Penny Dreadfuls, 1846 · page 56 of 399
The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 56: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Penny Dreadfuls, 1846. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
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nC = THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON, 49 tot ga = a — —~ = —— nr IA Ps - women od we ————ne S x, “f << 5 SIGs Kiko mate RS eS ’ A v . aonl’s, t 5 ‘i a - iS = toe . i i oe 1 —-_ ~~ —meomory exerted herself with all her energy, to fill up blani:s and bring vividly forward those reminis- cences that until this moment had been like dim and misty vapours floating before the mind’s eye:—he fixe his gaze intently on the past, until the feeblest glimmerings assumed a bolder,and more comprchensi- tle light ;—and by degrees the confusion of his ideas relative to his early being, yielded to something like order—so that he became enabled to fit incidents into their proper places, and even make some accurate cal- culations with regard to the dates of particular oc- currences. In a word, a light had streamed in upon his soul— illuminating many of the hitherto unexplored cells of hia memory,—giving significancy to recollections on which lie had never before paused to ponder, and in- vesting with importance various reminiscences that had not until this period engaged his serious attention. Naturally of a happy—cheerful disposition,—and intent on soaring aspirations relative to the future, rather than on speculations aud wanderings connected with the past,—he had never until now been struck with certain facts which, though having a dwelling- place in his memory, liad failed to occupy his medita- sions or excite any thing like suspicions in his mind. ¥0.59*",—Iirsrerres or LONDON. leh= SSS Rp gts a CAT ee. re 6 ee he BY Pad FS to m ye ms a o og aes 4 wa LY ae”, hes S ori i a ~ G7 } era es f — >. 7) Sy bs “ e a4 , Ea S97 FA = eg O's J ae — — — bad a omer Sn = a2 oe pag a ips ae = See ve = fur i a7 Ths ho >) Styrtrt~ TSS = STEN \) \.2 cae ie 4, \ thes =H hi\s TS sey EI pes eos Tts S fare — “tt i } \( | a SRA t} uli ; | But the incident of the day had set him to work, in the silence of his chamber and the depth of night, te call forth all those sleeping reminiscences—examine them one by one—connect them together—make them up as well as he could into a continuous history—and from the aggregate deduce a yaricty of truths in- timately regarding himself. All this was not done through any disrespect fur his mother or his father—any change of feeling in reference to them. No:—he loved them the more tenderly—the more fervently, now that he knew they were his parents, and not mere relations. But if he fell into the train of thought in which we now find him engaged, it was that he could no more help yielding to that current of reflections than a child could avoid being carried whirlingly along the rapids of the Canadian stream which had engulphied it. And now let us see into what connected form the meditations and recollections of Charles Uatfield had settled themselves? Seating lumself at the table, on which he leant his elbows, and supporting his head on his hands, in which he buried his face, he pondered in the ensuing manner .— “My earliest remembrances carry mo back to a CON (C DOO <S LL (SO)