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 7 th edition I

Morgan & Mikhail’s

CLINICAL
ANESTHESIOLOGY
John F. Butterworth David C. Mackey John D. Wasnick

ir LANGE
 a LANGE medical book

Clinical
Morgan & Mikhail's

Anesthesiology S E V E N T H E D I T I O N

John F. Butterworth IV, MD

Former Professor and Chairman
Department of Anesthesiology
Virginia Commonwealth University School of Medicine
VCU Health System
Richmond,Virginia

David C. Mackey, MD
Professor
Department of Anesthesiology and Perioperative Medicine
University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center
Houston, Texas

John D. Wasnick, MD, MPH

Steven L. Berk Endowed Chair for Excellence in Medicine
Professor and Chair
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
School of Medicine
Lubbock, Texas

New York Chicago San Francisco Athens London Madrid Mexico City
Milan New Delhi Singapore Sydney Toronto
Copyright © 2022 by McGraw Hill LLC. All rights reserved. Except as
permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this
publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or
stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission
of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-26-047380-3
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Contents
Chapter Authors
Past Contributors
Foreword
Preface

1 The Practice of Anesthesiology

SECTION I Anesthetic Equipment & Monitors

2 The Operating Room Environment

3 Breathing Systems

4 The Anesthesia Workstation

5 Cardiovascular Monitoring

6 Noncardiovascular Monitoring

SECTION II Clinical Pharmacology

7 Pharmacological Principles
8 Inhalation Anesthetics

9 Intravenous Anesthetics
10 Analgesic Agents
11 Neuromuscular Blocking Agents

12 Cholinesterase Inhibitors & Other Pharmacological

Antagonists to Neuromuscular Blocking Agents

13 Anticholinergic Drugs
14 Adrenergic Agonists & Antagonists
15 Hypotensive Agents

16 Local Anesthetics
17 Adjuncts to Anesthesia

SECTION III Anesthetic Management

18 Preoperative Assessment, Premedication, & Perioperative

Documentation

19 Airway Management

20 Cardiovascular Physiology & Anesthesia

21 Anesthesia for Patients with Cardiovascular Disease
22 Anesthesia for Cardiovascular Surgery
Nirvik Pal, MD
23 Respiratory Physiology & Anesthesia
24 Anesthesia for Patients with Respiratory Disease

25 Anesthesia for Thoracic Surgery

26 Neurophysiology & Anesthesia
27 Anesthesia for Neurosurgery
28 Anesthesia for Patients with Neurological & Psychiatric
Diseases
29 Anesthesia for Patients with Neuromuscular Disease

30 Kidney Physiology & Anesthesia

31 Anesthesia for Patients with Kidney Disease
32 Anesthesia for Genitourinary Surgery
33 Hepatic Physiology & Anesthesia
Michael Ramsay, MD, FRCA
34 Anesthesia for Patients with Liver Disease
Michael Ramsay, MD, FRCA

35 Anesthesia for Patients with Endocrine Disease

36 Anesthesia for Ophthalmic Surgery
37 Anesthesia for Otolaryngology–Head & Neck Surgery
38 Anesthesia for Orthopedic Surgery
Edward R. Mariano, MD, MAS, FASA, and Jody C. Leng,
MD, MS

39 Anesthesia for Trauma & Emergency Surgery

40 Maternal & Fetal Physiology & Anesthesia
Michael A. Frölich, MD, MS
41 Obstetric Anesthesia
Michael A. Frölich, MD, MS
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42 Pediatric Anesthesia
Seamas Dore, MD
43 Geriatric Anesthesia

44 Ambulatory & Non–Operating Room Anesthesia

SECTION IV Regional Anesthesia & Pain

Management

45 Spinal, Epidural, & Caudal Blocks

46 Peripheral Nerve Blocks

John J. Finneran IV, MD and Brian M. Ilfeld, MD, MS
(Clinical Investigation)

47 Chronic Pain Management

Bruce M. Vrooman, MD, MS, and Kimberly M. Youngren,
MD
48 Enhanced Recovery Protocols & Optimization of
Perioperative Outcomes
Gabriele Baldini, MD, MSc

SECTION V Perioperative & Critical Care Medicine

49 Management of Patients with Fluid & Electrolyte

Disturbances

50 Acid–Base Management

51 Fluid Management & Blood Component Therapy

52 Thermoregulation, Hypothermia, & Malignant Hyperthermia
 53 Nutrition in Perioperative & Critical Care

54 Anesthetic Complications
55 Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation
George W. Williams, MD, FASA, FCCM, FCCP
56 Postanesthesia Care

57 Common Clinical Concerns in Critical Care Medicine

Pranav Shah, MD
58 Inhalation Therapy & Mechanical Ventilation in the PACU &
ICU
59 Safety, Quality, & Performance Improvement

Index
Chapter Authors
Gabriele Baldini, MD, MSc
Associate Professor
Medical Director, Montreal General Hospital Preoperative Centre
Department of Anesthesia
McGill University Health Centre
Montreal General Hospital
Montreal, Quebec, Canada

John F. Butterworth IV, MD

Former Professor and Chairman
Department of Anesthesiology
Virginia Commonwealth University School of Medicine
VCU Health System
Richmond, Virginia

Seamas Dore, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
Virginia Commonwealth University
School of Medicine, Richmond, Virginia

John J. Finneran IV, MD

Associate Professor of Anesthesiology
University of California, San Diego

Michael A. Frölich, MD, MS

Tenured professor
Department of Anesthesiology andPerioperative Medicine
University of Alabama at Birmingham
Birmingham, Alabama
Brian M. Ilfeld, MD, MS (Clinical Investigation)
Professor of Anesthesiology, In Residence
Division of Regional Anesthesia and Pain Medicine
Department of Anesthesiology
University of California at San Diego
San Diego, California

Jody C. Leng, MD, MS

Department of Anesthesiology and Perioperative Care Service, Virginia
Palo Alto Health Care System, Palo Alto, California
Department of Anesthesiology, Perioperative and Pain Medicine, Stanford
University School of Medicine, Stanford, California

David C. Mackey, MD
Professor
Department of Anesthesiology and Perioperative Medicine
University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center
Houston, Texas

Edward R. Mariano, MD, MAS

Professor
Department of Anesthesiology, Perioperative & Pain Medicine
Stanford University School of Medicine
Chief, Anesthesiology & Perioperative Care Service
Associate Chief of Staff, Inpatient Surgical Services
Veterans Affairs Palo Alto Health Care System
Palo Alto, California

