somewhere; you cannot mean it, my son a thief-a rogue!" Proof after proof, and then the finding of the missive, at last drove home the truth, and the stern, proud man of the world shook as with an ague. "Oh, Harry !" he groaned "oh, Harry, and you are my only son, but no son of mine henceforth! I'll disown you, you scoundrel, you fool! Oh, this is wretched, this is!" His alternate fits of angry raving and of heartbreaking grief were pitiful to see. His house of cards had fallen in a night, his dream of country dignity and power had vanished like the most delusive of meteors. Samuel Barron had had a long life, and had stood in the presence of many sorrows, but never one like this. It was with a sigh of infinite compassion, but nevertheless relief, that he regained the open street. One backward glance he cast at the garish lights of the big, well-furnished mansion. There was glitter truly, but beneath it no happiness.

Abel Edgeworth could not find it in his heart for some days to intrude upon the closely guarded pain within Bell Bank. Yet it must be done. Gipsy Sue was both dead and buried, and whispers had already begun to circulate about Fernside concerning a dying confession she had made. The Forths would hear it soon, and then a certain innocent little scheme of Abel's would be at an end. So he proceeded in the way that commended itself to the best judgment of both his employer and himself. He placed the whole affair in the hands of Samuel Barron's solicitor, as it happened an elderly man who well remembered the hubbub of the discovery twenty years before. He examined witnesses, linked together facts, put the case generally in order, and then waited on the unsuspecting kinsman.

Poor Charles Justyne saw at once that his chances were practically hopeless, so far as uncompromising defence went. Even had they been brighter he had no longer any heart for fighting. Those who knew him intimately declared that the change which the last few days had wrought in his appearance and in his manner was something marvellous. He, too, was passing through the deep waters; he, too, was learning at the hands of the Great Teacher that "a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth," that the only gold which shall stand the test of time is the "gold tried in the fire."

He asked for an interview with the lawyer's client, and found Abel neither unsympathetic nor unreasonable. The two held a good many conferences, and came to terms in a very little while.

There was property in the north which was as intact as when it had belonged to Abel's father, and which would be at once transferred. The rest would remain as it was; a name and a position were what Abel sought rather than mere wealth; he could trust his own plodding industry to win that. "Do you know by what name I was christened ?" he asked once. "I have been called Abel here."

"Harry, I believe, like-," and the stricken parent's utterance was smothered by a sob.

"Have hope still, sir," said Abel, gently. "Harry may be steady yet." And now in one more sentence Bell Bank passes from our story. In a fortnight it was again for sale—its inhabitants had moved.

SHORT distance, comparatively, separated Moorgate, described in our preceding article, and CRIPPLEGATE, which we are now to speak of, the reason being that the former was not an ancient gate, but one erected in later times for the convenience of citizens who wished to save their steps when they were intent upon a stroll in the fields Finsbury, or Fensbury, was part of the open suburb adja. cent to Moorfields, reached by either of these posterns, and from an allusion in Shakespeare's "Henry IV." there seems to have been a joke current in the days of Queen Bess that an out-and-out citizen did not care to walk farther than Finsbury. Cripplegate closed up an old road into London, dating from the Roman occupation at least, and called Hermin Street.

Ben Jonson, in his droll way, refers to poets who were as lame as Vulcan or the founder of Cripplegate, and there was evidently an old tradition that the gate was built (or rebuilt) by some one who was infirm in his feet, perhaps by Alfune, who erected the church of St. Giles's close by. It underwent various alterations when the walls were repaired from time to time, and did not escape the Great Fire, after which it was rebuilt, when there grew up a district of houses beyond it, which came to be called "Cripplegate Without." This gate was removed in 1762, when it fetched the inconsiderable sum of £91.

One of the noteworthy historical incidents that connects itself with this old gate has to do with the Fifth Monarchists. When they had taken up arms in January, 1661, headed by Venner, hearing of the approach of the City train-bands, they went out by Bishopsgate, and, skirting the walls, entered London again at Cripplegate; but upon a body of horse advancing to attack them they marched off to Caen Wood, Hampstead. There a number of the insurgents were made prisoners, and the rest scattered, but having rallied and gained a few adherents, they returned to London, where they encountered the City guard in Wood Street. Some were killed, and Venner himself taken. Again the unhappy survivors turned in the direction of Cripplegate (Venner's meeting-house, familiar to most of his followers, was in Swan Alley, Coleman Street) and entered a tavern close to the gate, whence they fought most desperately, until all were either killed or made prisoners. Venner was afterwards hung and quartered in the street where he had published his Fifth Monarchist opinions to his party of visionary yet too practical disciples.

St. Giles's Church, Cripplegate, was attributed to Alfune, as previously remarked, dating from the twelfth century. It was burnt down, or nearly 80, in 1545; rebuilt, says Stow, "fair and large," afterwards, it appears to have escaped damage in the Great Fire. In this church Oliver Cromwell was married; and, amongst other persons of greater or less note, here were interred John Fox and John Milton. That this gate was at one period a particular resort of cripples, several writers assert; these, doubtless, obtained alms from the by-passers at Cripplegate, and they may have been also relieved at the adjacent St. Giles's. It was not here, however, that there was once the notorious Hospital of St. Giles's; this was situate on the road to Tyburn, in the parish of St. Giles's-in-the-Fields.

A short distance from Cripplegate, beyond the walls, there stood an ancient watch tower, the site of which had been used as a post of observation from the Roman period. Probably through the earlier centuries of London history this was only occupied when danger was apprehended, and from its loopholes the archers and harquebusiers could assail enemies that were approaching. Before the Tudors reigned there seems to have been a house built close to this tower, and known as "Base Court," the holder of which had some special rights. The tower itself was called the Barbican, a corruption, it is supposed, of "burgh-kenning." Generally, the custodians of it were individuals of importance. One of the latest, if not the last, was the Lady Willoughby d'Eresby, a dame of considerable energy. During the reign of Queen Mary her anti-Popish zeal induced her to dress up a dog in the rochet and surplice worn by bishops, and the indignation this roused compelled her to fly from England. Some time in the seventeenth century the Barbican was removed, and a new street built on its site; one of the houses was occupied by the poet Milton for a few years. It is to be hoped that this historic thoroughfare will not have its old name interfered with in these days of change.

ÅLDERSGATE was the last of the gates that faced the north, and in passing from Cripplegate to reach it the wall took a sharp bend. Concerning this gate there is not much to be recorded, though it was one of the four primitive

Bailey, and at first was only a gate, but by the histories it appears that in the thirteenth century buildings had been placed beside Newgate, which were used as a prison for felons. The gate was repaired in 1422 by the executors of the famous Sir Richard Whittington, and about two centuries after, in the reign of Charles I., it was again repaired. When the Great Fire broke out the flames passed Newgate, and the conflagration extended along Holborn, the gate receiving damage, but it was restored during 1672. But it is not stated that the tower above the gate, Newgate Prison or Old Newgate, was enlarged then, inadequate as it had become to accommodate the prisoners, and so unwholesome that each year many died from epidemics. The gate itself had without four statues, representing Liberty, Peace, Plenty, and Concord, and within three named Justice, Mercy, and Truth. Four of these stone statues are still preserved, furnishing a doubtful adornment to the exterior of the second, and yet standing, Newgate Prison, which was commenced in 1770. While this was only partially finished the old prison was burnt, after being ransacked, by the rioters of 1780, incited by Lord George Gordon, and the actual gate became a thing of history.

C.