The Sun.
London, England, 1852-07-30 00:00:00

S U N, LONDO

at Treace:—
" Eb eters of Treace—you, the honest electors—who
have always upheld the independence of yoer town, as-
semble in a body tomorrow; go to those unfortunate
wretches, end make them acquante with the conse-
quences of their guilt. For my pait, I'd ll confess to you
what my feelings are with respect to those wretched and
corrupt Catholics. Let me suppose one of those wretches
prostrated by sickness. Suppose the hand of death
heavy upon him, and that a messenger comes to me to
attend him in his dying moments. It there were no
other priest in the way I would be bound to go. I dare
not refuse to attend him; but I confe calledou that
would be sorry from my heart to be upon to attend the deathbed of such a being.—(Great sensation.)
I would go to attend such a m retch with a heavy heart,
without much hope, because I would feel that I was
going to administer sacraments to one whose conscience
was so seared and whose heart was so rotten at
the core that I could not have much expectation of
effecting a conversion. Overpowered with the im-
pression that I was about to visit a perjured wretch,
who for a miserable bribe had betrayed the dearest in-
terests of his country and his religion, and borne down
with the harrowing reflection that tod, in His just an-
ger, might leave such a wretch to die in his sins—
(SenatioL)—l would fear that my mission would be
fruitless—that I could have no hope of converting a heart
so hardened, so lost to every sense of duty and religion,
as to vote in support of those who would trample on the
Lord of Hosts.—(Sensation.)"
Such was the method employed by the reverend touter
to canvass the borough of Trelee in favour of Mr.
Maurice O'Connell. During the contest of which we
have before spoken, in which Messrs. Hamilton and
Taylor were concerned, the poorer voters were not only
denotneed by the prik sts in the manner we have before
stand, but, when it was feared that even this degree of
intimidation might prove inefit ctual, bodies of men were
dispatched through the country, who caught the voters
and tied them down in carts, in which situation they were
either brought to "reason" or kept out of the way. In li
Parsonstown the parish priest paraded the town at
the heed of a mob, successfully carried on a
razzia against the unfortunate voters of Messrs.
Bland and O'Brien, and dragged them down to a
building, in which they were locked up under the cus-
tody of a body of priests, who were also charged with
the duty of bringing them to " reason!" All the efforts
of the landlords, as we are informed by our correspon-
dent from the spot, to protect their tenantry were un-
availing. We cannot bring our cases to a conclusion
without noticing once more that address of the Rev. Dr.
O'Brien to the " Young Men's Society" at Limerick,
which had so terrible an effect in inflaming the passions
of the people, and bringing on the subsequent tragedies.
Thu reverend orator took care to inform his audience
that Nero, and Henry, and Elizabeth, and Anne, and
the Georges, Russell, and Derby, were precisely the
same, anti then went on to say—
"ln many places Gcd's victory has keen secured, or
at least His resources have been powerfully augmented;
the shrieks of the defenceless and the blood of the mur-
dered here at home proclaim that the battle is at our
doors.—(Sensation.) Heaven! this is in England,
a civiliz d country, claiming the rule of a Catholic
population and the allegiance ne Catholic
hearts. (Cheers.) Up, brothers! (Here the
whole meeting rose to their feet, with deafening cheers.)
What occurred in England yesterday may be attempted
by other means in Dublin to-morrow. We must be pre-
pared.—(Continued cheering.) Let not this Stockport
tragedy rest under the veil of English design and beastly
misrepresentation. Our kindred have been slaughtered
in this shamble of English butchery, and law and justice
have slept while the dark enmities of bigot bate have
dealt out ruin.—(Cries of Hear,' and sensation.) In a
place not much larger than Limerick scores of houses
have been sacked—churches pillaged end lives lost ;
while special and ordinary constsbles, to the sad sorrow
of weakness, could never overtake the perpetrators, or
stay cue uplifted hand.—(, Oh, oh !') They came to one
locality—havoc had made its dwelling upon ruins—but
the fiends had fled. They ran to another, and they were
just in time to be too Late.—( Oh, oh!) They flew,
with singular alertness and intrepidity, to a third; deso-
lation bent forth cries of agony, but the wreckers nowhere
appeared.—(t Shame!') In fact, the officers of justice
were everywhere but where they were wanted, and the
blood of the Irishmen paid the forfeit of their delay."