Nirvik Pal, MD
Associate Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
Virginia Commonwealth University
School of Medicine, Richmond, Virginia

Michael Ramsay, MD, FRCA

Chairman, Department of Anesthesiology
Baylor University Medical Center
Baylor Scott and White Health Care System
Professor
Texas A&M University Health Care Faculty
Dallas, Texas

Pranav Shah, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
VCU School of Medicine
Richmond, Virginia

Bruce M. Vrooman, MD, MS, FIPP

Associate Professor of Anesthesiology
Geisel School of Medicine at Dartmouth
Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center
Lebanon, New Hampshire

John D. Wasnick, MD, MPH

Steven L. Berk Endowed Chair for Excellence in Medicine
Professor and Chair
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
School of Medicine
Lubbock, Texas

George W. Williams, MD, FASA, FCCP

Associate Professor of Anesthesiology and Surgery & Vice Chair for Critical
Care Medicine, Department of Anesthesiology
Medical Co-Director, Surgical Intensive Care Unit- Lyndon B. Johnson
General Hospital
Medical Director, Donor Specialty Care Unit- Memorial Hermann Hospital
TMC
Chair, American Society of Anesthesiologists Committee on Critical Care
Medicine

Kimberly Youngren, MD
Clinical Assistant Professor of Anesthesiology
Geisel School of Medicine
Program Director, Pain Medicine Fellowship
Dartmouth Hitchcock. Lebanon
Past Contributors
Kallol Chaudhuri, MD, PhD
Professor
Department of Anesthesia
West Virginia University School of Medicine
Morgantown, West Virginia

Swapna Chaudhuri, MD, PhD

Professor
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Lydia Conlay, MD
Professor
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Johannes De Riese, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Seamas Dore, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
Virginia Commonwealth University
School of Medicine, Richmond, Virginia
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Suzanne N. Northcutt, MD
Associate Professor
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Aschraf N. Farag, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Pranav Shah, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
VCU School of Medicine
Richmond, Virginia

Robert Johnston, MD
Associate Professor
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Sabry Khalil, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Sanford Littwin, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
St. Luke’s Roosevelt Hospital Center and Columbia University College of
Physicians and Surgeons
New York, New York

Alina Nicoara, MD
Associate Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
Duke University Medical Center
Durham, North Carolina

Nirvik Pal, MD
Associate Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
Virginia Commonwealth University
School of Medicine, Richmond, Virginia

Nitin Parikh, MD
Associate Professor
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Cooper W. Phillips, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
UT Southwestern Medical Center
Dallas, Texas

Elizabeth R. Rivas, MD
Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesiology
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Bettina Schmitz, MD, PhD

Associate Professor
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Christiane Vogt-Harenkamp, MD, PhD

Assistant Professor
Department of Anesthesia
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center
Lubbock, Texas

Denise J. Wedel, MD
Professor of Anesthesiology
Mayo Clinic
Rochester, Minnesota
Foreword
It hardly seems any time since we had the 6th edition of this popular textbook
of anesthesia. Yet the world has greatly changed and so has the field of
anesthesia. The authors, John Butterworth, David Mackey and John Wasnick,
have maintained the same layout with Key Concepts beginning each chapter
in order to focus the reader’s attention on the important points. They have
updated chapters and references notably those on enhanced recovery after
anesthesia (ERAS), and cardiovascular anesthesia, with increasing emphasis
on percutaneous valvular replacement.
Clinical Anesthesiology is one of the best-selling textbooks of anesthesia
around the world. The last edition was translated into 10 languages. It is
popular with anesthesia residents, nurse anesthetists and trainees
everywhere. It is not meant to be all encompassing but to provide a solid
basic knowledge of the specialty on which one can effectively build. The
authors have succeeded in their objectives.
Congratulations to the authors and editors on a very fine textbook.

Angela Enright OC, MB, FRCPC

Former President World Federation of Societies
of Anesthesiologists
Preface
The past few years have been busy times for health care providers in general
and anesthesia personnel in particular, thanks to waves of corona virus
variants and the continuing evolution of our field. The former necessitated
new approaches to respiratory failure. The latter has led to the need for this
7th edition of this textbook.
The textbook reflect the continuing importance of enhanced recovery after
surgery (ERAS), critical care of the surgical patient, pain management and
imaging in our field.
We have done our best to eliminate unnecessary references. We assume
the intelligence of our readers who we know are fluent with internet search
engines and PubMed.
Once again we provide a listing of Key Concepts at the beginning of each
chapter and include images and artwork when needed.
We thank the sharp-eyed readers who notified us about typographical
errors in the 6th edition. We hope that you will be equally vigilant as you
read the 7th edition. Please email us at [email protected] if you
suspect an error so that we can correct them in subsequent printings.

John F. Butterworth, IV, MD

David C. Mackey, MD
John D. Wasnick, MD, MPH
CHAPTER 1
The Practice of Anesthesiology

