Every aggrieved individual feels for the public. The coach was in the very act of getting into motion, when "Hold, there! Stop!" was shouted, and the steaming horse of the robber reappeared at the coach door. The glass dropped, as if it knew the touch of his finger. "You-boy! Where did you steal this?" he questioned, roughly, thrusting forward the snuff-box. "I steal not!" said Arthur, indignantly. "Zey found it in-———” The robber seized the boy by the collar, and dragged him forward, so that the light of the coach-lamps fell full upon both their faces. The upper part of the robber's face was covered with a black silk mask. "You are a thief, sir," he muttered. "I take you into my custody. Descend. Do you hear?" Arthur was powerless in the man's gripe, and was obliged to obey. "Drive on!" said the robber, levelling his pistol. The coachman lashed his horses, and young Haggerdorn was left alone with his captor. "Follow me, boy," said the latter, "and, if you can trust a robber's word, be sure you shall receive no injury. I must speak with you, and this is ticklish ground. Follow close." He touched his horse with the spur, and sprang into the thicket, Arthur scrambling over the barrier as best he might. Threading the copse, they crossed a field or two, entered a green lane, thence passed into an orchard, and stopped before a decent cottage. Here the robber dismounted, and allowing his horse, which seemed perfectly at home, to seek his own place of concealment, conducted Arthur into the hut. A fire was smouldering on the hearth. The robber flung upon it a bundle of dried furze, producing a blaze which made the room as light as day. "Now, answer truly, boy. Where did you get this box?" Arthur replied that it had been found in a house in Jermyn-street, left there by nobody knew whom. "You know. Speak, sir," said the robber, scizing him by both arms with a force which, though gently exerted, seemed to paralyse every nerve. Arthur hesitated. "I can guess," he said. "Who?" "Lord Lob." "I am Lord Lob, your brother." 66 'And-and-ze murder?" he gasped. "The murder, lad?" said Lord Lob, showing A light flashed across the casement. Next moment the door was dashed in, and the officer, Armour, followed by half a dozen others, flung himself boldly on the Black-Thumb. Whether the latter was actually confounded by the sudden onslaught, or, at once comprehending the hopelessness of escape, purposely forbore resistance-certain it is he was secured without difficulty-after which, Armour, turning to Arthur and congratulating him on the safety of his person and property, requested him to accompany them to the house of the magistrate, a short distance off. The young man, feeling as though walking in a dream, assented, and, the little dwelling having undergone a rapid search, without producing anything of a suspicious nature, the party set forth. CHAPTER X. THE demeanour of Lord Lob was singular, and contributed in no small degree to the confusion of Arthur's brain. Since his capture, the robber had neither turned his eyes towards his brother, nor had he addressed a single syllable to him nor to any one else. Still preserving the same strange silence, he was placed before Mr. Thickles, the magistrate of Ingatestone, who had apparently sat up to that unwonted hour in the expectation of such a visitor. Several of the coach-passengers, and the guard, were already in attendance; and, so eager were these good folks in furthering the ends of justice, that Arthur's testimony was not, for the present, required. The examination ended with the committal of the prisoner on the charge of highway robbery, the magistrate intimating that, by express order from the government, he would not be sent to the county prison, but to London, there to answer charges of a more serious nature. So effectually, in fact, was Lord Lob compromised in the eye of the law through many a previous exploit, that it was scarcely deemed necessary to take the usual measures for securing his conviction on this charge, and it was finally settled that all the outward-bound witnesses, with the exception of Arthur Haggerdorn, who evinced no kind of reluctance to remain, should be allowed "Lord Beelzebub! These are the arms of to proceed on their voyage. -Who was your father, boy:" "I never knew him." "Your mother?" "Dead." The robber started. "Dead!" (He drew his hand slowly across his brow.) "My boy, this was hers, your mother's and mine!" "Yours!" A chaise was then ordered, to convey the redoubted prisoner to town, and Arthur was about to follow the others from the room, when Armour touched his arm, and showed the snuffbox. "Where did you tell me you got this, young gentleman ?" "I tell you not," replied Arthur, " but I do now. Miss Humpage gave it." 1 1 "Hah!" said Mr. Armour. "Yes? Good "Out with it, Henry," he said. night, sir. . . . . Meant you to be him, did she then, my pretty?" soliloquised the officer, with an odd confusion of persons. "Now who'd have thought it? Deep, deep!" Arthur found a lodging in the little village inn; but to sleep was out of the question, and he passed the greater part of the cheerless night sitting with his head buried in his hands, a prey to that complete despondency which, in such natures, succeeds, on a