ever the luck, where blows were going, to be in the thick of them. Exactly one year after the skirmish I have mentioned, on that very day twelvemonth it was his lot, as major of the regiment, to reconnoitre the identical spot of ground which had witnessed the gallantry and death of the French officer, previous to an operation in which cavalry were destined to bear an important part. Singularly enough, he was accompanied only by Serjeant Green; and readily did they recognize the scene of their bivouac and triumph of the previous year. There were the marks of the camp-fire round which the French dragoons assembled, there stood the fine old tree under which their officer was buried; and Serjeant Green dismounted to clear away the moss and bark from the edges of the white cross, which still remained to mark the spot where his chivalrous foe lay. He was in the act of removing with the point of his sword the trifling irregularities which had overgrown that emblem of peace and good-will, when a shot from a French "tirailleur," covered by some bushes at a hundred and fifty yards distance, crashed through his brain, and, springing into the air, Serjeant Green fell on his face a dead man. Within three hours, his comrades buried him in the very grave he had himself as sisted to dig but a year before. They laid him by the French officer who had fallen by his hand. They mourned him for twenty-four hours, and then a corporal became a serjeant, and a private a corporal, "vice Serjeant Green, killed in action;" and he was forgotten. So was it in all probability with him whose grave he shared. A comrade lost is soon replaced. Stirring scenes and constant danger cannot fail to blunt the natural sorrow of a soldier's breast. Promotion fills the void, and our fallen friend is as though he had never been. And now there they lie, side by side, the chivalrous Gaul and the sturdy Saxon, rotting in a land whose very existence need hardly have affected the destiny of either of them. What had they to do with Spain,-children of merry England and sunny France,-that they should shed their hearts' blood to enrich her soil? Promotion they sought and glory; for these they were content to wade through blood and slaughter; they panted and prayed for war. Verily, this is war; and they have their reward. But all this time I am making my way to the enemy's camp-a prisoner, certainly, but, in consideration of my being disarmed, allowed to ride perfectly at my ease. I need not dwell on the compliments paid to my horsemanship, or the admiration lavished on "Best-of-Three," on my way. We soon reached their fires; and could I have forgotten the disagreeable fact, that I was no longer a free agent, and divested myself of sundry misgivings as to the fate of my party, deprived of their commanding officer, I should have spent a very pleasant evening. The old captain of hussars shared with me his soup, his cigar-case, and his brandy-flask; "Best-of-Three" obtained more than his due portion of forage; and when at length I lay down to rest, enveloped in my own cloak, which had accompanied me in my adventures, I felt that although a prisoner, I was considered as much a guest as though mine host had been living in his own château, and able to offer me all the luxuries of baths, dressing-rooms, and toilet-tables. I lay between two French privates, whilst a sentry, pacing his short walk to and fro, with his eye continually glancing towards his charge, made it absurd to dream of the possibility of escape. I cannot say that I slept much. The French officer had informed me that he was to proceed to another out-post the following morning, whilst I was to be sent, horse and all, of course under sufficient escort, to the head-quarters of his regiment. These tidings, though received at the time with an air of military insouciance, weighed heavily at my heart. When should I ever see my comrades more! Where were all my hopes of distinction vanished? Dear old England! shall I ever tread your shores again? Such reflections as these were enough to banish sleep; and I strove to divert my mind by watching the proceedings of my captors, their mode of relieving guard, &c., and their extreme vigilance and alertness, though accompanied by what we should consider somewhat slack discipline. Amongst other precautions, I remarked one that was then new to me, although I have since ascertained it was occasionally adopted in our own service. A drum, rather an unusual piece of furniture in a bivouac of cavalry, was strung as tightly | startled attention, turning one ear outward, as though he recognized some familiar sound. I listened, and for an instant I thought I recognized the note of a hound. It must have been fancy. Psha! it was impossible; but still my horse turned his bead towards the wind, and I was sure, by his eager eye and distended nostril, that he, too, was aware of something unusual-something that, from the force of habit, was calling up all his energies, and exciting my gallant courser to the utmost. Again I heard the well-known notes, now not to be mistaken,—the twang of a horn, and the increasing music of the pack running hard. My captors were soon on the qui vive, and ere five minutes had elapsed, the body of the hounds swept into view, accompanied by one man in scarlet and hunting