KEY CONCEPTS

In 1846, Oliver Wendell Holmes was the first to propose the use of the
term anesthesia to denote the state that incorporates amnesia,
analgesia, and narcosis to make painless surgery possible.
Ether was used for frivolous purposes (“ether frolics”), but it was not
used as an anesthetic agent in humans until 1842 when Crawford W.
Long and William E. Clark independently used it on patients. On
October 16, 1846, William T.G. Morton conducted the first
publicized demonstration of general anesthesia for surgical operation
using ether.
The original application of modern local anesthesia is credited to Carl
Koller, at the time a house officer in ophthalmology, who
demonstrated topical anesthesia of the eye with cocaine in 1884.
Curare greatly facilitated tracheal intubation and muscle relaxation
during surgery. For the first time, operations could be performed on
patients without the requirement that relatively deep levels of inhaled
general anesthetic be used to produce muscle relaxation.
John Snow, often considered the father of the anesthesia specialty, was
the first to scientifically investigate ether and the physiology of
general anesthesia.
The “captain of the ship” doctrine, which held the surgeon responsible
for every aspect of the patient’s perioperative care (including
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 But we should bear in mind that he was an Englishman; had he
been a German probably the case would have assumed quite a
different aspect.
In referring to the Coram-street case, the Cologne Gazette said at
the time that the English sympathy with Dr. Hessel had taken too
material a shape to be altogether appropriate.
Sympathy in itself was merited, but, beyond that of repayment of
costs and free fare to Brazil, no pecuniary recompense was due to
the clergyman.
We expect most of our readers will endorse the opinion expressed
by the German journalist.
Peace was never much of a reader at any period of his life, but
during his incarceration he relieved the tedium of the hours by
perusing the volumes he had selected from those brought him from
the prison library.
After the Governor’s diurnal visit all the prisoners were called out,
and marched off into a stone yard enclosed in iron bars on two sides
—​on the other by stone walls.
In this place Peace had an opportunity of having a look at his
fellow-prisoners.
All grades of society were represented by the motley group, from
the City merchant to the wretched street Arab.
For nearly an hour did the prisoners go round the yard in regular
order, much after the fashion of soldiers. Two warders were there to
keep order, and interdict any talking between the prisoners.
On certain days in the week the detectives and warders from
other gaols came to take stock, and see if they could recognise any
of the newcomers.
 Sometimes one would be called into the corner of the yard to
undergo a closer scrutiny, and it was amusing to see how coy and
bashful the hardened offenders looked while this ceremony was
taking place; acquaintances were claimed that were by no means
cordially reciprocated.
In some cases a photograph was produced by a detective and
compared to its living prototype.
The moment the detectives came into the yard those whom they
sought would either slink past in hopes of not being recognised, or
else assume such a look of injured innocence that they thereby
betrayed themselves at once. Many an “old bird” was detected by
thus overdoing it.
It is customary for the detectives, before entering the yard, to
have a good survey of the prisoners exercising from some unseen
corner. They then mark the bearing and look of the prisoners, before
they are aware that the detectives are near; on entering they note
any change in their demeanour.
The new man—​the greenhorn—​is not aware that officers are
present, for they are invariably dressed in plain clothes, but the old
hand knows full well the purport of their visit, and finds it difficult to
maintain his composure under such trying circumstances.
Mr. Green unfortunately attracted the attention of a tall, military-
looking man, who claimed acquaintance with him, but the young
gentleman’s memory was at fault; he could not and would not own
to a little affair which had taken place some eighteen months back.
“I assure you, upon my honour,” said Green, “you are quite
mistaken—​you are, indeed. I never was at Warwick in my life.”
The detective smiled, shook his head, and passed on.
The gipsy did not appear to be recognised by anyone; neither
was Peace.
 Certain days in the week were visiting days. Peace was looking
forward to a visit from his mother, to whom he had written. She
presented herself at the prison on the next visiting day, and was
conducted by a turnkey to that part of the prison where the inmates
are permitted to see their relatives, who have to converse with them
through wire gratings, with a space of some three or four feet
between them, in which sits a warder.
The visiting goes on for an hour or more. Those prisoners who
have friends come to see them stand in a row against these railings,
and their friends opposite. As a matter of course, everyone is talking
at once with his own friends, and the consequence is there is a
constant clatter kept up during the whole of the time.
All are too interested in their own affairs to take any notice of
what is going on between his neighbour and friend.
Peace exhorted his mother to procure the services of a counsel
whom he named, and in whom he had great confidence.
“Be of good cheer, my dear boy,” said his parent, “I have already
seen the gentleman you name, and he has promised to do his best
for you.”
“That old catamaran will swear anything, I feel assured of that,”
cried Peace. “But he’ll be able to bowl her out if you tell him what
sort of customer he has to deal with—​a she dragon, a very devil,
that’s what she is.”
“Don’t lose your temper, Charlie. It’s no use doing that now you’re
behind the bars.”
“I should like to—”
“Hush! don’t go on so—​be patient,” interrupted his mother.
“There, keep up your spirits; all will be well, I dare say.”
“They treat everybody in this place as if they were convicted
felons.”
 “It’s a burning shame, that’s what it is, but it’s no use making any
complaint. If a fellow does that he gets worse served. I’ve done
nothing against the laws, but it makes no difference. The biggest
rogue gets the best of it in places of this sort.”
“Well, it is only for a short time; the sessions will soon be on, and
there you’ll have justice done you, let us hope.”
“Umph! Hope told a flattering tale, mother. But, hark ye! I want to
see the lawyer to give him the necessary instructions for preparing
my defence. Do you hear? I must see him.”
“I’ve arranged all that. He will be here in a day or two’s time.
Don’t fret or worry yourself; we are doing all we can for you.”
“I have no doubt of that; but it’s hard to be cooped up here.”
While this conversation had been taking place there was a
hubbub of voices from the other prisoners and their friends.
Interviews of this nature are in many cases painful in the
extreme, especially when the friends or relatives of a prisoner are
introduced into the interior of a gaol for the first time.
At the expiration of the time appointed for these visits, Peace and
his companions returned to their respective cells.
Soon after this he had an interview with his solicitor, to whom he
explained the whole of the circumstances connected with the alleged
attempted burglary at the “Gothic Cottage.”
His legal adviser took notes for the preparation of his brief, and
told his client that the line of defence he purposed adopting would in
all probability be deemed an answer to the charge, and that he
looked forward with confidence to an acquittal, unless some further
incriminating evidence was presented in the course of the trial.
“You have all the facts, sir,” returned Peace, “but of course there
is no telling what that infamous old woman will swear.”
 “Oh! we don’t intend letting her have it all her own way,”
observed the lawyer. “She’ll be subject to a searching cross-
examination.”
Peace was in much better spirits after the interview with his
lawyer, who had said, in the course of conversation, that it was as
trumpery a case as he had ever had to do with.
The day of trial at length arrived. The prosecutrix and her
witnesses were in court when Peace was placed in the dock.
After a few preparatory remarks from the counsel for the
prosecution, Mrs. Pocklington was sworn.
She deposed to the facts already known to the reader, her
evidence being in substance much the same as that given before the
bench of magistrates.
Mr. Serjeant Jawkins rose and proceeded to cross-examine the
prosecutrix.
“When did you become aware of the fact that a burglar—​as you
are pleased to call the prisoner—​was endeavouring to effect an
entrance into your house?”
“When I opened the drawing-room window.”
“And pray, madam, what was your reason for opening your
window?”
“I heard a scraping noise at the front door, and suspected there
was something amiss.”
“And you saw the prisoner at the door of the house?”
“Yes.”
“Which he was endeavouring to open?”
“Certainly—​so I imagined.”
 “We don’t want to know what you imagined. Will you swear that
he was endeavouring to open it? Now be careful in your answers.”
“It appeared to me that he was doing so. The door was partly
open.”
“It was a dark night, was it not?”
“Rather dark.”
“And pray how long did you look at the prisoner before you struck
him with the broom?”
“Oh! not long.”
“I should suppose not; but can you give us an idea how long it
was—​five minutes or five seconds, or more?”
“It was not five minutes.”
“Nearer five seconds—​eh?”
“I can’t say exactly. It was not long.”
“And so, Mrs. Pocklington, you deemed it expedient to act
promptly. You commenced a most vigorous assault upon the
prisoner without stopping to inquire whether he was a thief or a
visitor?”
“I was sure he was not a visitor.”
