" THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR."—SHAKESPEARE.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND,A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

SATURDAY, MAY 28, 1859. [PRICE Id.

A TALE OF TWO CITIES,33oofcs.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

BOOK THE SECOND. THE GOLDEN THREAD.CHAPTER I. P1VE TEAKS LATER.

TELLSON'S Bank by Temple Bar was an old-fashioned place, even in the year one thousandseven hundred and eighty, it was very small,very dark, very ugly, very incommodious. It•was an old-fashioned place moreover, in themoral attribute that the partners in the Housewere proud of its smaUness, proud of its dark-ness, proud of its ugliness, proud of its in-commodiousness. They were even boastful ofits eminence in those particulars, and were firedby an express conviction that, if it were less ob-jectionable, it would be less respectable. Thiswas no passive belief, but an active weaponwhich they flashed at more convenient places ofbusiness. Tellson's (they said) wanted no elbow-room, Tellson's wanted no light, Tellson's wantedno embellishment. Noakes and Co.'s might, orSnooks Brothers' might ; but Tellson's, thankHeaven !

Any one of these partners would have disin-herited his son on the question of rebuildingTellson's. In this respect, the house was muchon a par with the Country ; which did very oftendisinherit its sons for suggesting improvementsin laws and customs that had long been highlyobjectionable, but were only the more respect-able.

Thus it had come to pass, that Tellson's wasthe triumphant perfection of inconvenience. Afterbursting open a door of idiotic obstinacy with aweak rattle in its throat, you fell into Tellson'sdown two steps, and came to your senses in amiserable little shop, with two little counters,where the oldest of men made your cheque shakeas if the wind rustled it, while they examinedthe signature by the dingiest of windows, whichwere always under a shower-bath of mud fromTleet-street, and which were made the dingier bytheir own iron bars proper, and the heavy shadowof Temple Bar. If your business necessitatedyour seeing " the House," you were put intoa species of Condemned Hold at the back,where you meditated on a misspent life, untilthe House came with its hands in its pockets,

and you could hardly blink at it in the dismaltwilight.

Your money came out of, or went into, wormyold wooden drawers, particles of which flew upyour nose and down your throat when they wereopened and shut. Your bank-notes had a mustyodour, as if they were fast decomposing into ragsagain. Your plate was stowed away among theneighbouring cesspools, and evil communicationscorrupted its good polish in a day or two. Yourdeeds got into extemporised strong-rooms madeof kitchens and sculleries, and fretted all the fatout of their parchments into the banking-houseair. Your lighter boxes of family papers wentup-stairs into a Barmecide room, tnat always hada great dining-table in it and never had adinner, and where, even in the year one thou-sand seven hundred and eighty, the first letterswritten to you by your old love, or by your littlechildren, were but newly released from thfe horrorof being ogled through the windows, by theheads exposed on Temple Bar with an insensatebrutality and ferocity worthy of Abyssinia orAshantee.

But, indeed, at that time, putting to Deathwas a recipe much in vogue with all trades andprofessions, and not least of all with Tellsou's.Death is Nature's remedy for idl things, andwhy not Legislation's P Accordingly, the forgerwas put to Death; the uttercr of a b:id note wasput to Death; the unlawful opener of a letter

was put to Death ; the coiner of a bad shillingwas put to Death; the sounders of three-fourthsof the notes in the whole gamut of Crime, wereput to Death. Not that it did the least goodm the way of prevention—it might almost havebeen worth remarking that the fact was exactlythe reverse—but, it cleared off (as to thisworld) the trouble of each particular case, andleft nothing else connected with it to be lookedafter. Thus, Tellson's, in its day, like greaterplaces of business, its contemporaries, hadtaken so many lives, that, if the heads laid lowbefore it had been ranged on Temple Bar in-stead of being privately disposed of, theywould probably have excluded what little lightthe ground floor had, in a rather significantmanner.

Cramped in all kinds of dim cupboards andhutches at Tellson's, the oldest of men carried on

VOL. I.

126 ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conducted by

in manner—standine'side by side, both reflectedin the ffloss above them.

An hour and a half limped heavily away in thethief-and-rascal-crowded passages oelow, eventhough assisted off with mutton pies and ale.The noarse messenger, uncorafortaoly seated ona form after taking that refection, had droppedinto a doze, when a loud murmur and a rapidtide of people setting up the stairs that led tothe court, earned him along with them.

"Jerry! Jerry!" Mr. Lorry was alreadycalling at the door when he got there.

" Here, sir! It's a fight to get back again.Here I am, sir!"

Mr. Lorry handed him a paper through thethrong. " Quick! Have you got it ?"

"Tea, sir."Hastily written on the paper was the word

" ACQUITTED."" If you had sent the message, ' Recalled to

Life,' again," muttered Jerry, as he turned, " Ishould have known what you meant, this time."

He had no opportunity of saying, or so muchas thinking, anything else, until he was clear ofthe Old Bailey; for, the crowd came pouring outwith a vehemence that nearly took Mm on hislegs, and a loud buzz swept into the street as ifthe baffled blue-flies were dispersing in searchof other carrion.

THE CONFESSOR'S HAND-BOOK.

ABE we to confess, or not to confess, our sinsand failings to the Rev. Francis Clifford ? That isthe question: or rather, one of the numerous ques-tions, to which that earnest gentleman's recentappointment to the rectory and cure of souls inour parish, has given rise. We are all in hot•water on the subject, down at Mickleham Regis,and a very'regrettable amount of acrimoniousfeeling has been developed among us. The Rev.Simeon Surtis, vicar of Micklehnm Parva, theadjoining paribh, holds the practice in questionto bo such an abomination, that the act ofsinning seems to be less odious in his ayes thanthe auricular confession thereof.

Now, as the present writer, Miles Standard,Esquire, of the Holmj,, at the reader's service,though a very obscure individual in every otherpart of the world, is rather an influential man atMickleham Regis—a husband, moreover, and thefather of three grown-up daughters—it becamenecessary that I should find some means of ar-riving at a decision of some sort between theopposing doctrines of these reverend guides andpastors.

I must own that I like Clifford as iaman and a neighbour, and that I don't likeSurtis. And what 4s more to the purpose, mywife and the girls are of the same way of think-ing. Surtis preaches against our county balls,and is known to look with a jaundiced eyeat the girls'̂ archery meetings. As for Clifford,I really believe him to be a very good fellow,earnestly labouring to do all the good he canamong our labouring population. Still, thatdoes not settle the question between the two.

Nor am I competent to decide, at all eventsfor others, on so important a matter. So,being determined to obtain the best meanstowards the formation of a rational opinion onthe real merits of the practice, I resolved onwriting to an old friend in Italy, to beg him toget for me any book or books which should bestshow the real practical working of the Confes-sional, in a country where it enters into theordinary daily life and habits of the people,and has become a constant constituent elementin the formation of the national character.

My friend executed my commission in a satis-factory manner, by sending me a little Manualused throughout the dioceses of a large part ofItaly for the instruction of Confessors in the dutyof the Confessional. I have studied the little bookwith care, and, as the authority of my informa-tion is unquestionable, as I am conscious that Ibrought no overweening partisan prejudices tothe inquiry, and, lastly, as I have been no littlesurprised as well as enlightened by my study ofthe HANDBOOK FOR CONFESSOHS, I have thoughtthat I should do well to communicate some ofmy discoveries to the English public.