sudden check, to the highest hope. His guiding star had fallen, and left him in darkness. Polly was lost to him. His own brother was probably her father's assassin. He himself might be called upon to take some share in the convicting testimony, and this officer would claim the rich reward. Mr. Armour and Lord Lob rode together in the chaise, two of the former's satellites, well armed, seated on the box, and four others trotting merrily alongside. There was no apprehension of any attempt at rescue, and the worthy officer, who felt the continued silence act painfully upon his own exhilaration of spirit, did his utmost to cheer and lead his companion into discourse. The illustrious prisoner remained inscrutable. He replied, courteously indeed, but curtly, and neither smile nor retort rewarded Mr. Armour's exertions. The white fine face gazed millions of miles away, and the officer felt, with disgust, that he was no better company for his captive than an indifferently-trained baboon might have been for Socrates. 'Come, that's better, my lord. That's what I like to see!" rejoined the officer. "You and me have jogged on together a good many years, comfortable, on different sides of the way to be sure. Now you win, now I. Lots of doubles you've run upon us, but we've got three-fifths of them originals you set up with, and now we've got you, so that's even." "Not quite," said the prisoner. "Now what's the use of your contesting that ?" asked the officer, as if rather injured. 'You might do a deal better than that. Ah, here we are in London. We shall soon shake hands, my lord-" "Shall we? Then push on, Henry, my boy, with what you are dying to say." "Well, here it is, my lord. You ain't a common cracksman," said the officer, deferentially; “I wouldn't be so rude as to say you was. Naturally, folks like to know something of your ways and workings, and what a man like you meant by such and such things, that seemed no particular good to anybody. There's nothing the public pays for more sweetly than curiosity. Bless you, they don't care what they pay to know why's why! Now you're booked, you'll have letters every day, perhaps bookys and billydoos, but all wanting to know about this, that, and t'other. You'll want a secretary, my lord!" "Accept the post, my Henry," said Lord Lob, leaning back wearily. Moreover, as they drew near London in the "I can't, my lord; you've no confidence in me early dawn, an expression passed at intervals even now, when it don't signify this pinch of over the robber's face, which went near to appal snuff," said the officer, drawing out the myseven Armour. Such a look it was that, in the terious box, as if abstractedly. "Now, for case of a wretched woman condemned some example, this reminds me. Here's a business, years since to die for many murders, all but which don't matter, for you're not going to be scared the watchers from her cell. Frightful bothered about that. Yet the old man's daughter throe of the awakened spirit, in its last despair-would give-I declare I don't know what that ing effort to pierce upward through the load of suffocating crime! girl wouldn't give-to know what went of her father! But it's no manner of use your telling. A thousand pound, nor ten, would be no good to "What does she offer?" Sufficiently cognisant of the workings of the guilty mind to form some idea of what was pass-you." ing in Lord Lob's, Armour resolved to make an attempt to turn it to account, and, accordingly, began in an easy tone: "That was a nice May-game you played me, my lord, now wasn't it? But, bless my body, of all the queer matters you've put a hand to, that what d'ye call it-yonder-Jermyn-street waywas about the queerest! Whatever your folks wanted with that old chap, bothers me; and I don't mind telling you, in confidence, it did bother me. We gave it up. Soon as we knew for certain 'twas a plant of yours, up we gave it! "It's just one of his games,' says the governor, 'p'r'aps for fun.' But there's people that don't like mystery, and, I tell you what-no, I won't, for you seem out o' sorts, and I, ah, ahcluded Mr. Armour, with a yawn, and sinking back into his corner. 66 As if you didn't know, my lord!" said the other, with affected disbelief. Suppose me ignorant, Henry. What does the young lady propose ?" "To marry the man who finds out who spirited away her father, alive or dead. And her fortune, which is her own, isn't less than one hundred thousand pounds," said Mr. Armour, almost solemnly. "Now, there's a chance in a poor fellow's way!" There was a minute's profound silence. Then their eyes met. The prisoner made a slight movement that might be interrogative, with his head. Armour shook his. con- Can't do that, noways, my lord; but I'll tell you what, if there's anything or anybody you want looked to after the-you know, I'll give you my bond for five thousand." The prisoner turned, and looked at him with something of his old humorous expression. "I'll think of it," was the reply. After which not another word was exchanged till the gloomy Miss Humpage, who considers me the murderer CHAPTER XI. ARTHUR returned to London within a few hours of his brother, but feeling utterly unable, under the changed circumstances, to face his former home, engaged a small lodging in Skinnerstreet, Snow-hill, and then (in accordance with directions he had received from the police) walked down to the prison, to communicate his address. Requested to walk into the governor's room, that functionary accosted him in a very civil tone. "You are claimed, I understand, sir," he remarked, “by our latest arrival—a personage but too well known-as his near relation, though for many years a stranger. Is it so? Are you his brother?" Arthur replied that he had, at present, no other testimony than the assertion of the person in question; but that he was well aware that his mother had had a son older than himself, of whose death she had never received assurance. 