74 Highways and Byways ; or, the [July 



I ahuost regret to state the particulars of my separation from Rosa. 

 Having decided on its necessity, I read her one evening a homily on 

 the subject of filial duties ; I told her that the claims of a father were 

 far superior to those of a lover ; and that if I deprived either herself or 

 her boy of such protection, my conscience would never be at rest. Vain 

 were my remonstrances ; the poor girl clung to me with wild emotion, 

 and, as a last resoiu'ce, placed her child in my arms. For awhile I was 

 wholly overcome by such an appeal, till recollecting the necessity of 

 decision, I abruptly put an end to the interview, and escaping at once 

 from the chains of love and labour, rushed far away into the woods 

 adjoining Sidney ToAvn. Here I remained concealed for three Aveeks and 

 upwards, subsisting wholly upon wild fruits, and sleeping at night in the 

 open air, till finding that pursuit had slackened, I ventured once again 

 towards the coast, directing my steps as if by instinct towards the cottage 

 of Rosa's father. As I approached the well-known spot, the toll of a 

 death-bell came borne towards me, and presently appeared a funeral 

 procession winding its way towards a church-yard that skirted the cot- 

 tage. My mind misgave me at this siglit: nevertheless, I continued to 

 advance, when — oh, heavens ! — I beheld behind a quiclc-set hedge, a 

 coffin lowered into the grave, with these words inscribed on the lid, 

 " Rosa IM'Neill, Obit. "181—, ^tat. 17" So di-eadful a spectacle 

 deprived me of all my usual caution ; I rushed towards the groupe, 

 gazed wildly on the descending coffin, and then, ere yet the bystanders 

 Jiad time for recognition, made the best of my way towards a schooner 

 that happened to be lying at anchor in the roads, and which in a few 

 days bore me far away from Rosa, towards my own beloved England. — 

 England, the land of freedom ! England, the nurse of morality ! — who 

 shall say with what feelings a much-calumniated exile approached thy 

 cliff-girt coasts ! So acute were my sensibilities on tliis head, that for 

 the sake of concealing my weakness, I was actually compelled to hide 

 myself during the day-time in the hold, and during the night in my 

 hammock. My sense of the dignity of manhood was always vei-y acute, 

 and pubUcity I have ever detested. 



I now pass over a lapse of eight busy years, during which time I con- 

 trived to acquaint myself with every creditable operative about town. 

 My feats in burglary alone were unprecedented ; the watchmen espe- 

 cially envied them ; and no wonder, they were far above the reach of 

 their inferior capacities. Among the number of my disciples — for like 

 my celebrated grandfather I was the captain of as choice a gang of 

 spirits as ever did credit to stocks, pillory, or scaffold — was a gruff- 

 looking fellow named Atkins. This man occasioned me a world of 

 annoyance. He was a singular compound of the methodist and mur- 

 derer, with black, matted hair, furrowed forehead, yellow, bloodless 

 cheeks, garnished with a convulsive grin, a hump-back, and a sinister, 

 gloomy, dull eye, whose mixed expression of cunning, penitence, and 

 ferocity, I never yet saw equalled. Altogether he made as close an 

 approximation to pure diabolism as the imperfect limits of human nature 

 will permit. This man was my lieutenant, under whose auspices I first 

 withdrew my attention from suburban to sylvan speculations ; from the 

 west end. of the metropolis to the high- ways and by-ways of the country. 

 And this I take to be the perfection of a conveyancer's existence. 

 During spring he practises liis calling in town, but when fashion begins 

 to migrate, he migrates along witli it ; by wJiich means he not only 