The book in question, then, is a small duo-decimo volume, of some three hundred and fiftypages, by "AGOSTINO"VALENTINI, A BENEDICTINEMONK," printed at Florence in 1853, and statedin the title-page to be "JOB. THE SPECIALISE OPSUCH AS ABE TO BE EXAMINED JOB THE HEARINGOP SAQRAMENTAJ, CONFESSIONS."

The first thing that my study of it made mani-fest to me, was the absolute necessity of somesuch work for the use of priests who have toenter the Confessional-box. (Readers who haveever been in a continental church will rememberthe little boxes with a closed centre compart-ment for the priest to sit in, hidden from obser-vation, and furnished on either side with kneel-ing accommodation for the penitents, who are tomutter their communications through a littlegrated opening in the partition which separatesthem from the Confessor.) The duty of thoselicensed by superior ecclesiastical authority tohoar confessions, is by no means, as I had fan-cied, of that simple kind, for which some know-ledge of human nature, and a large and kindlysympathy with its frailties, might DC deemed asufficient preparation. Just as well might anattorney be supposed to be duly educated for thebusiness of his profession by an abstract reve-rence for the principles of justice, and the posses-sion of personal integrity ! He requires, on thecontrary, as we all know, a learned Knowledge ofthe science of law, and considerable training inthe technicalities and specialities of his craft.Quite as technical and as special, it seems, is*the preparatory study of the Confessor. Andjust as any professional ignorance of his busi-ness on the part of the attorney whom we con-sult, may lead us into some error fatal to somepart of our goods and chattels : so, an imperfectknowledge of his craft in a man's Confessor,may, according to the Catholic system, lead himinto a perilous position as regards his pro-spects in a future life.

98 [May 38,1859] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conductod by

the business gravely. When they took a youngman into Tellson's London house, they hid himsomewhere till he was old. They kept him in adark place, like a cheese, until he had the fullTellson flavour and blue-mould upon him. Thenonly was he permitted to be seen, spectacularlyporing over large books, and casting his breechesand gaiters into the general weight of the esta-blishment.

Outside Tellson's—never toy any means in it,unless called in—was an odd-job-man, an occa-sional porter and messenger, who served as thelive sign of the house. He was never absentduring business hours, unless upon an errand,and then he was represented by his son: a grislyurchin of twelve, who was his express image.People understood that Tellson's, in a statelyway, tolerated the odd-job-man. The house hadalways tolerated some person in that capa-city, and time and tide had drifted this personto the post. His surname was Cruncher, andon the youthful occasion of his renouncing byproxy the works of darkness, in the easterlyparish church of Houndsditch, he had receivedthe added appellation of Jerry.

The scene, was Mr. Cruncher's private lodgingin Banging-sword-alley, Whitefriars; the time,half-past seven of the clock on a windy Marchmorning, Anno Domini seventeen hundred andeighty. (Mr. Cruncher himself always spokeof the year of our Lord as Anna Dominoes -.apparently tinder the impression that theChristian era dated from the invention of apopular game, by a lady who had bestowed hername upon it.1

Mr. Cruncher's apartments were not in asavoury neighbourhood, and were but two innumber, even if a closet with a single pane ofglass in it might be counted as one. But, theywere very decently kept. Early as it was, on thewindy March morning, the room in which helay a-bed was already scrubbed throughout; andbetween the cups and saucers arranged for break-fast, and the lumbering deal table, a very cleanwhite cloth was spread.

Mr. Cruncher reposed under a patchworkcounterpane, like a Harlequin at home. Atfirst, he slept heavily, but, by degrees, beganto roll and surge in bed, until he rose abovethe surface, with his spiky hair looking as ifit must, tear the sheets to ribbons. At whichjuncture, he exclaimed, in a voice of dire exas-peration :

" Bust me, if she ain't at it agin!"A woman of orderly and industrious appear-

ance rose from her knees in a corner, with suffi-cient haste and trepidation to show that she wasthe person referrert to.

" What!" said Mr. Cruncher, looking outof bed for a boot. "You're at it agin, areyou ?"

After hailing the morn with this second sa-lutation, he threw a boot at the woman as athird. It was a very muddy boot, and may in-troduce the odd circumstance connected withMr. Cruncher's domestic economy, that, whereashe often came home after banking hours with

clean boots, he often got up next morning to findthe same boots covered with clay.

" What," said Mr. Cruncher, varying hisapostrophe after missing his mark—" what areyou up to, Aggerawaytet ?"

" I was only saying my prayers."" Saying your prayers. You're a nice woman!

What do you mean, by flopping yourself down andpraying agin me ?"

" I was not praying against you; I was pray-ing for you."

" You weren't. And ifyou were, I won't betook the liberty with. Here ! your mother'sa nice woman, young Jerry, going a prayingagin your father's prosperity. You're got a duti-ful mother, you have, my son. You've g^ot a re-ligious mother, you have, my hoy: going andflopping herself down, and praying that thebread-and-butter may be snatched out of themouth of her only child \"

Master Cruncher (who was in his shirt) tookthis very ill, and, turning to his mother, stronglydeprecated any praying away of his personalboard.

" And what do you suppose, you conceitedfemale," said Mr. Cruncher, with unconsciousinconsistency, "that the worth, of your prayersmay be ? Name the price that you put yourprayers at!"

" They only come from the heart, Jerry. Theyare worth no more than that."

" Worth no more than that," repeated Mr.Cruncher. " They ain't worth much, then.Whether or no, I won't be prayed agin, I tellyou. I can't afford it. I'm not a going to bemade unlucky by your sneaking. If you mustgo flopping yourself down, flop in favour of yourhusband and child, and not in opposition to 'em.If I had had any but a unnafral wife, and thispoor boy had had any but a nnnat'ral mother,I might have made some money last week, in-stead of being counterprayed and counterminedand religiously circumwented into the worst ofluck. Bu-u-ust me!" said Mr. Cruncher, who allthis time had been putting on his clothes, " if Iain't, what with piety and one blowed thingand another, been choused this kst week intoas bad luck as ever a poor devil of a honesttradesman met with ! Young Jerry, dress your-self, my boy, and while I clean my boots keep aeye upon your mother now and then, and if yousee any signs of more flopping, give me a call.For, I tell you," here he addressed his wife oncemore, " I won't be gone agin, in this manner. Iam as rickety as a hackney-coach, I'm assleepy as laudanum, my lines is strained to thatdegree that I shouldn't Know, if it wasn't for thepain in 'era, which was me and which some-body else, yet I'm none the better for it inpocket; and it's my suspicion that you've been atit from morning to night to prevent me frombeing the better for it in pocket, and I won't pntup with it, Aggerawayter, and what do you saynow!"

Growling, in addition, such phrases as " Ah !yes! You're religious, too. You wouldn't putyourself in opposition to the interests of your

Charles Dickens.] A TALE OF TWO CITIES. [May 28,1859] 99

husband and chQd, would you ? Not you!" andthrowing off other sarcastic sparks from thewhirling grindstone of his indignation, Mr. Crun-cher betobk himself to his boot-cleaning and hisgeneral preparations for business. In the meantime, liis son, whose head was garnished withtenderer spikes, and whose young eyes stoodclose by one another, as his father's did, kept therequired watch upon his motiier. He greatlydisturbed that poor woman, at intervals, by dart-ing out of his sleeping closet, where he made histoilet, with a suppressed cry of " You are goingto flop, mother.—Halloa, father!" and, afterraising this fictitious alarm, darting in again withan undutiful grin.

