Year: 1875

Extracts from a Story in the Atlantic Monthly


By d. II. Johnson.


We clip the following extracts from a
cleverly-written story in the July num-
Der Of the Atlantic Monthly, entitled


"Broke Jail, the author of which is
d. 81. johnson, Esq, of Milwaukee:


/ suppose [ was born in Dublin,
though in what corner or cellar or gar
ret have no idea. My first recollection
is of leading an old woman around the
streets who pretended to be blind, but
could see like a cat. She called herself
my grandmother. If that was true it
was the only truth I ever heard her tell.
tie in looking up good jobs for the burg
lars. We lived in cellar in the
thieves and beggars' quarter. Old
Mag RunnelIs-that was the woman's
pame-was quite a character there.
People who feared the police, or who
had stolen something bad to hide or
hard to sell, used often to come to her
for advice. They always brought with
them bottle of whisky, for devil a
word would old Mag say till her whistle
was wet. Sometimes a man or woman
of our set would want to borrow small
sum of money of her, and would bring
some valuable to be left in pawn for the
loan. She would say, SEQ away wild
yer bawble aud don't be cracking yer
jokes on poor old blind body. If yeIl
come back in an hour, maybe can find
some pawnbroker where 1 can spout it
for yees. They all know that ould Mag
is honest, and not wan of them fears to
put out the money on what she fetches
thin. Yes, yes, come back in an hour,
honey, and I'll thry what I can do for
yees." Then she'd send me off to play,
and while she was alone she would get
the money out of some hiding place she
did have somewhere.


She was not very hard on me. 1
must say that for her. She did cuff and
bang me about a good deal when she
was out of solts or drunk, but she fed
me well and clothed me comfortably,
and taught me to read and write and
reckon, for she was quite a scholar, and
had done something at forgery in her
day.


It would have edited you to see the
old woman and me on our rounds in the
streets. She went always in black,
threadbare clothes, with never a speck
of dust on them, and the Whitest and
stiffest starched cap in all Dublin. She
did look as decent as a church warden's
widow. Her square old eyes stared
straight before her. She looked binder
nor a wooden god, and older nor the
Lord Lieutenapt's castle. wore nice,
clean, patched jacket and trowsers, and
a close fitting skull-car. Oh, but wasn't
the meek, dutiful little grandson,
leading his poor, blind grandmother,
and didn't [ know how to biarney the
kind gentlemen and beautiful ladies
We didn't waste much time on the citi-
zens, but devoted our attention mainly
to the country gentlemen and country
traders and their good wives, who almost
always gave us something. We we're the
best beggars in Dublin. Old Mag used
to say that, if one had a talent for it,
begging was far more profitable nor
81 ealing, to say nothing of the danger.
for she had tried both. She had been
in jail don't know how often, and had
spent fourteen years at Botany Bay.


Sometimes we would go into house
or shop to beg. If we got nothing else
we were sure to get an observation Of
the premises that might be useful to
Iue our BldESs L DGllSN0 Mug , Onlg uO-
ton of honor was that it would be a
5caly trick to report house where the
people had given her silver, to the burg
lars. But woe to those who gave her
or coppers, if there was any
thing IN the house worth stealing.


These same burglars did use to bOr-
row me now and again of a dark night,
to lift me in at windows and poke me
through holes where a man couldn't go.


One morning when I was about ten
years old, or maybe eleven, lay in my
bed of rags in one corner of our cellar
long after I had walked up, wondering
why the old woman didn't call me as
she used to do. At last L crawled out
Of my own accord, and went to see what
allied the old body. She was dead.
was a sharp little devil, and hunted the
cellar through for old Mag's money,
before I called the neighbors. 1 only
found few shillings.