'Nature, at all events, throws in her evidence," said the governor, looking steadily at him. I have seldom seen a more extraordinary resemblance." Then adding that the prisoner had requested that his brother, and he only, might be admitted to his cell, he committed Arthur to the charge of a turnkey, and in another minute, in the strongest room in the prison, the two brothers stood, once more, face to face. "Sit down, Arthur Haggerdorn, and make yourself comfortable," said Lord Lob, and don't interrupt me, so long as you understand, for you speak an odd sort of lingo for a Briton. We are quite alone (no, that fellow's a dummystone-deaf)," glancing at a warder who sat in a corner of the cell. "So you needn't sing out if I own that I am the greatest miscreant that ever scourged mankind. If I could only tell how, when, and why, I embraced scoundrelism as a profession, it might be useful; but I can't. I was flung into the world, a little lump of iniquity, and my soul was never scraped from its beginning. There's a crack in the crust, now, or you wouldn't be here to peep into it, take your oath of that! Our father, Lord Hawkweed, was a scoundrel (I beg the peerage's pardon), a scoundrel, I remark, a poltroon, and, I hope, for his own sake, a madman too. He gave me bread, that's true-not much, even of that he cheated my mother-our mother, with a mock- marriage (you've no chance of the coronet, my boy!)-deserted her; very likely broke her heart. How the devil, with such a fellow's blood in your veins, you ever escI forgot our mother, child," added the robber, almost apologetically, as he half-extended his hand, then instantly withdrew it. "But time presses; this is not what I want to say. You're in love, boy. That's enough. Don't answer. In love with Miss Jermyn-street-what's her name ? of her substantial sire, and has commissioned you to track me out, as the price of her hand. She gave you that snuff-box as a talisman, thinking, I suppose, that it would leap from your pocket at the owner's approach! How did she know that box belonged to my mother?" "She did not know that, nor even I that," said Arthur. "My mother must have concealed ze box, of purpose. Armour, ze officer, said it had been yours." "Not mine. My father's," said the robber. "However, boy, it seems you've caught me. And now?" Arthur gazed wistfully at his brother, but made no reply. "Tell her," resumed the latter, speaking slowly, "tell her-I am sorry to disappoint you-sorry, too, for my own reputation, for, by the; blood of all the Hawkweeds that ever poisoned air, it was as clever a thing as I can remember; but, Arthur, boy, your own hand is not clearer of that old man's blood than mine." "God be praised!" said Arthur, fervently. "That's kind, at least, since it may cost you your bride!" remarked Lord Lob. "I owe you something in return, my boy. Stay a moment; let me think." (He paused for a minute.) "If this Jermyn-street affair were the work of any London hand, I must have known who was in it. No; 'tis impossible. Now, there's a tidy knot of Halifax boys-'tis much their style of workpluck, and finish. But, then, Caunter would have been down on his old pals: that won't do. Jilling George, of Liverpool? Just the cull. Exactly the kind of fancy-business he takes to. It's some foreign game, Arthur, rely upon it. Now, my friend, Jilling George jabbers Dutch and French like a magpie; there must have been much to arrange; they could have gone to nobody but him. "Twas Jilling George, or nobody. Be off now, boy, and come to me tomorrow, at noon." He made so imperative a gesture, that Arthur was fain to obey without a word; and returned, sadly enough, to his humble lodging. News at that period was neither swift nor sure. Nevertheless, the inhabitants of twentyseven, Jermyn-street, were still at breakfast, when a rumour, dating from the delivery of the milk, began to circulate in the house that the past night had been signalised by an important capture-no less than the redoubted chieftain of the Black-Thumbs-while the apparition of Mistress Ascroft at her window, making wild and agitated but unintelligible signs, gave a sort of colour to the further report that the Harwich road had been the scene of, and the extra postcoach a sharer in, the adventure. Presently arrived Mr. Hartshorne, in high excitement. Yes. It was true. The coach had been stopped and plundered, the guard having been first disarmed. Nothing could exceed the cowardice of the passengers, male and female, who, at sight of the black thumb, permitted . themselves to be stripped like lambs, until