Mr. Cruncher's temper was not at all im-proved when he came to his breakfast. He re-sented Mrs. Cruncher's saying Grace with par-ticular animosity.

" Now, Aggerawayter! What are you up to ?At it agin?"

His wife explained that she had merely "askeda blessing."

"Don't do it!" said Mr. Cruncher, lookingabout, as if he rather expected to see the loafdisappear under the efficacy of his wife's peti-tions. " I aint a going to be blest out of houseand home. I won't have my wittles blest off mytable. Keep still!"

Exceedingly red-eyed and grim, as if he hadbeen up all night at a party which had taken,anything but a convivial turn, Jerry Cruncherworried his breakfast rather than ate it, growl-ing ever it like any four-footed inmate of amenagerie. Towards nine o'clock he smoothedhis ruffled aspect, and, presenting as respectableand business-like an exterior as fie could overlayhis natural self with, issued forth to the occupa-tion of the day.

It could scarcely be called a trade, in spite ofliis favourite description of himself as " a honesttradesman " His stock consisted of a woodenstool, made out of a broken-backed chair cutdown, which stool Young Jerry, walking at hisfather's side, carried every morning to beneath thebanking-house window that was nearest TempleBar: where, with the addition of the first hand-ful of straw that could be gleaned from anypassing vehicle to keep the cold and wet fromthe odd-job-man's feet, it formed the encampmentfor the day. On this post of his, Mr. Cruncherwas as well known to Meet-street and theTemple, as the Bar itself—and was almost as ill-looking.

Encamped at a quarter before nine, in goodtime to touch his three-cornered hat to theoldest of men as they passed in to Tellson's,Jerry took up his station on this windy Marchmorning, with Young Jerry standing "by him,when not engaged in making forays through theBar, to inflict bodily and mental injuries of anacute description, on passing boys who weresmall enough for his amiable purpose. Fatherand son, extremely like each other, lookingsilently on at the morning traffic in Elect-street,with their two heads as near to one another asthe two eyes of each were, bore a considerable

resemblance to a pair of monkeys. The resem-blance waa not lessened by the accidental circum-stance, that the mature Jerry bit and spat outstraw, while the twinkling eyes of the youthfulJerry were as restlessly watchful of him as ofeverything else in Fleet-street.

The head of one of the regular in-door mes-sengers attached to Tellson's establishment wasput through the door, and the word was given:

"Porter wanted!""Hooray, father! Here's an early job to

begin, with!"Having thus given his parent God speed,

Young Jerry seated himself on the stool, enteredon his reversionary interest in the straw hisfather had been chewing, and cogitated.

" Al-ways rusty! His fingers is al-waysrusty!" muttered young Jerry, " Where doesmy father get all that iron rust from ? He don'tget no iron rust here !'*

CHAPTEB H. A SIGHT.

" You know the Old Bailey well, no doubt?"said one of the oldest of clerks to Jerry themessenger.

" Ye-es, suv," returned Jerry, in. something ofa dogged manner. " I do know the Bailey.

" Just so. And you know Mr. Lorry."" I know Mr. Lorry, sir,, much better than I

know the Bailey. Jfuch better," said Jerry,not unlike a reluctant witness at the establish-ment in question, " than I, as a honest trades-man, wish to know the Bailey."

"Very well. Find the door where the wit-nesses go in, and show the doorkeeper this notefor Mr. Lorry. He will then let you in.'J

"Into the court, sir?"" Into the court."Mr. Cruncher's eyes seemed to get a iittiC

closer to one another, and to interchange tbeinquiry, " What do you think of this ?"

" Am I to wait in the court, sir?" fie-asked,as the result of that conference.

"I am going to tell you. The doorkeepeiwill pass the note to Mr. Lorry, and do youmake any gesture that will attract Mr. Lorry'sattention, and show him where you stand. Thenwhat you have to do, is, to remain there until hewants you."

"Is that all, sir?"" Thafs .-ill. He wishes to have a messenger

at hand. This is to tell him you are there."As the ancient clerk deliberately folded and

superscribed the note, Mr. Cruncher, after sur-veying him in silence until he came to theblotting-paper stage, remarked:

" I suppose they'll be trying Forgeries thismorning?

"Treason!""That's quartering," said Jerry. "Barba-

rous !"" It is the law," remarked the ancient clerk,

turning his surprised spectacles upon him, " Itis the law."

" If a hard in the law to spile a man, I think.It's hard enough to kill him, but it's wery hardto spile him, sir."

100 [May 28,1839.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. (Conducted by

"Not at all," returned the ancient clerk." Speak well of the law. Take care of yourchest and voice, my good friend, and leave thelaw to take care of itself. I give you thatadvice."

" It's the damp, sir, what settles on my chestand voice," said Jerry. " I leave you tojudge what a damp way of earning a livingmine is."

"Well, well," said the old clerk; "we allhave our various ways of gaining a livelihood.Some of us have damp ways, and some of us havedry ways. Here is tne letter. Go along."

Jerry took the letter, and, remarking tohimself with less internal deference than hemade an outward show of, "You are a leanold one, too," made his bow, informed hisson, in passing, of his destination, and wenthis way.

They hanged at Tyburn, in those days, so thestreet outside Newgate had not obtained oneinfamous notoriety that has since attached to it.But, the gaol was a vile place, in which mostkinds of debauchery and villany were practised,and where dire diseases were bred, that cameinto court with the prisoners, and sometimesrushed straight from the dock at my Lord ChiefJustice himself, and pulled him off the bench.It had more than once happened, that the judgein the black cap pronounced his own doom ascertainly as the prisoner's, and even died beforehim. Tor the rest, the Old Bailey was famousas a kind of deadly inn-yard, from which pale tra-vellers set out continually, in carts and coaches,on a violent passage into the other world: tra-versing some two miles and a half of publicstreet and road, and shaming few good citizens,if any. So powerful is use, and so desirable tobe good use in the beginning. It was famous,too, for the pillory, a wise old institution, thatinflicted a punishment of which no one couldforesee the extent; also, for the whipping-post,another dear old institution, very humanisingand softening to behold in action; also, for ex-tensive transactions in blood-money, anotherfragment of ancestral wisdom, systematicallyleading to the most frightful mercenary crimesthat could be committed under Heaven. Alto-gether, the Old Bailey, at that date, was a choiceIllustration of the precept, that " Whatever isis right;" an aphorism that would be as final asit is lazy, did it not include the troublesomeconsequence, that nothing that ever was, waswrong.

Making his way tlirough the tainted crowd,disperse? up ana down this hideous scene ofaction, with the skill of a man accustomed tomake his way quietly, the messenger found outthe door he sought, and handed in his letterthrough a trap in it. For, people then paid tosee the play at the Old BaiTey, just as they paidto see tne play in Bedlam—only the former en-tertainment was much the dearer. Therefore,all the Old Bailey doors were well guarded—except, indeed, the social doors by which thecriminals got there, and they were always leftwide open.

