Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1869-01-08

up, now fell-for, from his bundle of pa
| pers, / saw his sales had been few that
day .a& aao.es
"Tll gang for change, sir" sf.s g..
well, I'll try you. Thereisa shilling ;
now be a good boy, and bring me- the
| change tomorrow morning to the hotel.
| Ask for Mr. Turner" .nof. .ea,,.,
CAS- sure's death, sir, I'll bring the
change the MORN" was the promise of
the boy before he vanished with the shll-
ling; mn IT,, =, ,, - ,,,,,,.,. - m
strolled along Prince street, you don't
expect to see your ragged friend again, do
your" tja5a Ef3SEa 'fa'
lido" fa8 sw BIAS .a.t a9oea
"The boy will dishonor his 1. o. U. as
sure AS" y.rv>g.g s7xrssfr
"Well, won't grieve about the money f;
I think I can trust the boy" 81
Gan? Why, you hooe trusted him."
"Well, we'll see."' as
eyes, a good many remarkable things
but not young Brimston and your money"
Next morning we spent in seeing the
lions On our return to the inn in
CURED
waiter, did little boy call for me to-
day." a .s
"Boy, sir 9-call, sir9 No, SIR"
"Of course, he didn't" said Phillips.
4" Did you really expect to see our young
| Arab againP" .. GasG HF3 Ia
Indeed, did" .a..
Later in the evening small boy was in
tr0duced, who wanted to speak with me.
He was duodecimo edition of the small
octave of the previous day--a shoeless,
shirtless, shrunk, ragged, wretched, keen
witted Arab of the streets and closes Of
the city. He was so very small and cold,
and childlike-though with the same shiv-
ering feet and frame, thin, bluecold face,
down which tears had worn their weary
channel-that saw at once the child was
not my friend of the previous night. He
stood for few moments diving and run
ing into the recesses of his rags. at last
he said H.
care you the gentleman that BOUGHT
fusees frae Sandy, yesterday"
Yes, my little man.
"Well, here's seven-pence" Counting
out divers copper coins). Sandy Gamma
come; he's no Weel cart run Ow'r him
the day, and brokon his legs, and lost his
bonnet, and his fusees, and your fourpence
piece, and his knife, and he's no weel.
He's no weel ava, and the doc-tor-says
he's dee-dee-in, and-and that's a. he
can gle you noe" h rI
And the poor child, commencing with
sobs, ended in sore fit of crying.
i gave him food, for, though his cup of
sorrow was full enough, his stomach was
empty, as he looked wistfully at the. dis
play on the tea-table.
+" Are you Sandy's brother %
cay, sir"
rAnd the foodgates of his heart again
| opened. ..a....o
"Where do you live? Are your father
and mother alive?"
{" We bide in Blackfriar's Wynd, in the
Coogate. My mithers dead, and fathers
AVA, and we bide whites wi our gudemith-
err" sobbing bitterly.
"Where did this accident happen 2"
"Near the college, sir"
Calling cab, we were speedily set down
in Blackfriar's Wyne. had never pene-
trated the wretched places of these ancient
cities by day, and here entered one by
night, and almost alone. Preceded by my
little guide, I entered dark, wide, wind
ing STAIR until, sclimbing many flights. of
stairs in total darkness, he opened door,
whence light maintained feeble, un-
equal struggle with the thick, close smell
ing heavy gloom. My courage nearly gave
way as the spectacle Iof that room burst
upon me. In an apartment certainly
spacious in extent, but scarcely made visi-
bic by one guttering candle stuck in a bot
tie, were an overcrowded mass Of wretch
ed beings, sleeping on miserable beds
spread out on the floor, or squatted or re-
clining upon the cold, unfinished boards
Stepping over a PROSTATE quarreling
drunkard, found little Sandy on bed of
carpenters shaVings on the floor. He was
still in his rags, and a torn scanty coverlet
had been thrown over him. Poor lad he
was so changed. His sharp, pallid face
was clammy and cold--beads of the sweat
of agony standing on his brow-his
bruised and mangled body lay motionless
and still, except when sobs and moaning
heaved his fluttering breast. A bloated
woman, in maudlin drunkenness (the dead
or banished fathers second wife, and not
lbs mother), now and then bathed his lips
with whisky and water, while she applied
to her own bottle of spirits to drown
the grief she hiccoughed and assumed. A
doctor from the Royal Infirmary had
called and left some medicine to soothe
the poor lads agony flor his case was
hopeless, even though he had been taken
at irst), but his tipsy nurse had forgotten
/ W administer IT, l. appleU IL, ana nau
him placed upon a less miserable bed of
straw; and feeling woman, an occupant
of the room, to attend him during the
night, gave what directions could, and
left the degraded, squalid home.
Next morning | was again in Black
friar's Wynd. It's close, pestilential air,
and towering antique, dilapidated man.
sions (the abode of the peerage in far-off
times,) now struck my senses. Above
doorway was carved upon the stone
Except we Lord do build ye house, We
| builders build in vain" ysnI,s. $50 a4a Z
said the room was spacious; it was al
most noble in its proportions The walls
! of paneled oak, sadly marred; massive
marble mantel-piece of cunning carving,
ruthlessly broken and disfgured; enam-
eled tiles around the fireplace, once rep
resenting some Bible story, now sorely
despoiled and cracked and the ceiling
festooned with antique fruit and flowers,
shared in the general Vandal wreck. With
the exception of broken chair, furniture
there was none in that sitting den. It's
occupants, said the surgeon, whom found
at the sufferers bed, were chiefly of our
cities pests, and the poor lads stepmother
who had taken him from the Ragged
School, that she might drink OF his pitt
fnl earnings-was as sunk in infamy as any
there.