“How could you be sure? Did you see his face when you first
struck him?”
“No, his back was towards me.”
“Is it your practice to assault persons with a house-broom?”
“I object to that question,” said the counsel for the prosecution,
rising and interrupting his learned brother.
They are all brothers in a court of law.
 “Upon what grounds, brother Matchley?” inquired Serjeant
Jawkins.
“As irrelevant.”
“I hope his lordship will rule that my questions are relevant.”
The judge signified that question might be put.
It was again repeated.
The witness said sharply—
“No, it is not my practice to do so.”
“Then it is fair to assume that this is an exceptional case,” said
Serjeant Jawkins.
“You have not told us, Mrs. Pocklington, if you heard any one
calling out or shouting before you opened the window and
commenced hostilities?”
“I did not hear any one call out.”
“You are quite sure you did not hear a man’s voice before you
discovered the prisoner at the door of your house?”
“I did not hear any voice.”
“Is the prisoner a stranger to you?”
“I never saw him before to my knowledge.”
“Is he also a stranger to your maid-servant?”
“I believe so.”
“Really, brother Jawkins, I think you are out of order. How is the
witness to know whether he is a stranger or not to the servant? Ask
the young woman herself when she is in the box.”
 “I thank you for your suggestion, brother Matchley. It would be
the best course. I have no further questions to put to the present
witness.”
Mrs. Pocklington retired, and the servant-girl was placed in the
box. After she had deposed to facts connected with the case, she
underwent a severe cross-examination, which took a humorous turn,
eliciting laughter in the body of the court, which was, of course,
immediately suppressed.
When the examination of the police was concluded, Mr. Serjeant
Jawkins rose for the defence. He said—
“My Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, I must confess that this case
appears to me singularly weak, as far as the evidence for the
prosecution is concerned—​in point of fact, there is no proof
whatever that the prisoner contemplated committing a burglary. The
pugnacious prosecutrix came to that conclusion at the outset, and
she has done her best to substantiate the charge, which, however, I
submit, is in no way proved. It is my duty to inform you that the
prisoner declares that he had no felonious intention whatever.
According to his statement, he had, on the night in question, an
appointment with a young woman to whom he is paying some
attention. They walked about together for an hour or so, and he was
led to believe that she was a domestic in service in one of the
houses in the village. After he had parted with her he went to the
“Running Horse,” a well-known public-house in the neighbourhood,
where he had some ale and a game of skittles. He remained at this
place about an hour and a half, or it might be nearly two hours. He
then left, and bent his steps homewards. As he was proceeding
along he, according to his statement, observed the door of the
prosecutrix’s residence partially open. He entered the garden, went
up to the door, and found it fastened with a chain, which he
endeavoured to slip back, being under the impression at the time
that his “young woman” was inside. He called her by name several
times, but received no answer. While thus occupied he all of a
sudden received a blow on the back. He turned round, and was
struck again on the head. It is not at all surprising to any of us that
he should lose his temper. After the infliction of a third blow from his
female assailant he naturally enough became furious. He wrested
the broom from her hand, and strove to get at her by springing on
the balcony. Would he have done this if his intentions had been
felonious? Not at all likely, I should say. He was then placed hors de
combat by another blow from the housemaid’s mop. A very little
more and the prisoner would have been killed outright, and you
would have been spared the trouble of trying him on the present
charge. Gentlemen, I submit to your consideration all these
circumstances, which require your consideration. I do not believe for
one moment, when you have weighed over the matter in your
minds, you will ruin the prospects of this young man—​blast his
reputation, it may be, for life—​by returning a verdict of guilty upon
such a groundless and trumpery charge. There is no proof of
felonious attempt—​no proof whatever that he was actuated by any
other instinct than curiosity in being at the door of the prosecutrix’s
house. I admit that he acted in a most imprudent and indiscreet
manner—​so have many other young men under similar
circumstances—​but I emphatically deny that he had burglarious
intentions.”
“Burglars’ implements were found upon him, you should
remember, Brother Jawkins,” observed the judge.
“So the police aver, my lord,” returned the advocate. “Indeed,
they are so prone to put the worst construction in cases of this sort,
that it would not surprise me if they called a toothpick or a pencil
case burglars’ tools. The prisoner denies this. He asserts that the
Implements found on him are nothing more or less than tools which
he uses in his business.”
“What is his trade, then?” inquired a juryman.
“From what I have been informed I am led to the conclusion that
he is a sort of handy man at two or three trades—​he has worked as
a smith, he has turned his attention to mechanical appliances, and is
the inventor of a crane of a novel description. This is his rough
draught of its form.”
Mr. Serjeant Jawkins held forth a large mechanical drawing, which
the judge and jury understood as much about as they did of the
Sanscrit language.
Nevertheless the diagram had its desired effect.
“It is quite clear,” said Serjeant Jawkins in continuation, “that no
robbery has been committed. Nothing has been stolen from the
house of the prosecutrix, and I maintain that it is equally clear that
no robbery was contemplated. The prisoner has been roughly and, I
may say, unmercifully used by the pugnacious Mrs. Pocklington and
her valiant servant-maid. But, hardly as he has been dealt with by
the relentless prosecutrix, he will, I feel assured, be recompensed by
an acquittal from the hands of a jury of his countrymen.”
Mr. Serjeant Jawkins sat down. He had done his best for Peace,
whom he had defended with wonderful skill.
The Judge summed up in a few words. He said, after a review of
the evidence, if the jury had a doubt as to the prisoner’s intentions,
they were bound to give him the benefit of it.
They returned a verdict of not guilty without leaving the box.
“I knew Jawkins would pull you through,” whispered Peace’s
attorney, as his client entered the prisoners’ waiting-room. “You may
think yourself lucky, young man.”
“I do; and am very thankful to you for suggesting the line of
defence,” returned our hero. “Believe me, I shall be for ever
grateful.”
Many of the other prisoners who were tried in the same court
were not so fortunate.
 Mr. Green was not successful in imposing upon the judge and
jury. Unfortunately for this young gentleman, he was “well known to
the police.” More than one constable came into court to claim his
acquaintance.
Mr. Green’s recollection failed him. He did not remember to have
met the constables before. He put on a look of injured innocence,
and again burst into tears. But all this display of grief and contrition
had but little weight with the court.
Mr. Green was found guilty.
He was sentenced to one month’s imprisonment with hard labour.
He cried as if his heart was about to break.
The gipsy was tried on the same day as Peace and Mr. Green.
It was not clearly established that he had stolen the horse, but it
was proved that he had taken it away from its owner’s stable, and
rode off with it.
His defence was that he intended to return the animal, but he
utterly failed to establish this satisfactorily.
He was found guilty. But as it was his first offence, or, more
properly speaking, the first time he had been convicted, he was
sentenced to six months only.
“It’s a lottery, quite a lottery,” observed the gipsy to Mr. Green.
“I never thought you would get more than me.”
“I’ve been very unfortunate,” returned his youthful companion.
“It’s those bobbies as did it. It warn’t of no manner of use my
coming the good boy business while they were in court. But I say,
old man, do you know your friend is dead?”
“What friend do yer mean?” inquired the gipsy. “I didn’t know as I
had any.”
 “Why him as interrupted you in the lock-up.”
“Dead—​is he? Poor chap.”
It was true enough. Two days before the assizes commenced the
ill-fated man breathed his last. He was born and bred a gentleman,
was of an ancient and honourable family, but in early life was
afflicted with a fatal propensity for gambling and betting.
All the years of his life were wasted, his moral principles were
undermined. He was, of course, a prey to sharpers.
He became reckless, lost his status in society, and ultimately, in
the dire straits in which he found himself, had recourse to forgery.
His family, to save his reputation, paid the forged bills.
Nevertheless, the man could not turn aside from his evil course. He
had got into a vortex, a sort of maelstrôm, from which he could not
release himself. His end we have already chronicled.
It is not easy to estimate the pernicious effects of betting in this
country.
It affects all classes, impoverishes the wealthy, makes criminals of
the middle and lower classes of the community, fills our gaols, and
is, in point of fact, the ruin of scores of thousands of persons, who,
but for this fatal propensity, would, in all probability, have continued
to be respectable and honourable members of society.
Nothing tends to demoralise the youth of this country compared
to the practice of betting.
It is quite time the Legislature should take active measures to
suppress, as far as lies in their power, this widespread evil.
 CHAPTER XIX.

