The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

THE VAULT IN THE CHURCH 101 Carnabie, clerk and sexton of the parish church of Wood- bridge. It was about twelve o’clock at night — the very same night on which the incidents of the cobra occurred at the Princess Indora’s villa — that a man, rudely apparelled, and carrying a stick, which in reference to its dimensions might better be denominated a bludgeon, came wandering through the meadows which the river intersected after its sinuous course left the churchyard. It was a bright and beautiful night, — so bright indeed that print of a moderate size might have been read, but all along the river’s banks there was a mist, — very thin, however, and of fleecy whiteness. The man dragged himself on with the painfulness of one who was either in ill-health or else had travelled a considerable dis- tance. Yet he did not support himself on his stick; he for the most part kept it under his arm, or else every now and then took and flourished it with the vexation of a naturally savage disposition, or perhaps with the desire of meeting some one on whom, for predatory motives, it might be worth while to exercise his skill in wielding that formidable blud- geon. Perhaps, if we penetrate into the man’s thoughts, and follow their course somewhat, we may be enabled to ascer- tain the circumstances in which he is placed, and the readers will discover, if they have not already suspected, who he is. ‘‘ Well, I’m blessed if ever a respectable genelman found hisself in such a precious mess as I am in now, —nothink but the glory of having escaped out of the stone jug and knocked the turnkey on the head to cheer me up a bit. Here four days has gone since that there brilliant exploit on my part, and I’ve tramped a matter of a hundred mile, sneaking along like a half-starved dog; afeard every moment that some feller will tap me on the shoulder, saying, ‘ Now, then, Bar- ney, youre wanted.’ But arter all, it’s better to be free to wander through these here fields, even though I must pres- ently stretch myself under a hedge or creep into a barn, with the chance of being took up as a wagrant and sent to the mill as a rogue and waggabone, than to stop in Liverpool gaol with the certainty of dancing upon nothink. Well, this is a consolation, but I shouldn’t mind having summut more con- soling in the shape of a good hot supper and a jorum of grog. Four whole days and nights, living on charity, just what I could pick up at lonely cottages, and then only getting sum- CORnICLOOOKS (CO)