University of Virginia Library

5. V.

I slept late after the ball, though I had gone to bed
exceedingly anxious about Bruin, who had not yet
made his appearance. The tide would prevent his
crossing the beach after ten in the morning, however,
and I made myself tolerably easy till the sands were
passable with the evening ebb. The high-water mark
was scarcely deserted by the waves, when the same
boy who had delivered the note to Miss Carroll the
day before, rode up from the beach on a panting horse,
and delived me the following note:—

“Dear Philip,—You will be surprised to hear

that I am in the Lynn gaol on a charge of theft and
utterance of counterfeit money. I do not wait to tell
you the particulars. Please come and identify

I got upon the boy's horse, and hurried over the
beach with whip and spur. I stopped at the justice's
office, and that worthy seemed uncommonly pleased
to see me.

“We have got him, sir,” said he.

“Got whom?” I asked rather shortly.

“Why, the fellow that stole your stanhope and Miss
Carroll's bracelet, and passed a twenty dollar counterfeit
bill—han't you hearn on't?”

The justice's incredulity, when I told him it was
probably the most intimate friend I had in the world,
would have amused me at any other time.

“Will you allow me to see the prisoner?” I
asked.

“Be sure I will. I let Miss Carroll have a peep at
him yesterday, and what do you think? Oh Lord!
he wanted to make her believe she knew him! Good!
wasn't it? Ha! ha! And such an ill-looking fellow!
Why, I'd know him for a thief any where!
Your intimate friend, Mr. Slingsby! Oh, Lord!
when you come to see him! Ha! ha!”

We were at the prison-door. The grating bolts
turned slowly, the door swung rustily on its hinges as
if it was not often used, and in the next minute I was
enfolded in Job's arms, who sobbed and laughed, and
was quite hysterical with his delight. I scarce wondered
at the justice's prepossessions when I looked at
the figure he made. His hat knocked in, his coat muddy,
his hair full of the dust of straw—the natural
hideousness of poor Job had every possible aggravation.

We were in the stanhope, and fairly on the beach,
before he had sufficiently recovered to tell me the story.
He had arrived quite overheated at Lynn, but, in a
hurry to execute Miss Carroll's commission, he merely
took a glass of soda-water, had Thalaba's mouth washed,
and drove on. A mile on his way, he was overtaken
by a couple of ostlers on horseback, who very
roughly ordered him back to the inn. He refused, and
a fight ensued, which ended in his being tied into the
stanhope, and driven back as a prisoner. The large
note, which he had given for his soda-water, it appeared,
was a counterfeit, and placards, offering a reward
for the detection of a villain, described in the
usual manner as an ill-looking fellow, had been sticking
up for some days in the village. He was taken
before the justice, who declared at first sight that he
answered the description in the advertisement. His
stubborn refusal to give the whole of his name, (he
would rather have died, I suppose,) his possession of
my stanhope, which was immediately recognised, and
lastly, the bracelet found in his pocket, of which he
refused indignantly to give any account, were circumstances
enough to leave no doubt on the mind of the
worthy justice. He made out his mittimus forthwith,
granting Job's request that he might be allowed to
write a note to Miss Carroll, (who, he knew, would
drive over the beach toward evening,) as a very great
favour. She arrived as he expected.

“And what in heaven's name did she say?” said I,
interested beyond my patience at this part of the story.

“Expressed the greatest astonishment when the
justice showed her the bracelet, and declared she never
saw me before in her life!”

That Job forgave Blanche Carroll in two days, and
gave her a pair of gloves with some verses on the
third, will surprise only those who have not seen that

lady. It would seem incredible, but here are the
verses, as large as life:—