one "This, Henry," resumed his lordship, “is the of the party (a very young man, who had hitherto | business. I will point out the individual I speak been unable to disengage his arms from his ro- of, to-to the Honourable Arthur Haggerdorn, quelaure) leaped from the carriage, flung him- second son of the Earl of Hawkweed, brother, self upon the assailant, and, though dragged that is, to your humble servant. The young through a hedge and several fields, succeeded dog, forgetful of his noble blood, has fallen in at length in mastering his antagonist, and de- love with the plebeian heiress of this Humpage. livering him up to a mounted patrol, who most He must marry her, good Henry, not you, do opportunely made his appearance. you see? The hopes of Hawkweed centre in him, and they are of greater import than the promotion of a jolly redbreast like thee. Besides, Henry, you know too much of rascal ways. Once admitted among the swells, not a man of them would be safe. But, mark me, on the day the Honourable Arthur Haggerdom marries Miss What-you-may-call-it Humpage, Henricus Armorius pockets five thousand pounds. Is it a bargain? If so, thy fist, Henry! If not, go thy ways, and say-say truly-that thou hast heard the last accents from the lip of Lob." Great as was the difficulty of identifying this intrepid champion with the slight and delicate young artist, love might have overcome the obstacle, had not the arrival of more authentic tidings saved him the trouble. A note from Sir James Polhill, without especially mentioning Armour, announced the capture of the noted robber by a party of police, detached with that express design. Then passed a long and anxious morning, unrelieved by further news, Polly wandering about, utterly unable to devote her thoughts to any of her usual occupations. What was to be the result? Was Lord Lob in reality the guilty person? Hopeless as was the unfortunate man's situation, would he not surely confess? The conviction of the authorities that the outrage was of this man's contriving was strong as ever, and Polly herself had learned to regard it as a fact. The vengeance she had invoked was about to descend. Her father's death would be expiated. And, then-the reward? . . . . Later that day, the prisoner requested an interview with his captor. Mr. Armour, who had taken care to be within easy call, hastened to the prisoner. Henry knew well enough that, spite of the affected bombast, the robber was in earnest. The fist was given. "Imprimis (that is, Henry, in the first place), a pass for Bob Caunter. Let him be with me this evening," resumed the prisoner. 'Why, you know it's impossible, my lord," cried Armour, really surprised. "He's wanted over, and over, and over again, is Bob." "Let the want stand 'over.' I want him, and must have him. Get the pass." "Supposing I did, he wouldn't come," replied the officer, reluctantly. "Try him," said Lord Lob. And the interview concluded. The prisoner was right. Sir James Polhill, on learning the substance of this conversation (bar that portion relating to finance), readily conceded the pass. Mr. Caunter, communicated with through a friendly channel, was speedily unearthed, disguised, and admitted within those walls it had been the business of his life (after crime) to avoid. It was curious to see this miscreant, " clothed on" with his one virtue, fidelity, entering the tomb-like prison with the step of a prince, and standing before his doomed captain without a shade of emotion, save that which had its source in the latter's "misfortune." The conversation, conducted in the thieves' tongue, was brief and pithy, and may be concisely rendered somewhat as follows: "Henry, you're an ass," was Lord Lob's greeting. "It won't do. Stick, my boy, to the shop. You understand me perfectly, and you'll take my advice, Henry, because you can't help it. I entertain for you (it grieves me to think you won't believe it) a sincere professional regard. Had partial fortune placed you in my gang, you would shortly have been a man, sir, equal to myself-nobility excepted-in every quality that commands the respect and obedience of energetic practitioners in the higher walks of that art which gives you and your fellows bread. You might have bequeathed a reputation. But why dwell upon lost opportunities? As I was saying, I like you, and I don't mind putting a tolerable thing in your way, though not precisely what my worthy Henry-misled by a low but pardonable ambition-proposed to himself. Hear, then, my friend. We Black-Thumbs knew nothing of the Humpage plant. It was a foreign seed, sown, impudently enough, in my parterre. You wronged us, Henry-but the injury is lost in the "My love to the lads. Bid them take warning. compliment-for, by my coronet, 'twas a mas-Cut the road. It's low and bad. I always said terly thing! Now, sir, I can put this black thumb upon the man who did it, and I will." Armour's eyes glistened, and he had some difficulty in concealing his satisfaction; but, aware that Lord Lob, when in a talking mood, especially disliked interruption, discreetly held his peace. Blubbering, old boy?" said my lord. "(Do a variety of things to) my eyes if I know what's come to 'em!" replied Mr. Caunter, affecting a delicate surprise. "But