The instances we have given may suffice. The out-
rages at Cork and Limerick, and the more recent
tragedy at Sixmiledwidge, are the best comment upon
the success of the orators, and the best evidence of their
talents as electioneering agents.
Now, is this system of intimidation and violence to
be tolerated either now or for the future? All the
unfairi
n t effortse tionin'figuPleiasnrhcl Parliament anunendnt
counties
osarrreupdput
it forth to o seta
unhappily
obtaint o the
the evil, and we do our and
boroughs. We acknowledge
this
hhe
;esk
plague a d adequate u
bribery
rt
bery remedy.and
we feel very confident thattheit:Parliament and the people
In the present temper ofeat
wholesale disfranchisement,
of St. George's
system,
misemweiftif not a total
corruption be not stayed on
Channel a very
pune the
evils,
remodelling of our electoral
But, while we. are battling with these
allow a neighbouring country to be given upyferovimeliwme
to time to fire and sword, and ao many of here
Majesty's Irish subj.cts as are cursed with
the electoral franchise to be periodically tor-
tured in body and soul, in order that the Roman
Catholic priesthood of Ireland may return their
nominees to Parliament. In a case of this kind we for-
get all distinctions of Constrvative or Liberal,Derbyite
or Russellite, (,r any other `5 its;, we see nothing but a
flagrant violation of the British Constitution, and its
probable effects upon the deliberationti of Parliament
and the general temper of the nation. As usual with
our Celtic friends, they are singularly blind to conse-
quences. They do not see that the blood which has
been so freely shed and the intimidation which has been
so unsparingly used may produce something like a re-
action on this side of the Channel. if fanaticism is to
be hcunded on against fanaticism, God knows we have
fanatics enough in Great Britain, and more of them
than the most temperate men can well keep in bounds,
evenirizh inR eoirgdninoafry
Terrortime isresßhubt
what can the friends of
efworiethththeePceroateees3t uo
nn
tt a
roof t llt
oe,
a limit to the several peace say
indignation? Nay, as statesmen,
we cannot escape from the necessity of making some
attempt to restrain any further exhibition of these de-
moralizing and disgraceful scenes. We have had a Bill
for the prevention of bribery and corruption in England
—we must have another for the
ow
H prevention of intimida-
tion and violence in Ireland. many of the Roman
Catholic returns would endure the test of a St. Alban's
Ccmmission?— Times.

THE CONVICT UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH.—
n'srt:e wretched woman,
the
etenced to death at
nesozbEions,
,TatleiausnßsnsarEdvs:EaNoG.w
atwful murder of
I:eitlirlsersd some time
17
Mary°ltc
the Assizes here, last Wednesday, for
ywthherroewitinigs
supposedit intoa
t 0
00ahla-ldswinford, in
before death put a period to its sufferings,
her
this child,
county,b
demotion conducted herself in a becoming ruainnuceer, her con-
she does not appear to feel the full weight of the it' fthough
tence passed upon her. Active efforts are being wmuldsen-
to
obtain a remission of the sentence, the chief groundabee*
an allegation that the woman is of weak mind; but it
tng
is
thought that in consequence of the frequency of child murder
of late, the full sentence of the law will be carried out by way
of example. It is said thnt the day of execution is alread
lady
fixed, though it has not been made public. it is a
time since an execution took place here.
ELECTION OF SECRETARY TO THE REFORM CLUB.
--A vacancy having occurred in the secretaryship of the
Reform Club, a very numerous body of candidates appeared,
On the invitation of the committee of the club, for the situa-
tion,„.r,a tehe salary being 4001. per annum. The successful can-
didate proved to be Mr. William Norway, a gentleman
,„_connected with periodical literature.
-I:vin
are informed,REPRESENTATION OF PETERBOHOUGH.—We
Hon. hicharOn the authority of a private letter, that the
borough, in ~ Watson, the lately elected M.P. for Peter-
last 4t „,;.ne room of Mr. W. Cavendish, died on Satur-
dayTime&4oL4blirgh, after an illness of only four days.—

THOMAS ROOD. OUR FAMILY."
