of their affection, while, as in the case above mentioned, many persons ran about like rabid hounds, striving to communicate it to all they met.  Greatly shocked at what had occurred, and yet not altogether surprised at it, for his mind had become familiarized with horrors, Leonard struck down Finch-lane, and proceeded towards Cornhill.  On the way, he noticed two dead bodies lying at the mouth of a small alley, and hastening past, was stopped at the entrance to Cornhill by a butcher’s apprentice, who was wheeling away the body of an old man, who had just died while purchasing meat at a stall at Stock’s Market.  Filled with unutterable loathing at this miserable spectacle, Leonard was fain to procure a glass of canary to recruit his spirits.

Accordingly he proceeded to the Globe Tavern at the corner of Birchin-lane.  As he entered the house, a lively strain of music caught his ear, and glancing in the direction of the sound, he found it proceeded from the blind piper, Mike Macascree, who was playing to some half-dozen roystering youths.  Bell lay at her master’s feet; and as Leonard approached the party, she pricked up her ears, and being called by name, instantly sprang towards him, and manifested the strongest delight.  The piper stopped playing to listen to what was going forward but the young men urged him to proceed, and again filled his glass.

“Don’t drink any more, Mike,” said Leonard, “but step aside with me.  I’ve something to say to you—­something about your daughter.”

“My daughter!” exclaimed the piper, in a half-angry, half-sorrowful voice, while a slight moisture forced itself through his orbless lids.  “I don’t want to hear anything about her, except that she is dead.  She has deserted me, and disgraced herself.”

“You are mistaken,” rejoined Leonard; “and if you will come with me, I will explain the truth to you.”

“I will listen to no explanation,” rejoined the piper, furiously, “she has given me pain enough already.  I’m engaged with this jovial company.  Fill my glass, my masters—­there, fill it again,” he added, draining it eagerly, and with the evident wish to drown all thought.  “There, now you shall have such a tune, as was never listened to by mortal ears.”

A loud laugh from the young men followed this proposition, and the piper played away so furiously, that it added to their merriment.  Touched with compassion, Leonard walked aside, hoping, when the party broke up, to be able to have a word with the poor man.  But the piper’s excitement increased.  He played faster and drank harder, until it was evident he was no longer in a condition to speak rationally.  Leonard, therefore, addressed himself to the drawer, and desired him to look after the piper, engaging to return before midnight to see how he went on.  The drawer promising compliance, Leonard departed; and not feeling disposed to continue his walk, returned to Wood-street.

Nothing particular occurred during the evening.  Leonard did not see Doctor Hodges, who was engaged in his professional duties; and after keeping watch before the grocer’s till nearly midnight, he again retraced his steps to the Globe.  The drawer was at the door, and about to close the house.