After some delay and demur, the door grudg-ingly turned on its hinges a very little way, andallowed Mr. Jerry Cruncher to squeeze himselfinto court.

" What's on ?" he asked, in a whisper, of theman he found himself next to.

" Nothing yet."" What's coming on ?""The Treason case."" The quartering one, eh ?"" Ah !" returned the man, with a relish; " he'll

be drawn on a hurdle to be half hanged, andthen he'll be taken down and sliced before hisown face, and then his inside will be taken outand burnt while he looks on, and then his headwill be chopped off, and he'll be cut intoquarters. That's the sentence."

" If he's found Guilty, you mean to say ?"Jerry added, by way of proviso*

" Oh! they'll find him Guilty," said the other."Don't you be afraid of that."

Mr. Cruncher's attention was here divertedto the doorkeeper, whom he saw making hisway to Mr. Lorry, with the note in his hand.Mr. Lorry sat at a table, among the gentlemenin wigs : not far from a wigged gentleman, theprisoner's counsel, who had a great bundle ofpapers before him: and nearly opposite anotherwigged gentleman with his hands in his pockets,whose whole attention, when Mr. Cruncherlooked at him then or afterwards, seemed to beconcentrated on the ceiling of the court. Aftersome gruff coughing and rubbing of his chinand signing with his hand, Jerry attracted thenotice of Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to lookfor him, and who quietly nodded, and sat downagain.

" What's he got to do with the case ?" askedthe man he had spoken with.

" Blest if I know," said Jerry." What have you got to do with it, then, if

a person may inquire r"" Blest if I know that, either," said Jerry.The entrance of the Judge, and a consequent

great stir and settling-down in the court,stopped the dialogue. Presently, the dockbecame the central point of interest. Twogaolers, who had been standing there, wentout, and the prisoner was brought in, and putto the bar.

Everybody present, except the one wiggedgentleman who looked at the ceiling, stared^ athim. All the human breath in the place, rolled athim, like a sea, or a wind, or a fire. Eager facesstrained round pillars and corners, to get a sightof him; spectators in back rows stood up, notto miss a nair of him; people on the floor ofthe court, kid their hands on the shoulders ofthe people before them, to help themselves, atanybody's cost, to a view of him—stood a-tiptoe,got upon ledges, stood upon next to no-thing, to see every inch of him. Conspicuousamon<j these latter, like an animated bit of thespiked wall of Newgate, Jerry stood: aimingat the prisoner the Deery breath of a whet hehad taken as he came along, and dischargingit to mingle with the waves of other beer, ana

Cbarlet Dickon*.] A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 101

§in, and tea, and coffee, and what not, thatowed at him, and already broke upon the

great windows behind him in an impure mistand rain.

The object of all this staring and blaring, wasa young man of about five-and-twenty, well-grown and well-looking, with a sunburnt cheekand a dark eye. His condition was that of ayoung gentleman. He was plainly dressed inblack, or very dark grey, and his hair, which waslong and dark, was gathered in a ribbon at theback of his neck: mOre to be out of his way thanfor ornament. As an emotion of the mind willexpress itself through any covering of the body,so the paleness which his situation engenderedcame through the brown upon his cheek, show-ing the soul to be stronger than the sun. Hewas otherwise quite self-possessed, bowed to theJudge, and stood quiet.

The sort of interest with which this man wasstared and breathed at, was not a sort that ele-vated humanity. Had he stood in peril of a lesshorrible sentence—had there been a chance ofany one of its savage details being spared—byjust so much would he have lost in his fascina-tion. The form that was to be doomed to be soshamefully mangled, was the sight; the immortalcreature that was to be so butchered and tornasunder, yielded the sensation. Whatever glossthe various spectators put upon the interest,according to their several arts and powers ofself-deceit, the interest was, at the root of it,Ogreish.

Silence in the court! Charles Damay hadyesterday pleaded Not Guilty to an indictmentdenouncing him (with infinite jingle and jangle)for that he was a false traitor to our serene,illustrious, excellent, and so forth, prince, ourLord the King, by reason of his having, ondivers occasions, and by divers means and ways,assisted Lewis, the French King, in his warsagainst our said serene, illustrious, excellent,and so forth; that was to say, by coming andgoing between the dominions of our said serene,illustrious, excellent, and so forth, and thoseof the said French Lewis, and wickedly, falsely,traitorously, and otherwise evil-advcrbiously,revealing to the said French Lewis what forcesour said serene, illustrious, excellent, and soforth, had in preparation to send to Canada andNorth America. This much, Jerry, with hishead becoming more and more spiky as the lawterms bristledit, made out with huge satisfac-tion, and so arrived circuitously at the under-standing that the aforesaid, and over and overagain aforesaid, Charles Darnay, stood there be-fore him upon his trial; that the jury wereswearing in; and that Mr. Attorney-Generalwas making ready to speak.

The accused, who was (and who knew he was)being mentally hanged, beheaded, and quartered,by everybody there, neither flinched from thesituation, nor assumed any theatrical air in it.He was quiet and attentive; watched the openingproceedings with a grave interest; and stood;with his hands resting on the slab of wood §fe7o«£him, so composedly, that they had not dispkced a:

leaf of the herbs with which it was strewn. Thecourt was all bestrewn with herbs and sprinkledwith vinegar, as a precaution against gaol airand gaol fever.

Over the prisoner's head, there was a mirror, tothrow the light down upon him. Crowds of thewicked and the wretched had been reflected init, and had passed from its surface and thisearth's together. Haunted in a most ghastlymanner that abominable place would have been,if the glass could ever have rendered back its re-flexions, as the ocean is one day to give up itsdead. Some passing thought of the infamyand disgrace for which it had been reserved, mayhave struck the prisoner's mind. Be that asit may, a change in his position making himconscious of a bar of light across his face, helooked up ; and when he saw the glass his faceflushed, and his right hand pushed the herbsaway.

It happened, that the action turned his face tothat side of the court which was on his left.About on a level with his eyes, there sat, in thatcorner of the Judge's bench, two persons uponwhom his look immediately rested; so imme-diately, and so much to the changing of hisaspect, that all the eyes that were turned uponhim, turned to them.

The spectators saw in the two figures, a younglady of little more than twenty, and a gentlemanwho was evidently her father; a man of a veryremarkable appearance in respect of the absolutewhiteness of his hair, and a certain indescribableintensity of face: not of an active kind, butpondering and self-communing. When this ex-pression was upon him, he looked as if he wereold; but, when it was stirred and broken up—asit was now, in a moment, on his speaking to hisdaughter—he became a handsome man, not pastthe prime of life.

His daughter had one of her hands drawnthrough his arm, as she sat by him, and the otherpressed upon it. She had drawn close to him,in her dread of the scene, and in her pity for theprisoner. Her forehead had been strikingly ex-pressive of an engrossing terror and compassionthat saw nothing out the peril of the accused.This had been so very noticeable, so verypowerfully and naturally shown, that starerswho had had no pity for him were touched byher; and the whisper went about, "Who aretheyP"

Jerry the messenger, who had made his ownobservations in his own manner, and who hadbeen sucking the rust oft" his fingers in hisabsorption, stretched his neck to hear whothey were. The crowd about him had pressedand passed the inquiry on to the nearestattendant, and from him it had been moreslowly pressed and passed back; at last it gotto Jerry:

" Witnesses."" For which side P"" Against."