(From Eliza Cook's Journal.)
" Poor Hood!" Thus does everyone speak of the
lameated Thnaa3 Hood, who died just as the world was
beginning to appreciate the true genius of the man, but
before he could roan any of its substantial rewards.
Hood's reputation through life 'e as that of a humourist,
for he wrote for bread, and as the public would not have
Hood's deeper thoughts, he gave them his lighter one;;
he spun thorn " comic annuals," nod " laughter from
yeer to yeer;" and thus he man aged to live on from day
to day. But just before he passed away, there rung
through our island these thrilling stanzas, appealing to
the profoundest sympathies of the human heart, " The
Song of the Shirt," " The Ley of the Labourer," Ka
" The Bridge of Sighs;" and then it was the public de-
creed that Hood Fila,3 something more than a humourist;
thee he was, in fact, a great tragic poet.
Thomas Heed was of Scotch parentage, though born
in London, where his father we a partner in the boa k •
st Lim firm of Vernon and Hood, Poultry. Ile eras first
epprenticed as a merchant's clerk, but his health beirg
delicate, it was found necessary to take him away from
his desk, and be was sent to his father's relatives, in
Dundee, where he remained some time, and medo his
succestfal debut, as a writer, in the pages of the local
I:39goZ;lleti and journals. Here, doubtless, ho acquirtied
ed
his knowledge of the broad Scotch dialect, whichim h we
re-prodneing in the old Scotch housekeeper in
" Tylney Hall," a novel, though not much known, of the
most powerful character, full of highly wrought incident,
and situations of the most tragic kind.
With his health somewhat restored, be returned to
London, and ants apprenticed to his uncle, Robert Sands,
the engraver, end was afterwards transferred to cue of
the Le Keux. Ho wee a good draughtsman, end might
have attained distinction in his profession, but thus he
was soon attracted from it by the more agreeable pur-
suit of literature. Yet, we often afterwards find him at
work with the pencil and graver, in furnishing the
quaint and comical designs of his own works, his
" Bonnie Annuals," "Up the Rhine," " Magazine," &e.
We believe his first published book of poems was his
"Plea of the Mid rummer Fairies," a little work full of
poetic) beauty; tender, graceful, and exquisite. But the
book was not popular; indeed, it is not so yet. So, as
the public would not take his poetry, he met them on
their own ground, and gave them jokes and facctim,
which they would read. Laughter, however, was not
Hood's only object in writing, He• amused the multi-
tude to attract their attention; end ho used his wit and
humour as the vehicles wherewith to convey his whole-
SOP2e and lasting lessons of morality. Though, as a
writer, who lived by hie writings, ho had to write that
which the public would buy, aud thus suited his pro-
ductions to the general teste,he never wrote down to the
lowest taste. His wit was never sullied
rofane. by impurity
nor coarseness; never indelicate nor p Nay, his
delicacy was extreme; he was as sensitive as a =moss
leaf; and a sort of melauCholy often dashed his merriest
writings, which made his jests to " scald like tears."
Many f his quaint and laughter-exciting conceits were
steeped in human feeling and passion. As ho himself
has so touchingly said—
" All things are touch'd with melancholy,
Born of the secret soul's mistrust,
To feel her fair ethereal wings
Weigh'd down with vile degraded dust;
Even the bright extremes of joy
Bring on conclusions of disgust,
Like the sweet blossom of the May,
Whole fragrance ends in must.
Oh, give her, then, her tribute just,
Her sighs and tears, and musings holy!
There is no music in the life
That, sounds with idiot laughter solely;
There's not a string attuned to mirth,
Bat has its chord in melancholy."
