldly venturing an opinion, and quickening the animal's pace.

66

so light and so free! why

"What a sweet trot!" said Blast, she wouldn't break a egg-shell! would she?"

"I should think not," answered St. Giles, a little flattered that his opinion was solicited.

"Come up!" cried Blast, urging the beast into a quicker pace. "Come along, sweet-lips!"

66

Stop, Tom; stop!" said the prudent St. Giles, when he had arrived in Bedford-square. "Blest if we don't turn back, if they won't think we're a going to steal her; and that wouldn't do, no how, would it Tom?" asked the boy, and his eye encountered Tom's thoughtful look.

66

'Why,-no," answered Tom with some deliberation.

"No;

it wouldn't turn her round again; and walk her gently, Giles; gently, pretty eretur." And as St. Giles complied, Tom turned too, walking with meditative eye that now glanced at the boy and now at the pony. Ambitious thoughts busied the brain of the small, timid thief, Tom Blast; and he pondered on the means whereby he could reap the profits of a stolen horse, still assuring to himself exemption from the tragic penalty. For many years Tom had from time to time eaten stolen bread; nevertheless, he had lived, as it were, upon the crumbs, the broken morsels of crime. He had never had the courage to dare Tyburn that he might dine, but he satisfied himself with the pickings of petty larceny. No: he never promised to earn for himself either biography or portrait in the Newgate Calendar. Hence, he was a little perplexed at the temptation that would intrude itself upon him as he glanced at Lord St. James's satin-coated pony. Fortune seemed willing to make him a handsome present of horseflesh, if he had only the valour to accept it. No he would not be tempted he had resolved to die a natural death, and therefore he resolutely dismissed the demon that would destroy him. Nevertheless, he thought it possible that policy might achieve what courage failed to attempt. He might accomplish all by a stroke of wit, profiting in security by the danger of another. St. Giles might be made the robber, and Tom Blast, in happiest safety, pocket the proceeds. Thus ruminating, Tom again reached Mrs. Simmer's door.

66

"Not wanted yet," said St. Giles, looking from the door to the window. We'll give her another trot, eh?" And at the word the pony was turned towards Bedford-square.

"Gently," said Blast, "gently. Why don't you have a ride upon her? The young lord wouldn't know nothing of it.

And what if he did? He couldn't take the ride out of

you again. Only not so big, else she's the very pictur-yes the very moral of Dick Turpin's Bess," said Blast, looking critically, admiringly, at Jessy. "Get up, and don't be a young fool," he added; and then St. Giles he hardly knew how it was accomplished-found himself in the saddle. 66 There, that's something like life, isn't it,' said the tempter suddenly, speaking from the whole breadth of the pavement, and every other minute looking cautiously behind him the while he mended his pace, and St. Giles jerked the pony into a trot. "That's something like living for, eh? and I should