-, " Against what side ?"• •-" The prisoner's."_ The Judge, whose eyes had gone in the general

102 [M*y 28,1R59 ] ALL THE TEAR ROUND. [Conducted by

direction, recalled them, leaned back in his seatand looked steadily at the man whose life was inhis hand, as Mr. Attorney-General rose to spinthe rope, grind the axe, and hammer the nailsinto the scaffold.

GOOD QUALITIES OF GOUT.

WHEN I say gout, I don't mean rheumatism.A variety of endeavours have been made to de-fine the difference between gout anclrhenmatisiu.Thus: Gout is rich man's rheumatism, and rheu-matism is poor man's gout; which is good onlyas a figure of speech. Another: Put your toe ina vice; turn the screw till you can bear thepain no longer; that's rheumatism. Give thescrew one turn more; that's gout. In everyrespect, gout takes precedence. Just as,grammatically speaking, the masculine gender is"more worthy^* than the feminine, and the

feminine more worthy than the neuter (I shouldthink so!) so is gout more worthy than rheu-matism, and rheumatism more worthy than thelow, vagabond pains and aches which JohnKemble sought to dignify by calling them Hs.

Rheumatic gout may be assumed to be no realgout at all, but either pure rheumatism or rheu-matic fever. There is no such thing as goutyrheumatism; which is simply a contradictionof terms. It is possible, nowevex, for goutand rheumatism to be co-resident in the samepatient, just as it is possible for a white manand a black man to be fellow-lodgers in thesame boarding-house, on this side of the At-lantic. Gout is strictly confined to the joints;rheumatism has no objection to a sojourn amongstthe muscles. For instance, it will play trickswith your intercostal (nutUrib) muscles, frighten-ing you with false terrors of heart disease. Goutcomes to a regular crisis: it has its rise, its cul-minatinc point, and its decline and fall: it isthe barleycorn-note of the practised vocalist,swelling and then dying upon the sense. Rheu-matism may oscillate up and down, backwardor forward; may advance or retreat capriciously;but it has no critical point, no fortissimo, thearrival of which is a guarantee and preparationfor a sure and certain diminuendo. Gout is agenerous, warm-hearted fellow, -who, if hequarrels now and then, has a good stand-uplight, and has done with it. Rheumatism doesnot fire up so easily; but, when once he has takena grudge against jou, he never forgets it; hismalignant passions never cease to rankle; hismemory is long, for eyiL When you think youhave shaken hands with him, he will undeceiveyou by some secret ill-natured pinch. He willstab you in the back at your own dinner-table.

Gout is a summer interspersed with thunder-storms, which nevertheless can boast its genialdays and weeks. Rheumatism is the settled badweather, all the year round, enjoyed by thenatives of the Hebrides, whose meteorologicalvariety consists in the different blackness orwliiteness of their squalls, and the angle of in-clination (lying somewhere between ten -and"ninety degrees) at which their rain-drops impinge

on the ground. Rheumatism is the vile OldMan of the Sea, who insidiously instals himselfupon your shoulder, and who never looses hishold entirely, although he may relax it fromtime to time. Gout is a mighty but irasciblegenius, who occasionally opens the flood-gatesof his wrath ; but who, as soon as the tempestis over, descends with dignity to his retreat atthe bottom of the sea.

When Xerxes offered a reward for a newpleasure, it is a pity he did not first think ofasking his physicians to give him a taste of thegout. He would have found its departure —duly preceded by its arrival and its stay — themost agreeable sensation he ever felt in his life.For gout is a gentlemanly and accommodatingvisitor, not dangerous upon the whole : you mayenjoy the advantage of his company often andoften, without apprehension of any untowardresult. It cannot be denied that unlooked-foraccidents will now and then occur; but they arethe exceptions rather -than the rule. They aretreacherous and shabby tricks which Death mali-ciously plays off on Gout to put him out offavour with the sons of men. *Many and manypeople are in the habit of receiving Gout in theirhouses, all their lives long, till he becomes quitean old and respected acquaintance (to despisehim is impossible), and yet receive their death-stroke from some other enemy. They die, notof Gout's ill-treatment, but because Gout cannotcome to their rescue and drive out the new in-truder, who has broken into the premises withmalice prepense. Count fhe total number offits of the gout which come off in Europe intwenty-five years with the actual deaths withwhich Gout stands really and truly chargeableduring the same period, and the proportion isreduced to an infinitesimal fraction : to all butsnow-white innocence.

Gout introduces you to a yariety of new sen-sations and new ideas -which otherwise would beclosed to you ; and consequently enlarges yourviews of life. You have neard of the villagestocks (once a national institution) ; but youhave no notion what it is to be in the stocks.Gout will enlighten your ignorance, by layingyou flat on your back so that you could not stirfor your life if the house caught fire. He willthen put your feet into his own private stocks(made of burning iron). As a further improve-ment, he will set on a few of his private packof pitiless dogs with red-hot teeth, to gnawat your toes till you exclaim, "Don't talk to meof the village stocks as a punishment! Theywere nothing to this."

You have heard of the torture-boots of theInquisitors and others, but you have neverseen nor felt one. Gout will bring his bootand draw it up tight as far as your knee ; next,he will drive in some heated wedges, tappingthem constantly with a nice little hammer, to

event yonr -forgetting they are there, till atit you lose your dignity, and shout aloud.

n the -performance is over, and Gout'stoofcis taken off, your late experiment sug-gests- the remark, "I could not have believed

'THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR."—SHAKESPEARE.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

- 6.] SATURDAY, JUNE 4, 1859. [PRICE 2«7.

A TALE OF TWO CITIES,BY CHARLES DICKENS.

BOOK THE SECOND. THE GOLDEN THREAD.CHATTER HI. A DISAPPOINTMENT.

MR. ATTORNEY-GENERAL had to inform thejury, that the prisoner before them, thoughyoung iu years, was old in the treasonable prac-tices which claimed the forfeit of his life. Thatthis correspondence with the public enemy wasnot a correspondence of to-day, or of yesterday,or even of last year, or of the year before. That,it was certain the prisoner had, for longer thanthat, been in the habit of passing and repass-ing between France and England, on secretbusiness of which he could give no honestaccount. That, if it were in the nature oftraitorous ways to thrive (which, happily, itnever was), the real wickedness and guilt ofhis business might have remained undiscovered.That, Providence, however, had put it into theheart of a person who was beyond fear andbeyond reproach, to ferret out the nature of theprisoner's schemes, and, struck with horror, todisclose them to his Majesty's Chief Secretaryof State and most honourable Privy Council.That, this patriot would be produced beforethem. That, his position and attitude were, onthe whole, sublime. That, ho hod been theprisoner's friend, but, at once in an auspiciousand an evil hour detecting his infamy, hadresolved to immolate the traitor he could nolonger cherish in his bosom, on the sacred altarof his country. That, if statues were decreed inBritain, as in ancient Greece and Rome, topublic benefactors, this shining citizen wouldassuredly have had one. That, as they werenot so decreed, he probably would not have one.That, Virtue, as had been observed by thepoets (in many passages which he well knew thejury would have, word for word, at the tips oftheir tongues ; whereat the jury's countenancesdisplayed a guilty consciousness that they knewnothing about the passages), was in a manner con-tagious ; more especially the bright virtueknown as patriotism, or love of country. That,the lofty example of this immaculate and unim-peachable witness for the Crown, to refer towhom however unworthily was an honour, hadcommunicated itself to the prisoner's servant,