Towards the close of Hood's life, while ha was still
popularly known as a humourist, there appeared in the
colunas of Punch that wonderful poem which instantly
thrilled through the hearts of thousands, and produced
an effect such as, we believe, no piece of writing within
the same small compass had ever before done—his
agonizing " Song of the Shirt. Parliamentary reports
had exposed, in long detail, the hardships inflicted on a
large portion of the industrious community ; volumes
had been written about them, eloquent speeches de-
livered on the subject, the miseries of onr female artisans
—dressmakers and shirtmakers—had been deplored in
all forms, but Hood's little poem effected more than
them ail. It went straight to its mark it thrilled the
common heart. He hit the nail on the head, and sent
it home at a blow. Not less touching, not less full of
penetrating truth, was his " Bridge of Sighs," one of the
most powerful expositions of a great social evil, a can-
cerous sore eating away the hearts of multitudes of
human beings, which has ever been penned. TheselL
pieces, short though they were, revealed the almost
lastSha thu
kspoeri:hts o
ngenf his
iusofgrTeaht aromhaeslic
over
They were the
longing
for the
emaecipatiou and happiness of the downtrodden and
suffering many. And thus boating away towards the
deep waters of eternity, did he in these piteous appeals
to human sympathy pour out his soul in song,
Notwithetandieg the great genius of Hood, and the
large amount of literary labour of various kinds which
he performed, he died very poor; for the literary man has
no position in England; he may be a great genius, but
if his books do not sell very largely, and he cannot com-
mand high prices for his copyrights, he may
soon starve.
The literary labours of twenty years enabled Hood to do
no more than subsist, and the only legacy he left to his
family was his fame. We cannot but lenient, that the
close.of tho poet's career, hopeful and clear though it
vets as regarded the beyond of this life, was clouded by
this reflection, though the generous letter of Sir Robert
Peel, communicating the intelligence, that a pension of
100/. a y ear had been granted to his wife, did much to
alleviate the pressure of this anxiety. The life of the
mere literary man is one of great labour and of small
gains; it is precarious; and his genius, or literary stock
in trade, cannot be bequeathed, like a bookbelling or
banking business, to his offspring. The literary labourer
must always be at the mill-wheel, grinding, whether
well or ill; and it is the nature of literary labour to wear
into the health, and to stimulate into unhealthy activity
the nervous system at the expense of the physical
powers. Hood was a victim to the " literary ailment."
For many years, towards the close of his life, ho was
labouring under disease—habitually ill—dying slowly;
and yet be wrote on. In one of the last publications to
welch he gave his name as editor, " Hood's Magazine,
ho thus humorously pointed out the pains of the literary
life, in an imaginary letter from " A Subscriber:"—
" Sir,—By your not coming out on the Furst, I con-
clude you are lade up, being notorus for eejoyin bad
heltb. Pullmery, of course, like my poor Robert, for
I've had a literary branch in my own fammily, a peri-
odical one like yourself, only every Sunday, heated of
M your cul-
once a munth; and as such, well knew what it
was to
ix
write long-winded articles with Weekly lungs, Poor
fellow ! as often said, so much bead work, and nothin
but head work, will make a cherubbim of you; and so
it did. Nothiug but write, write, write; and read, read,
read; and as our Doctor says, it's as bad to sniddy till
all
eel
srisds., bwrAiotunc nha,
wiasse
rntrooy
tdgraoilnowkdaytaisldltvhai
advice
el
ciiasts
eio;for if necessity has
blew.
when eau be fol-
,
no Law,
must what they must
it nay good deal of Literature, and Authors
" Arsi te
poor Robert used.
to say about seddontory habits,
it's very well. says he, to tell me about, like Mr. Words-
awnodr tile; my chair;
but if there's no
udeohubalte,
mstyielting to
sitting, says he, that it be no hatching;
I did all I
desk, its because
there's a brood expected from me once. a week.
Stcfilis, and there's a devil waiting
Oh! its
estogoreraw
very well, says he, to cry Up, up
.with you, and go fetch
slsidnfebrmoaond
a walk, and take a look at the daisies, when
you've sold
your mind
as he did for Doctor p ,
but if I die water s. I
know its killin me, says he,h of overwork its
in the way of my
for your lastto prviroill'ofs,
could to nurridge him. Mock 'turkey hoop and strong
slops, and wormy jelly, and island moss; but he Couldn't
vocation. PoOr boy !
eat. And no wonder; for mental labour, as the Doctor
said, wares out the stummack as well as the braises; and
so he'd been spinning out his inside, like a spider. And
a spider he did look at last, sure enuff; one of that sort
with long spindle legs, and only a dot of a body in the
middle.