PEACE’S PROVINCIAL TOUR—​THE “OLD

CARVED LION.”

We now arrive at another phase in the history of the criminal

whose career we are shadowing forth. Peace, after his release,
returned to his native town, and resided for many months with his
mother.
To all appearance he was a good citizen, and an industrious man
enough, who managed to earn sufficient for his own requirements.
It was not known in Sheffield that he had “been in trouble.” Those
who were interested in his welfare were in great hopes that he
would turn from dishonest courses and taste the sweets of honest
industry.
Certainly for a long time after the “Gothic Cottage” affair he was
more circumspect in his conduct and general behaviour. For the
greater portion of his life he seems to have lived on the border line
of respectability and decent dulness, and at times appeared to settle
down to an honest life.
But he deliberately chose evil for good—​the old craving for
adventure and excitement would come over him again, and he
would plunge headlong into the realms of desperate lawlessness to
re-emerge shortly in the daylight as a quiet and steady young
member of society.
 His single-handed self-reliant way of going to work is perhaps the
most notable of his characteristics.
He trusted to himself and no one else.
Whilst this saved him from the danger of weak and treacherous
accomplices, it made much larger demands upon his audacity and
self-possession.
Thus it came to pass that thousands for whom a vulgar career of
crime and violence has no attractions are compelled to feel some
interest in a man who is almost unique in the annals of crime.
It is not so much, however, for his commanding superiority in any
one department of criminal activity as for the rare combination of his
various talents that Charles Peace commands attention.
He was a veritable genius, who reached a high level of excellence
in many branches of his profession.
There have been more daring highway robberies and more
extensive burglaries than any which he is known to have committed.
But few men have caused more widespread terror, or created
more profound attention by the suddenness and the brilliant success
of their exploits.
It would be a great misfortune if the boldness and fearlessness of
this bad man were to blind even the most thoughtless to the utter
worthlessness of his character.
In shadowing forth his lawless career we are under the
impression that it will act as a warning to those who peruse these
pages.
It will prove beyond all question the truth of the axiom, “That a
life of crime is always a life of care.”
In nothing does his baseness more transparently appear than in
his miserable apologies and self-justifications with which his religious
experiences are interlarded.
Assuming, as we are anxious to do, that these pious utterances of
his later days are not wilfully insincere, they nevertheless betray an
utter moral blindness.
He was very willing to call his past life wicked in general terms,
but for his worst transgressions he had some extenuating plea,
which destroyed the validity of his assumed penitence.
If he could have been turned loose upon society again, one can
hardly venture to hope that his future life would have corresponded
with his edifying conduct in gaol.
The curiosity of the public to know all about Peace and his life
need not be regarded with too despondent an eye.
If any adventurous and high-spirited youth sees anything to
admire in our hero’s career he will do well to remember that the
grandest successes of a criminal course are at the best but wretched
failures.
Peace had probably a far smoother life than most offenders of
equal activity.
Yet he spent some considerable part of his time in prison, and in
the full noontide of his prosperity hardly reaped as much fruit from
his misapplied talents as those talents would have yielded in any
honest walk of life.
Peace’s strongly marked preference for the revolver was fatal to
the picturesque development of his talents.
The truth is, that the particular offender had no special affection
for blood-shedding.
Strong as were the fascinations of a criminal life, he chiefly had
an eye to business.
 In the heat of passion, or with a view to save himself, he was
thoroughly unscrupulous about taking life, but he was not anxious to
compromise himself by any needless slaughter.
Yet for coolness, promptitude, and self-reliance he has seldom
been surpassed.
He never suffered himself to be betrayed into any acts of
overwhelming fatuity and oversight such as those which have often
led the most skilful to their ruin.
In him there was an assemblage of qualities such as one man
rarely possesses.
Peace took great interest in carving, architecture, and works of
art of every conceivable description. While at Sheffield, during the
few months he remained a decent member of society, he paid
frequent visits to the museums and other institutions, and he
promised to compete for the prize in wood-carving in the
forthcoming exhibition.
But the old feeling for change and adventure came over him, and
he determined upon leaving his native town for a while. Business
was not very brisk with him at this time—​so he thought it advisable
to shift his quarters.
He had purchased a number of cheap, showy, attractive-looking
prints, together with a large collection of photographs, many of
which were copyright, being reproductions from well-known pictures.
In addition to these he had a number of other photographs,
which it would not have been advisable for anyone to sell, seeing
that they rendered the vendor liable to imprisonment under Lord
Campbell’s Act.
But this Peace did not much care about.
He felt assured that he was well able to evade the law.
 Having renewed his hawker’s licence and packed up his goods in
as small a compass as possible he bade adieu to his mother and
friends at Sheffield and set out on his pilgrimage.
A wandering life was consonant to his general disposition and
temperament.
Shouldering his pack with his stout oaken stick and his dog, “Gip,”
he commenced his journey.
It was only spring time, and he had the best part of the year
before him. He paid a visit to Worksop, Huddersfield, Marborough,
and Barnsley, calling at several hamlets and villages of lesser note.
He made a long stay in the last-named place; he met there a
young man who was a “nigger delineator,” as they term themselves
in the advertisements in a certain theatrical paper. Peace found in
this person a congenial spirit, and they took a commodious room in
the town and gave “nigger” entertainments three nights in the week
—​namely, Saturdays, Mondays, and Wednesdays. The two first were
the most profitable, the working class being usually more flush of
money.
Peace and his brother artist were tolerably successful, playing on
most occasions to a small profit. They would in all probability have
continued these performances had they not been brought to a close
by Peace’s companion signing articles of engagement with a troupe
who visited the town on a provincial tour.
Peace, therefore, left and proceeded to the next town with his
wares.
In some of the places he visited he was tolerably successful. He
sold many prints and photos, and realised a fair profit.
Sometimes he put up at a roadside inn, while at others he took
lodgings in a quiet, respectable cottage for a few days.
 At this time his life could not be considered in any way
disreputable—​he was sober and industrious.
It is true that during his peregrinations he was in no way
particular about disposing of prints and photos of a contraband
nature, but he used a great amount of discretion in his dealing in
goods of this description.
It was towards the close of a bright autumnal day that he arrived
wearied and footsore in sight of a roadside inn, which stood half-way
between two villages in Yorkshire. The sign of this wayside inn was
the “Old Carved Lion.”
Over the facia of the establishment was a wooden effigy of the
king of beasts. Who carved this hideous animal it is not possible to
say—​it was about on a par with others one sees in houses of public
entertainment in the metropolis and elsewhere.
About thirty yards off the “Old Carved Lion” stood a handpost,
with its four white arms pointing down the four cross roads.
Some few years before there had been only one handpost within
four miles of this spot, and that so defaced and overgrown with
moss that it was impossible to decipher a letter.
But fortunately, a nobleman who lived in the neighbourhood