and had engendered in him a holy determinationto examine his master's table-drawers andpockets, and secrete his papers. That, he (Mr.Attorney-General) was prepared to hear somedisparagement attempted of this admirable ser-vant ; but that, in a general way, he preferredhim to his (Mr. Attorney-General's) brothersand sisters, and honoured him more than his(Mr. Attorney-General's) father and mother.That, he called with confidence on the jury tacome and do likewise. That, the evidence ofthese two witnesses, coupled with the docu-ments of their discovering that would be pro-duced, would show the prisoner to have beenfurnished with lists of his Majesty's forces, andof their disposition and preparation, both by seaand land, and would leave no doubt that he hadhabitually conveyed such information to a hos-tile power. That, these lists could not beproved to be in the prisoner's handwriting; butthat it was all the same; that, indeed, it wasrather the better for the prosecution, as showingthe prisoner to be artful in his precautions.That, the proof would go back five years, andwould show the prisoner already engaged inthese pernicious missions, within a few weeksbefore the date of the very first action foughtbetween the British troops and the Americans.That, for these reasons, the jury, being a loyaljury (as he knew they were), and being a re-sponsible jury (as they knew they were), mustpositively fina the prisoner Guilty, nnd make onend of him, whether they liked it or not. That,they never could lay their heads upon theirpillows; that, they never could tolerate the ideaof their wives laying their heads upon theirpillows; that, thev never could endure the notionof their children laying their heads upon theirpillows; in short, that there never more couldbe, for them or theirs, any laying of heads uponpillows at all, unless the prisoner's head wastaken off. That head Mr. Attorney-Generalconcluded by demanding of them, in the nameof everything he could think of with a roundturn in it, and on the faith of his solemn asse-veration that he already considered the prisoneras good as dead and gone.

When the Attorney-General ceased, a buzzarose in the court as if a cloud of great blue-flies were swarming about the prisoner, in anti-cipation of what he was soon to become. Whenit toned down again, the unimpeachable patriotappeared in the witness-box.

vol. i.

122 [June 4, I8WJ ALL THE YEAB, BOUND. [Conducted by

Mr. Solicitor-General then, following hisleader's lead, examined the patriot: John Barsad,gentleman, by name. The story of his pure soulwas exactly what Mr. Attorney-General had de-scribed it to be—perhaps, if it had^ fault, a littletoo exactly. Having released his noble bosomof its burden, he would have modestly withdrawnhimself, but that the wigged gentleman with thepapers before him, sitting not iar from Mr. Lorry,begged to ask him a few questions. The wiggedgentleman sitting opposite, still looked at theceiling of the court.

Had he ever been a spy himself ? No, hescorned the base insinuation. What did he liveupon ? His property. Where was his property ?He didn't precisely remember where it was.What was it ? No business of anybody's. Hadhe inherited it? Yes, he had. Prom whom?Distant relation. Very distant ? Bather. Everbeen in prison? Certainly not. Never in adebtors' prison ? Didn't see what that had to dowith it. Never in a debtors' prison?—Come,once again. Never? Yes. How many times?Two or three times. Not five or six ? Perhaps.Of what profession ? Gentleman. Ever beenkicked ? Might have been. Frequently ? No.Ever kicked down stairs ? Decidedly not; oncereceived a kick on the top of a staircase, and felldown stairs of his own accord. Kicked on thatoccasion for cheating at dice? Something tothat effect was said by the intoxicated liar whocommitted the assault, but it was not true.Swear it was not true ? Positively. Ever liveby cheating at play? Never. Ever live byplay ? Not more than other gentlemen do.Ever borrow money of the prisoner ? Yes. Everpay him ? No. Was not this intimacy with theprisoner, in reality a very slight one, forced uponthe prisoner in coaches, inns, and packets ? No.Sure he saw the prisoner with these lists P Cer-tain. Knew no more about the lists? No.Had not procured them himself, for instance?No. Expect to get anything by this evidence ?No. Not in regular government pay and em-ployment, to lay traps r Oh dear no. Or to doanything? Oh dear no. t Swear that? Overand over again. No motives but motives ofsheer patriotism ? None whatever.

The virtuous servant, Boger Cly, swore his waythrough the case at a great rate. He hadtaken service with the prisoner, in good faith andsimplicity, four years ago. He had asked theprisoner, aboard the Calais packet, if he wanteda handy fellow, and the prisoner had engagedhim. He had not asked the prisoner to take thehandy fellow as an act of charity—never thoughtof such a thing. He began to have suspicionsof the prisoner, and to keep an eye upon him,soon afterwards. In arranging his clothes, whiletravelling, he had seen similar lists to these inthe prisoner's pockets, over and over again. Hehad taken these lists from the drawer of theprisoner's desk. He had not put them therefirst. He had seen the prisoner show these iden-tical lists to French gentlemen at Calais, andsimilar lists to French gentlemen, both at Calaisand Boulogne. He loved his country, and

couldn't bear it, and had given information. Hehad never been suspected of stealing a silverteapot j he had been maligned respecting a mus-tard-pot, but it turned out to be only a platedone. He had known the hist witness seven oreight years; that was merely a coincidence.He didn't call it a particularly curious coin-cidence ; most coincidences were curious.Neither did he call it a curious coincidencethat true patriotism was hit only motive too. Hewas a true Briton, and hoped there were manylike him.

The blue-flies buzzed again, and Mr. Attorney-General called Mr. Jarvis Lorry.

" Mr. Jarvis Lorry, are you a clerk in Tellson'sbank?"

" I am."" On a certain Friday night in November one

thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, did busi-ness occasion you to travel between London andDover by the mail ?"

"It did.""Were there any other passengers in the

mail?"" Two."" Did they alight on the road in the course of

the night ?"" They did."" Mr. Lorry, look upon the prisoner. Was

he one of those two passengers?" I cannot undertake to say that he was."" Does he resemble either of those two pas-

sengers ?"" Both were so wrapped up, and the night was

so dark, and we were all so reserved, that Icannot undertake to say even that."

" Mr. Lorry, look again upon the prisoner.Supposing him wrapped up as those two pas-sengers were, is there anything in his bulk andstature to render it unlikely that he was one ofthem ?"

"No."" You will not swear, Mr. Lorry, that he was

not one of them ?""No."" So at least you say he may have been

one of them P"" Yes. Except that I remember them both to

havei)een—like myself—timorous of highway-men, and the prisoner has not a timorous air.

" Did you ever see a counterfeit of timidity^Mr. Lorry?"

" I certainly have seen that."" Mr. Lorry,look once more upon the prisoner.

Have you seen him, to your certain know-ledge, before P"

"I have.""When?""I was returning from France a few days

afterwards, and, at Calais, the prisoner came onboard the packet-ship in which I returned, andmade the voyage with me."

" At what hour did he come on board P""At a little after midnight."" In the dead of the night. Was he the only

passenger who came on board at that untimelyhourP

Charles Dickens.] A TALE OF TWO CITIES. [Jane 4,1859-J 123

" He happened to be the only one.""Nevermind about 'happening,' Mr. Lorry.