" Another bad thing is sittin up all nite, as gay
sun
did, but it's all agin natur. Not but what sum must,
and partickly the writers of politicks for the Papers;
but they ruin the constitushun. And, besides, even
poetry is apt to get prosy, after twelve or one; and Some
late authors read very sleepy. But, as poor Robert said,
what is one to do, when no day is long enuff for one's
work, nor no munth either. And, to be sure, Agri,
June, and September, aro all short munthe, but Febber"
yo
u
can, ! However, one grate thing is, relaxing, if
can, as the Doctor used to say,what made Jackdull
boy? why, being always in the workhouse, and never rat
the playhouse. So, get out of your gownd and eu
pers, says he, and put on your best things, and unbend
yourself, like a beau. If you've been at your
flights, go and look at the Tems tunnel; and i Poefticle
tired of being witty, go and spend a hour with theYeu'r°
wurk. The mind requires a change, as well wax
as the
merchants.
"So take my advice, Sir—a mother's e.dvice--g„d re-
lax a little. You want brassing, a change of hair,- and
more stutninuck. And you ought to wear flannel
take tonicks. Do you ever drink Basses pail? w,:nd
good as camomile tea. But above all, thereat one thing
as
I recommend to you, steal wine; it's been sa
"I to,
some inveilids.
" Hoping you will excuse this liberty from a stranger
but a well-meaning one, I am, Sir, A StinsegthEn.,, ,
Thus could Hood play with a subject full of painful
import, and inculcate severe truths in quaint and hu
morous guise. He made the eye dance with laughter-
at the same time that he touched the heart to its depths,
It was Comus teaching sympathy and human kindness'
the laugh passed away, but the stern truth remained. •
While quoting from Hood's Magazine, we may shortly
refer to a tale, commenced by him in that periodical, en-
titled " Our Family," which seems to be well worthy of
a reprint. It was cut abort by the death of its author;
but it is full of humour, and is most interesting, ac)
far
as it goes. There is some admirable portraiture of
character in the tale. Uncle Puumbold is a thorough
original; but we caa only give here a specimen of Cate-
chism Jack, being his introduction as apprentice to the
village doctor:—
"My father was the pariah doctor, and when ho en-
tered the surgery Mr. Postle was making up a Pretierip.
ti". A poor, shabbily-dressed woman was waiting for
the medicine, and a tall, foolish-looking lad was waiting
for the poor woman. She was a widow, as it is called,
without an encumbrance, and had a cottage and some
small means of her own, which she eked out with the
stipend allowed to her by the overseers, for taking
charge of some infirm cr imbecile pauper. The haat
witted boy was her present ward.
" It's for Jacobs," said the woman, as nay father
glanced over the shoulder of his assistant at the pre-
scription. "He gets wus and wue."
"Of courts be doss," said my father, " and will
whilst he takes those opiuna
" So
I tell him," said the woman; " with his ague,
and in a flat marshy country like this, with water enoughabout to give Any onothe hydraulico."

" No such thing, Sir," said the woman; "it wa3 the
ho can
idle boys of the village, because he was always repeat-
ing ou it! and, indeed, poor fellow
thing else." , p
" Then how did be get that?"
" Why, you see, bir, ' said the woman, "between our-
selves it was all along of his godmother."
" Ah, indeed!" exclaimed my father. " His god-
mother, eh?"
«," Yes; Mrs. Foyer, as W2S. for she's dead now, as wcll
reeat no-
es his own mother; and' that's how he came into my
care. His mother went first; while he was in petticoats,
and so'Mrs. Foyer took • eharge of him, and sent him to
the infent day school. She was a very strict woman in
principles, and so- was the schoolmistress;
and both made it a great point for the children to be
her religious
taught accordingly, which they was. Well, one day
there they were all, in the schoolroom, up one pair, and
little Jack amongst the rest, the last of the row, a-set-
ting on the very end of a long form, close to the open
door. Well, by-and-bye the children were all called up
to say catechism; 50 up .they. all got at once, except
Jack,
playing instead of getting his task
byrO whote,whhicand ben
made him baekwarder to rise than the
rest; when, 10, and behold! up tilts the form, like a
rearing horse, and pitches Jack, heels over head, through
the door, and down the whole atone flight, where he was
picked. up at the bottom,. quite .alseneietaa,
" Ah! with a concussion of the brain," said my
father.