cap, whom, even at a distance, I recognized as merry Tom Crane, huntsman to the pack of hounds which the Duke of Wellington then kept in the Peninsula. as possible, and a bullet placed on the centre of its calf-skin surface; this I learned was the most efficient of all sentries: the foot-fall of the smallest body of men will create a sufficient movement in the atmosphere to cause a vibration of the bullet, easily heard on the vellum, in its state of extreme tension; and thus the alarm is given, whilst the advancing party is still at such a distance as to defy the most acute ear. In our case, all remained quiet; and, towards morning, I dropped into a half slumber, soon to be broken by the bustle and preparation of a march. A cup of coffee, prepared by my host's own hand, a few hurried words of farewell, and compliments, such as none but a Frenchman would think appropriate at such a time, and I found myself sitting on a French charger, weak and under-sized, but superbly caparisoned, between two troopers, one of whom bestrode "Best-of-Three," much to their mutual annoyance. My horse had a very fine mouth, and the Frenchman's hands were more vigorous than sensitive. Even in my own forlorn plight, I could not help feeling foolishly distressed at seeing my favorite made so uncomfortable. Once or twice he reared in a fashion that I thought must have dis-mouthed admiration and delight; the other solved the inappropriate partnership; but his rider clung like a monkey to his monture; and so they went discordantly on, the horse fretting, champing, snatching, and sidling, whilst the equestrian sacré-ed, and swore, and spurred, in thorough insecurity and discomfort. "They must have had a capital thing," thought I, "to be so far over the lines,” or, as we should say at home," out of their country;" and then it flashed across my mind, that now or never was the opportunity. My two guards, one with his hand on my wrist, were watching the sport in open four soldiers were mounting their horses, with the hopeless idea of taking Tom Crane prisoner, under the impression that such a piqueur would be a prize indeed. Now for it! With all my might-and I could hit pretty hard in those days—I struck the soldier who was not holding me a left-hander under the ear, that, despite of shako and gorget, sent him down as if he had been shot; whilst, at the same moment, I disengaged my right hand from his comrade's grasp, and sprung desperately into the saddle which adorned my trusty steed.. Lucki I felt quite relieved when, a little before noon, we halted to slacken our girths, water our horses, and rest them for an hour or two before proceeding on our march. I took the opportunity of getting near my charger to caress him, and endeavor to make him some amends for his previously for me, the force with which my remainannoyance. My escort consisted of a serjeant, a corporal, and four privates; two of the latter, though with perfect civility, always closely watching their prisoner. The idea of escape was ever in my mind; but the vigilance of my two guards made such an attempt almost impossible. Suddenly, as I was in the act of loosening my favorite's girths-for I was politely allowed to take charge of him myself during our halt-he raised his head in an attitude of ing guard laid hold of "Best-of-Three's rein caused him to rear right up on end, and striking wildly out with his fore-feet, he disabled the arm that held him in its grasp, just as two of the escort, who had already mounted, were upon his quarters. Never was a horse so quick on his legs as my old charger; for the first hundred yards it was indeed "touch-and-go;" the Frenchmen having the advantage of being already in their stride whilst I was starting. For tunately their proximity prevented their comrades from firing, but I could almost fancy I felt their sabres cutting at me, till I got my horse fairly into his swing, and had room enough to turn his head towards the hounds. In the mean time, however, my other captors, with the exception of the gentleman who "was floored," had made a most skillful circuit, in order to cut me off, and I found there was nothing for it but to gallop straight ahead, down hill, towards a deep scrambling-looking ravine, that it appeared just possible to get over. As I neared it, it looked larger and larger, and, for a moment, I doubted it was impracticable; but the way my favorite was going under me, his ears pointed towards the difficulty, his short rapid strides, showing that he, at least, had made up his mind as to what he should do, gave me all the confidence I required, and taking him fast by the head, I urged him to the extreme pace he could command, whilst going in a collected form; we charged it unhesitatingly, and just landed on the further side as a ball whistled over our heads; and Crane, whose hounds had by this time checked, and who had seen and understood the whole escape and chase, gave a twang upon his horn, for the double purpose of diverting the attention of the pursuers, and encouraging and guiding the pursued. As I took a pull at my horse up the opposite rise, I looked back to see how my friends, or rather my enemies, would negotiate the obstacle I had placed between us. The leading Frenchman forced his horse courageously into the ravine, and the