happened to lose his way among the dark woods which encircled it,
and did not arrive home till his soup was ice, his fish rags, and his
sirloin of beef a cinder.
An order was consequently passed by the bench that handposts
should be erected in all the parishes under their surveillance at every
cross road and turning—​the expenses to be defrayed by the funds of
the respective parishes.
In rural districts, before any improvements are permitted to be
made or nuisances removed, a human being must die or a person of
note be inconvenienced.
 In the days of the defaced handpost, before railways were in
vogue, the “Old Carved Lion” had been a large coaching hotel,
furnished with an unbounded amount of accommodation for man
and beast.
At the time we make its acquaintance the landlord had turned
small farmer, and had aggrandised his stables into barns, and
degraded his spare bedrooms into lumber garrets.
However, the good, dry skittle ground still remained, and the hum
of voices and incessant rumbling from within proved that this
scientific game did not lack supporters.
It was a low cattle-shed kind of place, with benches down the
walls and at either end.
On the opposite corners were two small tables, fitted with mugs
and pipes.
A portly individual in a white apron filled up the doorway as Peace
arrived in front of the old village inn, in the front of which was a
horse-trough, a large chestnut tree, and a post bearing at its top the
sign of the house.
“Good day, friend,” said Peace to the host of the “Carved Lion.”
“I’m wearied and footsore, and crave a little rest and refreshment.”
“Both are at your service, neighbour,” returned the landlord,
making way for the newcomer by withdrawing into the bar.
Peace entered the parlour, and in a few minutes a mug of ale,
together with some cold meat and pickles, were served him, which
he devoured with evident relish.
Meanwhile those in the skittle ground were busily occupied.
“Come on, lads, another ge-ame!” cried a lusty, young fellow, with
his sleeves rolled up to his shoulder. “Come on, mates, one more. Ye
doant mean to say ye ha don yet.”
 “I doant know ’xactly what to say about it,” replied a middle-aged
man, who was also in his shirt sleeves. “I tell ye what it be, ye a
deal too good for me, a doubt.”
“Noa—​noa, come on,” returned the other, with the mellifluity of a
Whitechapel skittle sharper. “Never fear, guv’nor, luck will be sure to
change. Doant be so quavery mavery over it. Let’s have one more
pint for I’m jolly dry.”
“You start first, then.”
“Get out of my way some of you chaps, and make yourselves look
less,” said the young man, in a voice prophetic of victory.
Taking from the ground a wooden missile in the shape of a
cheese, he poised it between his fingers as if it had been a pebble,
and, casting the whole weight of his body, pitched the ball towards
the upright pins.
It struck the front pin on the left shoulder, and, pirouetting round
the ring, knocked all down.
“Brayvo—​brayvo!” cried the rustics, knocking their great mugs
against the table. “A floorer.”
“That was a squiver,” said one of them. “Nothing like a flat ball to
tiddle ’em over.”
“Fust hoss to Bill,” cried another, chalking down one on the table.
“You’ve got your Sunday play on to-day,” said the other, as he
took the ball in his hands.
His throw was less fortunate.
Only one pin fell, which, after rolling among the others and
creating a false interest for awhile, calmly subsided in the dust.
“There, I give ’ee the game and the pot. There’s no tackling ye at
skittles to-night, that’s sartin; and I can’t make no how of it either.”
 “Who’s next—​next?” cried the victor. “Will e’er a one of ye have a
shy for a pot, or wont ye? I’ll tak two to one I gets the three fronts,
and I’ll take it even I floors ’em.”
“I’ll back Billy agen ’ee for a gallon, if ye like,” cried a man.
“Nay, nay,” cried a loud but not inharmonious voice; “if old Nick
were here——”
“Hoosh! hoosh!” shouted out half a dozen of the throng.
“Who cares about your hooshing? I beant afeared of no mortal
thing; no immortal, for the matter of that; neither man, beast, or
sperrit.”
The voice came from a young woman, who was finely, though
perhaps almost too lustily, formed.
“Ye’ere all a pack of fools!” said she, giving her head an indignant
shake. “A frightenen yourselves about Mother Brickett’s ghost. Who
is there as has seen it, I should like to know?”
“I ha’,” said a man. “I wer a walking across the common here,
when I found a somethink white and ghastly walking by my side.”
“How big was it?”
“About my height, as nigh as can be. An’ it never sed a word. An’
just as I was ready to drop, it fanished away.”
“And then we all knows,” said another, “as only t’other night her
voice was heard in the passage by the tap-room where she called
Brickett three times by name, and many bein’ by. An’ it was only
yesternight as she came and patted the white cow while Clara wer a
milkin’ on it.”
“This be very sartin,” said a tall, pale woman, with a child in her
arms: “if she could come back arter she’d gone she ’ould. Her mind
was all here when she died. When she was in her last hour her little
darter came up to see how she was agoin’ on. ‘Mind the bisness,’
said she, quite sharp; and when Brickett came up, she sent him
down pretty quickish. ‘Don’t mind me, mind the customers’—​them
were her last words. And she were an audacious woman after
money, sure alive.”
There is hardly any country place in the United Kingdom but owns
some superstitution, which many of the inhabitants have full belief
in.
At all ages, and in every place, there have been found many who
have entertained the belief that at certain periods the dead are
permitted to revisit the earth for a brief period; and it was said in
the neighbourhood that the deceased landlady of the “Carved Lion”
could not rest in her grave without, in disembodied spirit,
occasionally hovering about the old hostelry.
She had been a hard-fisted, money-loving woman in her time,
and the frequenters of the inn were wont to talk about her ghost
being seen on the common, in one of the dark lanes or elsewhere, in
the “witching time of night.”
“She must have growed a good bit since she died,” said the
woman, who had been called Nelly, “for she was a good deal shorter
than that gawk there when she wur here. It’s all nonsense, I tell ’ee.
If people goes to a better world they don’t want to come back to a
place like this, and if they go to another place——”
“Hoosh—​hoosh!” exclaimed several voices.
“Get along with ’ee with yeer hooshing. It’s only the truth that I
am speaking,” exclaimed the young woman.
Doubtless an altercation would have ensued, but the subject was
dropped upon the appearance of a stranger.
This was Peace, who had finished his repast in the parlour, and
strolled into the skittle-ground.
“Your sarvant, sir,” said one of the rustics to Peace.
 “Give you good evening, friend,” said our hero. “Good evening to
one and all.”
The villagers made room for him on one of the forms which ran
by the side of the building, and Peace sat himself down.
“Ha’ the first drink of the new pot,” said a broad-shouldered man
to a companion by his side, “an’ don’t ’ee cuss and swear. I hate to
hear a man swear for nothing.”
“I’m not going to drink your froth for ’ee,” returned the other. “I’ll
ha’ some. An’ you’ll find it as thick as molasses, I’ll warrant. Bricket
poured a lot of beer into a barrel without clearing out the dregs, and
a prutty mess he’s made of it. The way business is done here now
would make his dead wife walk if anythin’ could.”
“What, yer grumbling agen as usual?” said another of the
company. “Don’t be a runnin’ down Bricket, for he’s a good sort.”
“Who says he aint?” cried Nelly; “but some people are never
satisfied.”
“Right you are, lass!” exclaimed several, for it was evident enough
that the young woman was a general favourite.
“Aint nobody seen nothin’ of never a hat nowhere?” inquired a
thin old man in a querulous voice, twisting in and out of the crowd
like a ferret in a rabbit burrow.
“One ’ud think your silly old head were inside on it a wanderin’
about like that there,” said Nelly.
“Don’t ’ee say much to him,” whispered the woman with a child in
her arms. “Poor Nat Peplow has aged wonderful these last three
years. He don’t seem like the same man.”
“Ho, ho!” guffawed a rustic. “There aint much left of Nat now—
Poor old hoss! poor old hoss!
Once I eat the best of hay,
 And lived in a foine stall;
But now I eats the short grass
As grows agen the wall.
Poor old hoss! poor old hoss!
Thee must die.”