" A contusion of the occiput," added Mr. Pestle;
" the spinal vertebrae excoriated of course, and bruises
on both pate Lee."
6' don't know about that," said the woman; but he
had a lump on the back of his head as big as an egg, the
two hubbies of his back were rubbed quite raw, and his
two kneepans were as black as a coal. It was thought,
too, that his inteilex was shook up in a muddle."
" No doubt of it," said my father.
" Well, to go on with Jack. At long and at last ho
came to, sore enouLla and emerting, as you may suppose,
for he had been carried home to his godmother, and she
had rubbed his wounds with spirits of salts, which had
got into the cuts. And now Jack, says she, mark my
words; and let them he a warning. It's a judgment of
God upon you, says she; for not knowing your cate-
chism; for if so be you had got it by heart, you would
have ris with the rest, and thist would never have hap-
pened. But its a judgment upon you, said she, and the
schoolmistress says it's the same thing; till between both
the poor thing was so scared, he set to work, he did,
at his chatechism, and never rested day or night till he
Yes, drawers. verily, and bygot it by heart, as ho has now, so thoroughly, you may
dodge him any how, backward and forward, and he
wont miss a syllable. And that's how he came by it, sir,
as well as by his nickname; for except catechism, which
his head is too full of, I suppose, to hold anything else,
he dent know a thing else in the world."
" Poor yellow," said my father, opening one of the
surgery
" Here Jack, will you have a lozenge?"
God's help, so I will. And I
heartily thank ."
" There, there,. hush! go along with you," said the
woman, giving her protégé a push towards the outer
-
door, end then taking up the. medicine, with a nod of
acknowledgment to Mr. Pestle, and a curtsey to my
father, she departed, her forlorn charge clinging to her
garments, and muttering scraps of that formula which
had procured for him the sobriquet of Catechism Jack.

• •
It was Cathechism Jack—who, after a preliminary
peep or two from behind the door post, at List crept with
a sidling gait and a sheepish air, into the surgery, where
by eccentric approachce, like those of a sly bird, he
gradually placed himself at the counter.
" Well, Jack, raid my father, " what do you want?"
Jack made no rep!y, bat dropping his head on his
right shoulder, with a look askance at my father, plucked
his sodden finger out of his mouth, and pointed with it
to 000 of the drawers.
" You see," said my father, in an aside to Postle,
" the fellow is not quite a fool. Ho remembers where
the lozenge came from."
" Mere animal instinct," answered Pestle, in the same
under tone, " a monkey would do as much, and remem-
ber the caucister where he got a lump of sugar."
" I will try him further," said my father, putting his
hand in the drawer for a lozenge, which he held out be-
tween his finger and thumb. " Well, Jack, what will
you do if I give you this?" Jack eyed the lozenge,
grinned, looked •at my father, and drawled out his
answer.
"I'll say my catechism."
" No, no, Jack !" cried my father, " we don't want that.
But will you be a good. boy ?"
" Yes," said Jack, his head suddenly drooping down
again, while a cloud passed over his face. Yes, I will,
and not tumble down stairs."
"Poor fellow 1" saidtrny father, " they make a fault of
hishamyi
unconsciouslyse
sf r, t uenn sew. Irehdga
vejeaune
kg
hr eiwma
you like, Jack, to get your own living?"
d
itthma
and labour truly to get my own living, and to do my
to
duty in that state of life to which it may please God
call me."
" Catechism again!" whispered Mr. Pestle.
"Yes, but aptly quoted end applied," ansvvered nay
father. "Do you know, Jack, what phsic is?"
Jack nodded, and pantomimically exprs seed his ac-
quaintance with medicine by ianflaadme trioiltityaar,kcefueher Should
making a horrible grimace.