last I saw of him was a shako bobbing up and down just above the surface of mother earth; and judging from the profound abyss that passed beneath my eye, as I shot athwart it, I should say that it must have taken several hours, and a team of cart-horses, to extricate him. His comrades, after firing two or three ineffectual shots, rode round by another way in a fruitless attempt to outflank, and so capture us; but Crane, who seemed to look upon the whole thing as a delightful piece of fun, got up for his special amusement, getting his hounds round him, and bidding me follow, soon put two or three such fences between ourselves and our pursuers as secured us from further molestation. of foxhounds; and Crane, after the finest run he ever rode to, never brought home with him a more delightful sportsman. That night I slept again surrounded by British uniforms, and I had the satisfaction of learning that my party, after I was taken prisoner, had retired upon head-quarters without loss, and taking with them a satisfactory report, such as it would have been my duty to make. The great duke himself was informed of the particulars of my escape; and many years afterwards, when I had the honor of being in company with his Grace, reminded me of the circumstance in his characteristic manner. "Still fond of hunting-still fond of hunting, eh? don't ride so hard though, now, I'll answer for it." I have now only to add, that "Best-ofThree," has often since carried his old mistress, though no longer as Mary Bolton; and though, in after years, I have possessed many a good and gallant steed, I have never forgotten my old favorite, whose speed and courage saved me from the degradation and misery of a French prison. Fond as I am of hunting, never before, or since, have I been so rejoiced to see a pack | taken." From "Dickens' Household Words." SPITALFIELDS. cation of the Edict of Nantes, in 1685, have been chiefly the depositories of the silk manufacture introduced into London, by the French Huguenots, who flew from the perfidy of Louis the Fourteenth. But much of the old quiet cloistered air, still lingers in the place. The house to which we are bound, stands at an angle with the spot where the Pulpitcross was anciently planted; whence, on every Easter Monday and Tuesday, the Spital sermons were preached, in presence of the Lord Mayor and Corporation, and children of Christ's Hospital. We cross the many-cornered "square" and enter a sort of gateway. Along a narrow passage, up a dark stair, through a crazy door, into a room not very light, not very large, not in the least splendid; with queer corners, and quaint carvings, and massive chimney-pieces; with tall cupboards with prim-doors, and squat counters with deep dumpy drawers; with desks behind thin rails, with aisles between thick towers of papered-up packages, out of whose ends flash all the colors of the rainbow-where all is as quiet as a playhouse at daybreak, or a church at midnight—where, in truth, there is nobody to make a noise, except one HAVE you any distinct idea of Spitalfields, dear reader? A general one, no doubt you have an impression that there are certain squalid streets, lying like narrow black trenches, far below the steeples, somewhere about London-towards the East, perhaps, where sallow, unshorn weavers, who have nothing to do, prowl languidly about, or lean against posts, or sit brooding on door-steps, and occasionally assemble together in a crowd to petition Parliament or the Queen; after which there is a Drawing-Room, or a Court Ball, where all the great ladies wear dresses of Spitalfields manufacture; and then the weavers dine for a day or two, and so relapse into prowling about the streets, leaning against the posts, and brooding on the door-steps. If your occupation in town or country ever oblige you to travel by the Eastern Counties Railway (you would never do so, of course, unless you were obliged) you may connect with this impression, a general idea that many pigeons are kept in Spitalfields, and you may remember to have thought, as you rattled along the dirty streets, observing the pigeon-hutches and pigeon-traps on the tops of the poor dwell-well-dressed man, one attendant porter, ings, that it was a natural aspiration in the inhabitants to connect themselves with any living creatures that could get out of that, and take a flight into the air. The smoky little bowers of scarlet-runners that you may have some times seen on the house-tops, among the pigeons, may have suggested to your fancy-I pay you the poor compliment of supposing it to be a vagrant fancy, like my own-abortions of the bean-stalk that led Jack to fortune: by the slender twigs of which, the Jacks of Spitalfields will never, never, climb to where the giant keeps his money. Will you come to Spitalfields ? Turning eastward out of the most bustling part of Bishopsgate, we suddenly lose the noise that has been resounding in our ears, and fade into the quiet church-yard of the Priory of St. Mary, Spital, otherwise " Domus Dei et Beatæ Mariæ, extra Bishopsgate, in the Parish of St. Botolph." Its modern name is Spital Square. Cells and cloisters were, at an early date, replaced by substantial burgher houses, which, since the Revo (neither of whom seem to be doing any thing particular,) and one remarkably