The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

THE SURGEON'S DAUGHTER. 495
tion, which showed their ignorance of the principles, and even the forms
of religion. Those who were convalescent talked ribaldry in a loud tone,
or whispered to each other in cant language, upon schemes which, as far as
a passing phrase could be understood by a novice, had relation to violent
and criminal exploits.
Richard Middlemas's astonishment was equal to his horror. He had but
one advantage over the poor wretches with whom he was classed, and it
was in enjoying the luxury of a pallet to himself-most of the others being
occupied by two unhappy beings. He saw no one who appeared to attend
to the wants, or to heed the complaints, of the wretches around him, or to
whom he could offer any appeal against his present situation. IHe looked
for his clothes, that he might arise and extricate himself from this den of
horrors; but his clothes were nowhere to be seen, nor did he see his portmanteau, or sea-chest. It was much to be apprehended he would never see
them more.
Then, but too late, he remembered the insinuations which had passed
current respecting his friend the Captain, who was supposed to have been
discharged by Mr. Lawford, on account of some breach of trust in the
Town-Clerk's service. But that he should have trepanned the friend who
had reposed his whole confidence in him -that he should have plundered
him of his fortune, and placed him in this house of pestilence, with the hope
that death might stifle his tongue-were iniquities not to have been anticipated, even if the worst of these reports were true.
But Middlemas resolved not to be awanting to himself. This place must
be visited by some officer, military or medical, to whom he would make an
appeal, and alarm his fears at least, if he could not awaken his conscience.
While he revolved these distracting thoughts, tormented at the same time
by a burning thirst which he had no means of satisfying, he endeavoured
to discover if, amongst those stretched upon the pallets nearest him, he could
not discern some one likely to enter into conversation with him, and give
him some information about the nature and customs of this horrid place.
But the bed nearest him was occupied by two fellows, who, although to
judge from their gaunt cheeks, hollow eyes, and ghastly looks, they were
apparently recovering from the disease, and just rescued from the jaws of
death, were deeply engaged in endeavouring to cheat each other of a few
half-pence at a game of cribbage, mixing the terms of the game with oaths
not loud but deep; each turn of luck being hailed by the winner as well as
the loser with execrations, which seemed designed to blight both body and
soul, now used as the language of triumph, and now as reproaches against
fortune.
Next to the gamblers was a pallet, occupied indeed by two bodies, but
only one of which was living-the other sufferer had been recently relieved
from his agony.
" He is dead-he is dead!" said the wretched survivor.
" Then do you die too, and be d-d," answered one of the players, " and
then there will be a pair of you, as Pugg says."
"I tell you he is growing stiff and cold," said the poor wretch -" the
dead is no bed-fellow for the living-For God's sake help to rid me of the
corpse."
"Ay, and get the credit of having done him - as may be the case with
yourself, friend-for he had some two or three hoggs about him"" You know you took the last rap from his breeches-pocket not an hour
ago," expostulated the poor convalescent-" But help me to take the body
out of the bed, and I will not tell the jigger-dubber that you have been
beforehand with him."
"You tell the jigger-dubber!" answered the cribbage player. "Such
another word, and I will twist your head round till your eyes look at the
drummer's handwriting on your back. Hold your peace, and don't bother