THE MAN OF TWO LIVES. 



and the deuce a driver of a fly waggon would have taken charge of 

 Singe's appurtenances without forthwith prating of his whereabout to 

 his numerous flint and steel-hearted creditors. 



Is it wonderful that, under these circumstances, his thoughts were 

 turned tomb-ward? that he often desired death ? His deplorable 

 plight tended to encourage such thoughts ; the cholera, which was at 

 that time raging in the town, set his mind at work on that subject. 

 How he longed to be a patient! How he wished the " blue stage" 

 would draw up to his door and carry him away an inside passenger! 

 How he yearned for that last refuge for the destitute, for that world 

 of unadulterated spirits, for that licensed still with I know not how 

 many worms to it ! How he longed to leap into the other world 

 to have one mighty vault to himself! 



That these thoughts should have possessed him is by no means 

 strange ; but that they should have given birth to a design which I 

 am now about to unfold is not a little remarkable. Flushed with an 

 unexpected shilling which remained to him over and above his im- 

 mediate exigencies, Singe had been one evening smoking his pipe at 

 the Blue Lion (for the Griffin had long ago closed its jaws against 

 him), and he returned home on that night with a pint of ale for his 

 partner, and a most unusual flow of spirits, which he kept to himself. 

 Puffing his fragrant herb in the chimney corner, he sat apparently 

 buried in profound thought, occasionally, however, casting a specu- 

 lative glance towards his wife, who sat opposite, darning a very old 

 stocking. He seemed as though his mind was labouring with some 

 momentous matter of which it would fain unburthen itself. At length, 

 withdrawing his pipe from his mouth, he remarked, 



" And so poor Snaggs is gone," 



" Gone where? " said Mrs. Singe, with an indifferent air. 



" Gone dead/' cried Samuel, " died of the cholera last night.'' 



" Dear me ! " exclaimed the wife, with needle in rest and her 

 hand laid upon her knee, " how shocking !'' 



" Um," grunted Singe, raising his eyes mournfully and resuming 

 his pipe. There was a silence as dead as poor Snaggs for some mi- 

 nutes. Singe, however, drew himself together after a short period, 

 and leaning forward, with his pipe extended some two inches from 

 his mouth, said abruptly, 



" How, how are we to manage, Mrs. Singe ? Things are "getting 

 worse and worse every day, and I feel I shall never recover myself 

 in this place. You know I have often said if we could manage to get 

 to London and open an "Easy Shaving Shop 5 ' in the Seven 'Dials 

 (old Lightly, his former master, came from the Seven Dials) we should 

 do well don't you think we should ? " 



" But how are we to get there," expostulated the wife, " it's impos- 

 sible." 



" True," said Singe, and he threw himself back in his chair. An 

 agreeable expression, indicative of pleasure, suddenly crossed over his 

 features. 



" I say, Mrs. Singe,'' said he, as he placed his hand upon her knee 

 and gave a knowing wink, " I complained of being very ill to-night 

 at the Blue Lion.'' 