He was the only passenger who came on boardin the dead of the night ?"

"He was.""Were you travelling alone, Mr. Lorry, or

with any companion ?""With two companions. A gentleman and

lady. They are here/'"Theyare here. Had you any conversation

with the prisoner ?"" Hardly any. The weather was stormy, and

the passage long and rough, and I lay on a sofa,almost from shore to shore."

"MissManette!"The young lady, to whom all eyes had been

turned before, and were now turned again, stoodup where she had sat. Her father rose with her,and kept her hand drawn through his arm.

" Miss Manette, look upon the prisoner."To be confronted with such pity, and such

earnest youth and beauty, was far more tryingto the accused than to be confronted with allthe crowd. Standing, as it were, apart with heron the edge of his grave, not all the staringcuriosity that looked on, could, for the moment,nerve him to remain quite still. His hurriedright hand parcelled out the herbs before himinto imaginary beds of flowers in a garden ; andhis efforts to control and steady his breathing,shook the lips from which the colour rushed tohis heart. The buzz of the great flies was loudagain.

" Miss Manette, have you seen the prisonerbefore?"

"Yes, sir.""Where?"" Oil board of the packet-ship just now re-

ferred to, sir, and on the same occasion." You are the young lady just now referred

to?"" 0! most unhappily, I am!"The plaintive tone of her compassion merged

into the less musical voice of the Judge, as hesaid, something fiercely: " Answer the Questionsput to you, and make no remark upon them."

" Miss Manette, had you any conversationwith the prisoner on that passage across theChannel r

" Yes, sir."" Recol it."In the midst of a profound stillness, she faintly

began:" When the gentleman came on board "" Do you mean the prisoner P" inquired the

Judge, knitting his brows." les, my Lord."" Then say the prisoner."" When the prisoner came on board, he noticed

that my father, turning her eyes lovingly to himas he stood beside her, " was much fatigued andin a very weak state of health. My father wasso reduced, that I was afraid to take him out ofthe air, and I had made a bed for him on the decknear the cabin steps, and I sat on the deck at hisside to take care of him. There were no otherpassengers that night, but we four. The prisoner

was so good as to beg permission to advise mehow I could shelter my father from th&wind andweather, better than I had done. I! had notknown how to do it well, not understanding howthe wind would set when we were out of theharbour. He did it for me. He expressed greatgentleness and kindness for my father's state,and I am sure he felt it. That was the mannerof our beginning to speak together."

" Let me interrupt you for a moment. Hadhe come on board alone ?"

" No."" How many were with him ?"" Two French gentlemen."" Had they conferred together ?"" They had conferred together until the last

moment, when it was necessary for the Frenchgentlemen to be landed in their boat."

" Had any papers been handed about amongtllem; similar to these lists ?"

" Some papers had been handed about amongthem, but I don't know what papers."

" Like these in • shape and size ?"" Possibly, but indeed I don't know, although

they stood whispering very near to me: becausethey stood at the top of the cabin steps to havethe light of the lamp that was hanging there;it was a dull lamp, and they spoke Very low, andI did not hear what they said, and saw only thatthey looked at papers."

"Now, to the prisoner's conversation, MissManette."

" The prisoner was as open in bis confidencewith me—which arose out of my helpless situa-tion—as he was kind, and good, and useful tomy father. I hope," bursting into tears, "Imay not repay him by doing him harm to-day."'

Buzzing from the blue-flies." Miss Manette, if the prisoner does not per-

fectly understand that you give the evidencewhich it is your duty to give—which you mustgive—and which' you cannot escape from giving—with gjeat unwillingness, he istne only personpresent m that condition. Please to go on."

" He told me that he was travelling' on busi-ness of a delicate and difficult nature, whichmight get people into trouble, and that he wastherefore travelling under an assumed name.He said' that this business had, within a fewdays, taken him to France, and might, at inter-vals, take him backwards and forwards betweenPrance and England for a long time to come."

" Did he say anything about' America; MibsManette ? Be particular.

" He tried to explain to' me how that quarrelhad arisen, and he said that, so far as he couldjudge/ it was a wrong and foolish one on Eng-land's part. Ho added, in a jesting way, thatperhaps George Washington might gain almostas great a name in History as George theThird. But there was no harm in his way ofsaying this: it was said laughingly, and to be-guile the time."

Any strongly marked expression of face onthe part of a chief actor in a scene of great in-terest to whom many eyes are directed, will beunconsciously imitated by the spectators. Her

[June 4,1**] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conducted by

forehead was painfully anxious and intent as shegave this evidence, and, in the pauses when shestopped for the Judge to write it down, watchedits effect upon the Counsel for and against.Among the lookers-on there was the same ex-pression in all quarters of the court; insomuch,that a great majority of the foreheads there,might have been mirrors reflecting the witness,when the Judge looked up from his notes toglare at that tremendous heresy about GeorgeWashington.

Mr. Attorney-General now signified to myLord, that he deemed it necessary, as a matterof precaution and form, to call the young lady'sfather, Doctor Manette. Who was called accord-ingly.

"Doctor Manette, look upon the prisoner.Have you ever seen him before ?"

" Once. When he called at my lodgings inLondon. Some three years, or three years and ahalf, ago."

" Can you identify him as your fellow-pas-senger on board the packet, or speak to his con-versation with your daughter ?"

" Sir, I can do neither."" Is there any particular and special reason for

your being unable to do either ?He answered, in a low voice, " There is."" Has it been your misfortune to undergo a

long imprisonment, without trial, or even accu-sation, in your native country, Doctor Ma-

I nette?"i He answered, in a tone that went to every

heart, " A long imprisonment."" Were you newly released on the occasion in

question ?" They tell me so.""Have you no remembrance of the occa-

sion ?"" None. My .mind is a blank, from some

time—I cannot e\en say what time—when Iemployed. myself, in my captivity, i in makingshoes, to the time; when I found myself living inLondon with my dear daughter here. She nadbecome familiar to me, when a gracious Godrestored my faculties; but, I am quite unableeven to say,how s{ie had become familiar. Ihave no remembrance of the process,'* r

Mr. Attorney-General sat down, and the fa/ther and daughter sat down together,)

A singular ^circumstance then arose ia thecase. The object in hand, being, to show thatthe prisoner went down, with some fellow-plotteruntracked, in. the Dover mail on that Friday nightin. November five years ago, -and got out of themail in the night, as a blind, at a place where hedid not remain, but from which he travelled backsome dozen miles or more, to a garrison)anddockyard., and there collected informatiorv; awitness was called, to identify him as havingbeen at the precise time required, in the coffee-room of an hotel in that garrison-and-dockyardtown, waiting for another person* The prisoner'scounsel was cross-examining this witness withno result, except that he had never seen theprisoner on. any other occasion, when the wiggedgentleman who had all this time been looking at i

the ceiling of the court, wrote a word or two ona little piece of paper, screwed it up, and tossedit to him. Opening this piece of paper in thenext pause, the counsel looked w ith great atten-tion and curiosity at the prisoner.

" You say again you are quite sure that it tea?theprisoner ?

The witness was quite sure."Did you ever see anybody very like the-

prisoner ?"Not so like (the witness said), as that he could

be mistaken." Look well upon that gentleman, my learned

friend there," pointing to him who had tossedthe paper over, " and then look well upon theprisoner. How say you P Are they very likeeach other ?"