“Ah! ye may laugh and sing,” said Nat, shaking his head and his
voice quavering. “I mind the time when I used to troll that same
ditty to grey hairs. It’s right it should fall back on me now.”
“Poor old hoss!” chanted Nelly.
“But when I wur young I was as lissom as ever a young man
here. I baint so strong now as I should be, though when my feyther
wur eighty years old he could carry a sack of wheat up a ladder into
a granary; and my mother’s hair when she wur an old ’ooman was
as black and shiny as jet, and growed over her shoulders like a wild
colt’s mane.
“I don’t know rightly what mak’s me weaker than they. My arm be
a’ withered up like a burnt piece of pig’s flesh, an’ my poor chest do
hurt me when I breathes. I think the beer can’t be so wholesome
and nourishing as it yoosed to be.”
And Nat, taking his half-pint mug from the table, peered into it
and found it empty.
“Why it’s run out!” he cried.
A hoarse giggle from a sun-burnt country lad pointed out the
culprit.
“All run out a’ the top, I s’pose,” he added, resignedly. “Now,
Bricket, let’s have another half-pint o’ twopenny, and draw it thickish,
’cos I aint had my supper.”
Nat always liked his beer by instalments of half-pints, because he
thought that he got more that way.
 Sometimes he drank as many as eight half-pints, on which
occasions he would chuckle gravely in his sleeve, and persuade
himself that he had cheated the landlord of a noggin.
No.
11.