this ain't a good thing to see." so, and what on earth prompted me to that high toby touch, last night, top me if I can say! I could almost feel a hand on my prad's bridle, dragging him on. No matter. Jilling George of Liverpool." "What of he?" دو ""Tis the first time-ever-you-we· Split. I know it," said his leader, fiercely. "Bob, he did me an ill turn once. Besides, I'm insulted. That fellow did the neatest thing of the day, here, under our very noses, and without a 'by your leave, my lord.' It has been the business of my life to unite the recognised courtesies of refined society with the sterner exigencies of our profession. You don't understand, my Bob. To put it simply should we have cracked a Liverpool crib without a word to Jilling George? Bob, he goes. Tip the office." "Very good," said Mr. Caunter, perfectly resigned to his comrade's fate. "What was it you said he's wanted about ?" Thing in Jermyn-street, Humpage. Go you to my brother, here's the address. Put him on the trail. If he finds the man, he marries the heiress. He'll reward." "Hallo, stop. He'd no hand in it." "Who ?" demanded Lord Lob. cash, a writer of libellous and immoral songs, nor a petty, cowardly shoplifter. He never swindled, nor sponged upon his neighbours, fought backwardly, nor filched a farthing. The worst those street biographers, who throng about the gallows, can say, will be, that Lord Lob was a remarkably well-dressed individual, a circumstance perfectly consonant with his high birth. Wherefore, Robert, talk no more, hand the turnkey a crown, shake hands, and begone, my good fellow." POPULAR NAMES OF BRITISH PLANTS. "A NAME," according to Mr. John Stuart Mill, "is a word (or set of words) serving the double purpose of a mark to recal to ourselves the likeness of a former thought, and a sign to make it known to others." When the student of words arrives at the origin and meaning of a word, he finds a picture presented to his mind. This picture is the likeness of the thought or thing recalled or made known. Linnæus summed up the universe into three kinds of names of things -minerals, plants, and animals—and as these last have the quality of life in common, everything may be included under the words Stars and Lives; and the languages or words of mankind are marks and signs of their growing knowledge "Neither George, nor nobody else? You don't of the universe. Knowing and naming have mean, that Yes, I do." "Since when have you known this, Bob?" asked Lord Lob. "Week past." "Can you put your hand upon him ?" . Know the doss-ken" (lodging). All right. Go to my brother, tell him everything, as you would to me, and say I bade you trust him for reward-and-and good-by, Bob, my boy." دو O captain, here's a—— began Bob, relapsing into tenderness. gone on together from the origin of mankind to the present time-from the first man who spoke The two robbers looked at each other for a of the sun to the first man who made a sun picmoment, then burst into a fit of laughter that|ture. Names, then, are images of the thoughts, almost infected the deaf "dubsman." fossils of the theories, and medals of the history of mankind. In names are to be found traces of beliefs, feelings, suggestions, associations, occurrences, whims, fancies, jokes-of every sort of thing of which the mind is conscious in itself, and all it perceives beyond it. Man, the animal who has language, leaves in words the rich legacy of all his acquisitions of knowledge. The most ingenious researches have failed in ascertaining anything reliable respecting the antiquity of man, and the study of the relics of ancient life has not yet discovered any milestones measuring distance along the eternal road of time, but the study of language is revealing to men of the latter half of the nineteenth century many things respecting the men of primeval times whose bones became gases thousands of years ago. The study of the names of plants, for instance, tells us what men knew and thought of them; where they saw them, or whence they obtained them. When studying the popular names of British plants, the darkness of the past is not cleared up, the shades of our forefathers are not made vivid as living forms; but trees and shrubs, flowers and fruits, become luminous, emitting glimmering lights, affording traces of the wanderings and glimpses into the minds of our forefathers, from recent back to the most ancient times, or from the Victorian era to the departure from the Asian Eden. "Vamoos, boy," said Lord Lob, hastily. "The dubsman's scran's coming. Remember, your captain was neither buzz-gloak, chaunter-cull, nor sneaksman, never foxed, nor mooched, fit cocum, nor faked a fadge, nor will he be at last lagged for a ramp! The worst the patterer round the government sign-post can say, will be that Lord Lob was a leary gloak, and even that his noble blood demanded. Wherefore, Robert, stow whids, tip the jigger-dubber a tusheroon, clinch daddles, and bing awast, my ben cull." Translated from what may be called (at that period) the language of Tyburnia into modern Belgravian, the chieftain's farewell might be rendered thus: "You may retire, my friend. The turnkey's evening meal is about to arrive. Recollect that your leader was neither an appropriator of loose | |