fine male cat, admiring, before the fire, the ends of his silky paws-where the door, as we enter, shuts with a deep, dull, muffled sound, that is more startling than a noise-where there is less bustle than at a Quakers' meeting, and less business going on than in a Government office-the well-dressed man threads the mazes of the piles, and desks, and cupboards, and counters, with a slow step, to greet us, and to assure us, in reply to our apology, that we have not made any mistake whatever, and that we are in the silk warehouse which we seek a warehouse in which, we have previously been informed, by one whose word we never before doubted, that there is “turned over” an annual average of one hundred thousand pounds, of good and lawful money of Great Britain. We may tell our informant, frankly, that, looking round upon the evidences of stagnation which present themselves, we utterly disbelieve his statement. Our faith, however, is soon strengthened. Somebody mounts the stairs, and enters the apartment with the deliberate air of a man who has nothing whatever to do, but to walk about in a beautifully brushed hat, a nicely-fitting coat admirably buttoned, symmetrical boots, and a stock of amazing satin; to crush his gloves tightly between his hands, and to call on his friends, to ask them-as this gentleman asks our friend-how he is getting on; and whether he has been down "yonder" lately, (a jerk eastward of the glossy hat ;) and, if he hasn't, whether he intends going down next Sunday, because if he does, he (the visitor) means to go too, and will take him down in his "trap." He then, in a parenthetical, post-scriptum sort of way, alludes to certain "assorted Glacés," and indicates the pile of silks he means by the merest motion of his ring finger. "The figure is-" says he. "Two and seven," replies the vendor. "How many pieces shall I put aside?" "Well-fifty. By the by, have you heard?"—Mr. Broadelle (our friend) has not heard, and the visitor proceeds to announce, from unimpeachable authority, that the match between Mr. Crumpley of Howell's, and Miss Lammy of Swan's, is to come off at last in fact, next Thursday. Cordial "good-by;" graceful elevation of the polished hat to myself; and departure of, as Mr. Broadelle informs us, one of his best customers. "Customer?" "Yes! You heard! He has just bought fifty pieces of silk of various or assorted' colors." "At two shillings and sevenpence per yard !" sible way. The gentleman who has just left, is Messrs. Treacy and McIntyre's silk-buyer. That department of their establishment is handed over to his management as unrestrictedly and unreservedly as if the whole concern were his own. In like manner, the different branches of large houses-such as cotton, woollen, hosiery, small wares, &c.— are placed under the control of similar buyers. At the end of every half year, an account is taken of the stewardship of each of these heads of department; and, if his particular branch has not flourished—should the stock on hand be large and unsalable—the Buyer is called to account, and his situation jeopardized. The partners, of course, know the capabilities and peculiarities of their trade, and can tell, on investigation, how and why the Buyer has been at fault. If, on the contrary, the Buyer has narrowly watched the public taste, and fed it successfully, if he has been vigilant in getting early possession of the most attractive patterns, or in pouncing on cheap markets, by taking advantage, for instance, of the embarrassments of a shaky" manufacturer or a French revolution, (for he scours the country at home and abroad in all directions,) and if his department come out at the six-monthly settlement with marked profit-his salary is possibly raised. Should this success be repeated, he is usually taken into the firm as a partner." 66 'But, no judgment was exercised in the bargain just made. The Buyer did not even look at your goods." "That is the result of previous study and experience. It is the art that conceals art. "Just so. And there are eighty-four yards He need not examine the goods. He has in a piece." Our organs of calculation are instantly wound up, and set a-going. The result brought out when these phrenological works have run down, is, that this short, easy, jaunty gossip began and ended a transaction involving the sum of five hundred and fortytwo pounds ten shillings. No haggling about price; no puffing of quality, on one side, or depreciation of it on the other. The silks are not even looked at. How is this? “Our trade,” says our friend, in explanation, "has been reduced to a system that enables us to transact business with the fewest possible words, and in the easiest posVOL. IL-2 | learned the characteristics of our dyes to a shade, and the qualities of our fabrics to a thread." "Then, as to price. I suppose your friend is lounging about, in various other Spitalfields warehouses at this moment. Perhaps by this time he has run his firm into debt for a few thousand pounds more ?" Very likely." 'Well; suppose a neighbor of yours were to offer him the same sort of silks as those he has just chosen here, for less money, could he not-as no writing has passed between you-be off his bargain with you?" "Too late. The thing is done, and cannot be undone," answers Mr. Broadelle, made a |