Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 431 | Page 3

of her person; and Anne, with an infatuation too
common with persons of her class and condition, and in spite of
repeated warning, and the secret misgivings, one would suppose, of her
own mind, married the best-looking, but most worthless and dissipated
of them all. This man, Henry Ransome by name, was, I have been

informed, constantly intoxicated during the first three months of
wedlock, and then the ill-assorted couple disappeared from the
neighbourhood of Itchen, and took up their abode in one of the hamlets
of the New Forest. Many years afterwards, when I joined the
Preventive Service, I frequently heard mention of his name as that of a
man singularly skilful in defrauding the revenue, as well as in avoiding
the penalties which surround that dangerous vocation. One day, he was
pointed out to me when standing by the Cross-House near the Ferry, in
company with a comparatively youthful desperado, whose real name
was John Wyatt, though generally known amongst the smuggling
fraternity and other personal intimates, by the sobriquet of Black
Jack--on account, I suppose, of his dark, heavy-browed, scowling
figure-head, one of the most repulsive, I think, I have ever seen. Anne's
husband, Henry Ransome, seemed, so far as very brief observation
enabled me to judge, quite a different person from his much younger,
as well as much bigger and brawnier associate. I did not doubt that,
before excessive indulgence had wasted his now pallid features, and
sapped the vigour of his thin and shaking frame, he had been a smart,
good-looking chap enough; and there was, it struck me, spite of his
reputation as 'a knowing one,' considerably more of the dupe than the
knave, of the fool than the villain, in the dreary, downcast, skulking
expression that flitted over his features as his eye caught mine intently
regarding him. I noticed also that he had a dry, hard cough, and I set
down in my own mind as certain that he would, ere many months
passed away, be consigned, like scores of his fellows, to a
brandy-hastened grave. He indicated my presence--proximity,
rather--to Wyatt, by a nudge on the elbow, whereupon that respectable
personage swung sharply round, and returned my scrutinising gaze by
one of insolent defiance and bravado, which he contrived to render still
more emphatic by thrusting his tongue into his cheek. This done, he
gathered up a coil of rope from one of the seats of the Cross-House, and
said: 'Come, Harry, let's be off. That gentleman seems to want to take
our pictures--on account that our mugs are such handsome ones, no
doubt; and if it was a mildish afternoon, I shouldn't mind having mine
done; but as the weather's rather nippy like, we'd better be toddling, I
think.' They then swaggered off, and crossed the Ferry.

Two or three weeks afterwards, I again met with them, under the
following circumstances:--I landed from the Rose at Lymington, for the
purpose of going by coach to Lyndhurst, a considerable village in the
New Forest, from which an ex-chancellor derives his title. I had
appointed to meet a confidential agent there at the Fox and Hounds Inn,
a third-rate tavern, situate at the foot of the hill upon which the place is
built; and as the evening promised to be clear and fine, though cold, I
anticipated a bracing, cross-country walk afterwards in the direction of
Hythe, in the neighbourhood whereof dwelt a person--neither a seaman
nor a smuggler--whose favour I was just then very diligently cultivating.
It was the month of November; and on being set down at the door of
the inn somewhere about six o'clock in the evening, I quietly entered
and took a seat in the smoking-room unrecognised, as I thought, by any
one--for I was not in uniform. My man had not arrived; and after
waiting a few minutes, I stepped out to inquire at the bar if such a
person had been there. To my great surprise, a young woman--girl
would be a better word, for she could not be more than seventeen, or at
the utmost eighteen years old--whom I had noticed on the outside of the
coach, was just asking if one Dr Lee was expected. This was precisely
the individual who was to meet me, and I looked with some curiosity at
the inquirer. She was a coarsely, but neatly attired person, of a pretty
figure, interesting, but dejected cast of features, and with large, dark,
sorrowing eyes. Thoughtfulness and care were not less marked in the
humble, subdued tone in which she spoke. 'Could I sit down anywhere
till he comes?' she timidly asked, after hearing the bar-woman's reply.
The servant civilly invited her to take a seat by the bar-fire, and I
returned, without saying anything, to the smoking-room, rang the bell,
and