Allowing for my learned friend's appearancebeing careless and slovenly, if not debauched,they were sufficiently like each other to surprise,not only the witness, but everybody present,when they were thus brought into comparison.My Lord being prayed to bid my learned friendlay aside his wig, and giving no very graciousconsent, the likeness became much more re-markable. My Lord inquired of Mr. Stryver(the prisoner's counsel), whether they were nextto try Mr. Carton (name of my learned friend)for treason ? But, Mr. Stryver replied to myLord, no; but he would ask the witness to tellhim whether what happened once, might hap-pen twice; whether he would have oeen soconfident if he had seen this illustration of his-rashness sooner; whether he would be so confi-dent,, having seen it; and more. The upshot of Iwhich, was, to smash this witness like a crockeryvessel, and shiver his part of the case to uselesslumber.

Mr. Cruncher had by this time taken quitea lunch of rust off his fingers, in his fol-lowing of the evidence. He had now toattend while Mr. Stryver fitted the prisoner'scase on the jury, like a compact suit ot clothes ;showing them how the patriot, Barsad, wasa hired spy and traitor, an unblushing-trafficker in blood, and one of the greatestscoundrels upon earth since accursed Judas—which he. certainly did look rather like. Howthe virtuous servant, Cly, was his friend andpartner, and was worthy to be; how the watchfuleyes of those forgers and false swearers hadrested oa the prisoner as a victim, because somefamily affairs in France, ho being of French ex-traction, did require his making those passagesacross the Channel—though what those affairswere, a consideration for others who were nearand dear to him, forbad him, even for his; life,to disclose. How the evidence that had beenwarped and wrested from the young lady, whoseanguish in giving it they had witnessed, came tonothing, involving the mere little innocent gal-lantries and politenesses likely to pass betweenany young gentleman and young lady so throwntogether:—with the exception of that referenceto George Washington, which was altogether tooextravagant and impossible, to be regarded in anyother light than as a monstrous joke. How it

•CiurSe* Dickon*.] A TALE OF TWO CITIES., [June 125

•would be a weakness in the government to breaktlown in this attempt to practise for popularityon the lowest national antipathies and fears, andtherefore Mr. Attorney-General had made themost of it; how, nevertheless, it rested uponnothing, save that vile and infamous characterof evidence too often disfiguring such cases, andof which the State Trials of this country werefull. But, there My Lord interposed (with asgrave a face as if it had not been true), sayingthat he could not sit upon that Bench and sufferthose allusions.

Mr. Stryver then called his few witnesses, andMr. Cruncher had next to attend while Mr. At-torney-General turned the whole suit of clothesMr. Stryver had fitted on the jury, inside out;showing how Barsad and Cly were even a hun-dred times better than he had thought them, andthe prisoner a hundred times worse. Lastly,came My Lord himself, turning the suit ofclothes, now inside out, now outside in, but onthe •whole decidedly trimming and shaping theminto grave-clothes for the prisoner.

Arid now, the jury turned to consider, and thegreat flies swarmed again.

Mr. Carton, who had so long sat looking at the•ceiling of the court, changed neither his place norhis attitude, even in this excitement. Whilehis learned friend, Mr. Stryter, massing hispapers before him, whispered with those who satnear, and from time to time glanced anxiously atthe jury; while all the spectators moved moreor less, and grouped themselves anew; whileeven My Lord himself arose from his seat, andslowly paced up and down his platform, not un-attended by a suspicion in the minds of theaudience that his state was feverish; this oneman sat leaning back, with his torn gown half offhim, his untidy wig put on just as it had hap-pened to light on his head after its removal, hishands in his pockets, and his eyes on the ceiling•as they had been all day. Something especiallyreckless in "his demeanour, not only cave him adisreputable look, but so diminished the strongresemblance he undoubtedly bore to the prisoner{which his momentary earnestness, when they were-compared together, had strengthened), that manyof the lookers-on, taking note of him nOM-, saidto one another they would hardly have thoughtthe two were so auke. Mr. Cruncher made theobservation to his next neighbour, and added," I'd hold half a guinea that he don't got no law-work to do. Ddn't look like the sort of one toget any, do he P" '" '

Yet, this Mr. Carton took intnot^of the detailsof the scene than ho appeared to'take in; fornow, when Miss Manette s head dropped upon herfather's breast, he was the first to see it, 'andto say audibly : " Officer! look to that younglady. Help the gentleman to take her but.Don't you see she will fall!" '

There was much commiseration for her as shewas removed, and much sympathy with her father.It had evidently been a great distress to him, tohave the days of his imprisonment recalled. Hehad shown strong internal agitation when hewas questioned, and that pondering or brooding

look which made him old, had' bee.n upon him,like a heavy cloud, ever since. As he'passed out,the jury, who had turned back and paused a mo-ment, spoke, through their foreman.

They were not agreed, and wished to retire.My Lord (perhaps with George Washington onhis mind) showed some surprise that they werenot agreed, but signified his pleasure that theyshould retire under watch and ward, and retiredhimself. The trial had lasted all day, and thelamps in the court were now being lighted. Itbegan to be rumoured that the jury would beout a long while. The spectators dropped offto get refreshment, and the prisoner withdrewto the back of the dock, and sat down.

Mr. Lorry, who had gone out when the younglady and her father went out, now reappeared,and beckoned to Jerry: who, in the slackenedinterest, could easily get near him.

" Jerry, if you wish to take something to eat,you can. But, keep in the way. You will besure to hear when the jury come in. Don't bea moment behind them, for I want you to takethe verdict back to the bank. You, are thequickest messenger I know, jfcnd' will get toTemple Bar long Ibefore I can."

Jerry had just enough forehead to knuckle,and he knuckled it in acknowledgment of 'tiiaacommunication and a shilling. Mr. Carton dameup at the moment, and touched Mr. Lorry onthe arm.

" How is the young lady ?""She is greatly distressed; but her father is

comforting her, and she feels the better for beingout of court."

" I'll tell the prisoner so. It won't do for arespectable bank-gentleman like you, to be seenspeaking to him publicly, you know."

Mr. Lorry reddened, as if he were consciousof having debated the point in his mind, andMr. Carton made his way to the outside ofthe bar. The way out of court lay in thatdirection, and Jerry followed him, all eyes, cars,and spikes.

" Mr. Dai-nay!"The prisoner came forward directly." You will naturally be anxious to hear of the

witness, Miss Manette. She will do very woll.You have seen the worst of her agitation.""

" I am deeply sorry to have been the cause ofit. Could you tell her so for 'mcf with myfervent acknowledgments ?" ' 4

* " Yes, I could. I wfll, if you ask it."J('Mr. Carton's manner was so careless as" to^be

almost insolent. He stobd,! half turned' fromthe prisoner, lounging with his elbow against thebar. 1 0

"I do ask it. Accepi'my cordial thttnks.""What," said Carton; stilTonlyhalf turned

towards kirn, " do you 'expect, Mr. Darnay P"" The worst." '"It's the wisest''thing to expect, and the

likeliest. But I think their withdrawing is inyour favour."

Loitering on the way out of court not beingallowed, Jerry heard no more ; but left them—solike each other in feature, so unlike each other