Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 221: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SPRING-HEEL’D JACK: THE TERROR, OF LONDON. 3 si, .y sight of the soft earth should bring the recollec- tion of the truth to her mind. Unwittinely she suffered him to do so. “Where would you have me go to?” she asked. ‘* Home with me.” ‘Home !”’ she cried. And at the mention of that word the dull eye kindled for a moment, but the next it was leaden and lustreless as before. Grasper observed the sudden light, and re- solved to put a guard upon his words. He felt that the long-wished-for, long-sinned- for triumph was at hand, and he resolved not to lose it by word or deed. ‘You want me to save him,” he said, after a pause. “You can, and you will.” “To be sure [ will,” he replied. must come with me, and I will give you that which shall defeat his enemies. Come.” He drew her still further away from the “orave. ‘“ You promised to shield him from the conse- quences of his sin, and you will be true to your word. I know you will be true.” “Yes ; both to him and to you, Jane; for I know you love me,” said the artful and design- ing villain. “Come. I will be your friend— your protector. You do not fear me, do you?” “Oh, no!—oh, no! for you will be kind to me,” she said, turning her vacant gaze upon his bruised features. “And you will love me for that kindness, won't you, Jane?’ said the man; ‘for you have a grateful heart—a very grateful heart.”’ She smiled vacantly, and leaned her head upon his shoulder in reply to his question... The villain turned away his face to hide the look that rested upon his features. The malignant and triumphant expression of a fiend was there, glorying over a lost soul. All the vilest passions of his nature were pictured chere, and his heart bounded as he felt that now he could humble the proud woman who had defied him—that now she was powerless as a babe to resist his wicked schemes—that now he could avenge himself upon her for the scorn and loathing with which she had viewed him. | He resolved to place her in the first vehicle he met, and bear her -to his home, where his base soul resolved to be revenged for the punish- ment his cruelties, insults, and oppressions had brought upon him. Resistless and confiding as a babe, she suffered him to lead her alone to her destruction. ' Was there none to save her—none to shield her from a villain’s wiles—a witless wretch like her? Was there no power on earth to prevent the wicked work ?—no power to shield the inno- cent and punish the guilty ?- We shall see. CHAPTER LXXVII. THE MERCHANT AND THE MANTAC. Nieut had again thrown her sable mantle over the earth, and myriads of stars sparkled in the black canopy which hune like some huge spangled pall between earth and heaven, A ——— oo ee er - —_ “But you | 223 Day’s busy hum was hushed, and. toil-worn humanity had sought, its couch—sought. that rest so much needed to enable it once more. to erapple with the labours that produced its! food. The streets of the great metropolis were de- serted by all save the prowling birds of night, the canker-worms of society—the homeless, the outcasts, and the depraved. . The roll of the many vehicles which traverse the great metropolis during the day was no longer heard; the busy, jostling, ever surging crowd was dispersed,—the flood of light which beamed from the thousand of shop windows lit not up the deserted streets, and the shadows of the lamp-posts, like spectre sentinels, alone appeared to guard the giant highways of Lon- don. A hundred iron tongues had boomed forth the midnight hour; a hundred bells of various tones had proclaimed to thousands that another day had passed on its way to eternity— had proclaimed to the sick man, whose pangs kept him wakeful, that the sands in Time’s hour- class were swiftly running out, and that he was one day nearer the grave. To the strong and healthy it made known that nought could stay Time’s resistless strides, and that the hours were fast approaching . when health and strength would be but things of the past. Those iron tongues warned reckless youth to stay its mad career, and brought back to age the memories of days and nights of thoughtless pleasure—of hours wasted ‘that never could. be redeemed. : There is something solemn in the tones of those iron tongues, speaking in the still night, and echoing over a silent city ; for itis Time making his voice heard in square and alley, hovel and mansion—Time speaking to all classes alike. Yes, it is the voice of that fell destroyer of all things—of him who lays low the prince and peasant, who crumbles the stateliest edifice into dust, and scatters to the winds the ashes of | kings., *Tis the voice of him who laughs to scorn the ambition of the proud aspirants to fame ; who smiles in contempt at the sculptured mausoleum, and who, with his foot, erases from all recollections and records all things. It jis the voice of him who; was at the beginning, and will be at the end,—was at the creation of the world, and will be when chaos comes again. Time ! resistless, boundless, impenetrable Time ! And yet how tew give a thought to his warn- ing voice—how few are called from their thoughtless pleasures by those musical tones ! Truly, if all mankind could be brought to weigh gravely the warnings hourly given by those iron tongues, they would pause ere they sought the gratification of their pleasures and passion. ‘The course of the libertine would be stayed, sin would be unknown, and sorrow and shame exist but in words, and not, alas! as they do exist now—to such a degree as to fill our poorhouses, lunatic asylums, and gaols to over- flowing. But when the voice of Time’s' Master is treated with levity, no wonder that the voice of Time is unheeded. Had he who Jay back in a hackney coach, ep aGOMIGEDOO