" Well, but speak out, Jack," said my fatheetbro,foalu'et`thallre;nrt.
w
ywo,uh,rt;Ntt,3aosnptg.tiyuyeest,ielL,eteetilds
Jack,hear ,w,
ihnaet
eypoeuee.k”no
n,k r
,g Yes," said my father, " in a wineglass,
inb°
ya cjaapk. Verywheat gteodo
to
0. °
aAr
rnyd
outde youthe
physicremember I ck'n
Jack nodded again.
.• should you like to takelis place, and carry ou
medicine in the same way?"
ticall
" I—don't—know " drawled Jack, syn3pat..e
_Y.
sucking his finger, while' he ogled the little oval conree
tion, which my lather still retained in its old Pol°l3'
"'Do you think you could do it?"
Jack was silent.
" Would you try to learn?" „ duty to.
" I learn two things," mumbled Jack, -
wards God, and my duty towards my neighbour.
ee.
" Not very appropriate that," muttered gr. Pend he
" Not much either Way," answered nay father, a-
n a basket?
Jack
resumed the examination.
ser
" Well, Jack; suppose I was to take you smart
vice, and feed and clothe yoja; should you a
new livery?"
7CS." nto m
i

" And a now hat?"
" and if I were to give
GI yes:,
a
you take care of them?"
~, ycs,), answered Jack, "and • the tame all the
and walk in
days of my life."
his" There;" said my father, giving r•stje a nudge with
.
.elbow, "
PrOteg6, " Well,
" A mere random shot," answered Air. rode.
you pair of new shoes, would
" Not at all," said my father, again turning. to his.
a trial. If I take you into a great
d find
youill
a the house, au , c
good bed, and comfortablemeals,and a suit co, clothes,
promise to
and provide for you hit would you altogether,
behave yourself ?"
Yes, yes," cried my father,
" They did promise and vow three things in my name,"
answered Jack, "first, that I id renounce the devil
should Jack, I have mind to give you
and all his works-"
is to 107 e him
grinning, "we know all that. Batch©
would you take
tcare of the basket, Jack, and leave the medicines for
he neighbours atthe -
right houses, and attend to your
duty ?"
popped into his mouth,
~ " My duty towards my neighbour," answered Jack,
hastily, for Pestle was
es I would they
as well a-, myself, and to do to all men
should do unto me. Give us the
lozzoge."
occasioaljy taking it out again
which the lad eagerly
IV father gave him the Iczerge
to look edgeways at its thinness till all was gone,

" said my father; " at any
mind is 'Mae u'
•
Yes,
rate, the un my
" unfortunate area turep,
shall have a chance. Wit'
gesrallow cheek,
a little looking after,at first, he will do very well."
Much of the after interest of the tale turns on the
pular.
Y. with foul
blunders of J.-‘ok. But we have not space to follow his
career, or to make mere than ono other extract. The
paupers of the village becarne dissatisfied with the ariah
weather '
was` Aal or
ot hdoener
eh' Igeroxyp
fact.l ibivnest ihobblednnteieHere is an
doctor, and he speedily becomes unpo
instance:--
" Very good," lips were compressed,
zedicine has done you good.
here
and anger glimmered iu her dark black oye, like a spark
her custom. ." I hope the.
in a tinderbox. She spoke harshly_ and abruptly.
miindtdoi
et were
each nr
" I'm come to return the bottles."
said my father, receiving phial after
Phial from du: minkered woman, with as much courtesy
and humility as it be had been honoured and obliged by
How is your lameness?" ,
" As bad as ever. "
lam sorry to hear it," said my father. " But So ll r
complaint is chronic, and requires time for its treatment.
By-and-bye we shall see an amendment."
" We shall see no such thing," said the shrew; " I
ar'nt going to take any more physic."
GS No?"
• " No, It'; good for uoteing, or you wouldn't give
away gratis." .
My father's face flashed slightly—as whose would not
with so much physic thrown into il, though b
Phorically, all the draughts and embroeationsut meta-
lIIPPIi9d her with for the last six maths? he had