“GOOD DAY, FRIEND,” SAID PEACE, TO THE HOST OF THE

“CARVED LION.”
 Peace had by this time become familiar and on friendly terms with
many of those who were assembled in the skittle-ground. The young
fellow who had been playing when we first made the acquaintance
of this establishment, asked Peace to have a game.
“Don’t ’ee play wi’ him, master,” said Nelly; “he be’s too much for
any on ’em here, and ye won’t ha’ much chance wi’ him unless you
are a good hand at the game.”
“I’m not much of a player,” returned Peace, “but what matters
that? We are only going to play for amusement or for a mug of beer.
It don’t much matter who wins or loses.”
“Please yourself, then—​it aint any business of mine.”
“Let ’em alone, Nell—​there arnt no skittle sharpers here,” said a
man at one of the tables. “Let ’em be, lass.”
Nell shrugged her shoulders, and sat herself down on one of the
forms.
The players went to work in good earnest. Peace succeeded in
knocking all the pins down at one go.
This exploit was greeted with loud bravos.
His antagonist, however, was equally successful, and the game
resulted in a draw. Another game was played; this Peace lost.
“I’ve done better than I expected,” said he, “and I think I had
better leave off now. I am evidently no match for you.”
“Come,” said Nell, “if ye’re done skittlin’ let us be going in doors,
and ye can finish yer ale there.”
Many of them now left, those that remained repaired to the
parlour.
 CHAPTER XX.

THE OCCUPANTS OF THE PARLOUR—​A

CONVIVIAL PARTY.

Peace bent his steps in the direction of the bar of the

establishment.
As he was proceeding along, a voice shouted out—
“Yer’re beant a goin’ to leave us, sir, be’est thou!”
“No, no, friend,” returned our hero. “I shall join you in a minute or
so.”
“Aye, that be right,” exclaimed the same voice.
Peace went in front of the bar, and said to the landlord—
“I don’t want to go any further to-night. Can I have a bed here?”
“Ah! surely,” answered the host; “for as many nights as thee likes.
The more the merrier.”
“Good. Then that’s settled.”
He returned to the parlour. Over the mantel-piece of this was a
smoke-bleached board, on which was inscribed, in dingy yellow
letters—
When first I came I some did trust,
And did my money lend;
 But when I asked for the same
They soon forsook their friend.
Now my cure is no man’s sorrow—
Pay to-day and trust to-morrow.

However a scrawl of chalked hieroglyphics on the bar door proved

that the practice of the publican was less resolute than his
professions.
“I think I’ll ha’ another half pint,” said the old man, who had been
called Nat. A little girl, who served the beer and tobacco brought in
the liquor the old man ordered.
“Ye’ve travelled a greatish distance, maybe?” said one of the
company to Peace, glancing at his boots, which were begrimed with
mud and sand.
“Pretty well, as far as that goes. I can’t say exactly how far I’ve
walked, not knowing the ground.”
“Ah! I see. A stranger to these parts.”
“Yes. I’m on a tour.”
“For pleasure?”
“Well, no, not altogether pleasure—​business. I’m a picture-frame
maker by trade, and deal in prints and photos. Would you like to see
some of my wares?”
“Ah! that un should,” said several.
“Well, then, so you shall.”
He was about to open his pack when a noise of footsteps was
heard descending the stairs, and in another moment the broad form
of Farmer Wilmot filled the doorway.
“Here, my lads,” said he. “It isn’t often I give you a treat; but as
I’ve sold my whate and got a good price for it, and as, moreover,
this be my son’s birthday, I’ll give ’ee somthing to drink his health.”
 He placed several pieces of silver in the girl’s hand, and said—
“Give it ’em out in the sixpenny, my little maid, and then what
they do drink will do ’em good.”
The rustics gave a loud cheer and thanked him again and again
for his generosity.
He appeared to be well known to all present, with the exception
of Peace, who never remembered to have seen him before.
“Good-by, lads, and don’t mek beasts on yourselves. Ale, in
moderation, won’t hurt anyone; but too much on it is good for no
man. Good-night to all.”
And with these words the honest farmer mounted his gray mare,
which was standing at the door of the hostelry, and trotted off in
company with two friends, similarly mounted.
“I be downright glad he’s sold his whate,” said one of the rustics.
“He aint all eyes and ears like some measters, and he knows how to
let a poor man off his first fault.”
“He was one of us once, ye see, sir,” said another, addressing
himself to Peace. “He’s bin taught to eat poor man’s bread and to do
poor man’s work, and he knows what it is as comforts a poor man’s
heart. It is only such as he as pities the poor. The rich and idle don’t
pity, know not what hard work, nor hunger, nor sufferin’s loike.”
“Aye-that be true enough,” said Nat. “He’s as good as gold, an’ his
’art be in the right place.”
“I hope he’ll get home safe and sound,” said Peace; “but I
suppose there aint many robbers about this part?”
“Lord, love ye, no—​never a one,” cried several voices.
“You’ve forgotten young Measter Boucher,” quavered the aged
Nat. “I be an old man, but I mind things better nor you do,
seemingly. He was a drivin’ home from Bilstoke Fair, and just as he
was agoin’ up a bit of a hill, with trees on both sides, he felt heavy
on his chest, as if he had a fit comin’ on, only instead of a fit it was
a stout rope, which two men held across the road, and tiddled him
over out of his gig. And when he was down they was on him in a
minnit, and plundered him of his watch and ten yellow sovereigns.”
“That’s the story he went home and told his mother,” said Nell,
scornfully, “but I can pretty well guess how it was. Some of them
flaunting hussies got and colly-fogled him into the booths to dance
with ’em, and while he wer a thinkin’ how pretty he wer a doin’ his
steps, whip! goes his money and watch out of his pocket into theirs.”
This speech was greeted with roars of laughter.
“Ah, Nell, thee beest a knowin’ one,” cried several.
A portion of the beer the farmer had paid for was now brought in
by the little waitress. It was handed round in brown mugs to the
company. The farmer’s health was drunk, also that of his son.
Peace opened his folio of prints, plain and coloured.
Several were spread out upon the table, and regarded with
curious and inquiring eyes by the occupants of the parlour.
Peace had pictures to please persons of different tastes. Some
were bits of rustic scenery, farm-yards, horses ploughing, hay-
making; others consisted of highly-coloured sporting subjects, such
as hunting, ratting, and deer stalking; but, as it would never do for
an itinerant dealer in these commodities to confine himself to one
particular class of art, he had specimens of every conceivable
variety, suitable to persons of opposite tastes; pictures addressed to
persons of a devotional turn of mind formed a large element in his
stock in trade. The Holy Family, the head of our Saviour, together
with three young gentlemen in surplices, casting up their eyes, were
there in abundance; also a young lady clinging to an impossible-
looking cross, her garments dripping with wet, was another. This fine
specimen was called “The Rock of Ages,” the title of the young