*tar 4* Ittosttaitim Sa**tr VOL. 6--NO. 38.] THE GARLAND. oweetvait fluw.rs enriched, 4 From various gardens cull'd with cam." '11 . : 1 14: DT INC; BOY. It must be sweet, in childhood, to give back The spirit to its nosy. r; ere the heart Has grown familiar with the paths of sin, And sown—to gather up its hitter fruits. 1 knew a boy whose infant feet had trod Upon the blossoms of some seven springs, And when the earth came round and him out To revel in its light, he turned away, And sought his chamber, to lie down and die. 'Twat night; lie his acenstuni'd friends, Anil in this wise bestowed his last request. her—Pm dying isow! Tbere'o,n deep ,ullocation in my breast, As if bow., heavy hued toy bosom pressed; And on my brow I feel the cold sweat stand; My lips grow dry and tremulous, and my breath Comes lei bly up. Oh! t.•Il rue, is this death? Mother; your hand— Here—luy it On my waist, And place the other thus beneath my head. And .ay, sweet mother, say, when I am dead. Shall I be missed? Never beside your knee. Shall I kneel down again at night to pray; Nor with the morning wake and tiing the lay You taught to ine Oh! at the time of praver. When you 10 , ,k roiled and see a vacant seat, You will not watt then lor ivy cowing feet— You'll miss me there. Father—l'm going home! To the hood home you .poke of—that blest laud, Where it is one bright milliner always, and Storms do not come. I must be happy then: From pain and death you say I shall be free, That sickness never enters there, and we Shall meet again. Ilrother—the little spot I used to call my garden, whore long hours W e've , day'd to watch the budding things,&; flowers, Forget it nut! Plant there home box or pine, Something that Ines in wI ller, and will be A verdant ullering to my memory, And call it mine! Sister—my young rose tree, That all the spring has hevu my pleasant care, Just putting forth its leaves, so green and fair, 1 give to thee! And when its roses bloom, I shall be gone ;away, my shur: lire done; But will ) uu am b,stow a single 0110 Upon my tomb? Now, mother, sing the tune You sung last night—l'm weary and must sleep. Who was it call'd my name? Nay, do not weep You'll all come soon! Morning spread over earth her rosy wings, And that week sufferer, cold and ivory pale, Lay un his couch asleep The gentle air Came through the open window, freighted with The savory odors ui the early spring— He breathed it nut; the laugh of passers by, Jarred like a discord in sonic mournful tune. Hut worried not his slumbers. He was dead. AN AIVIUSTNG TREAT. [No. XXV*] JAPIIET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. (Kr CONTINUED FROM OUR LAOT. 1 was not yet weaned from the world, bu I was lust advancing to that state& when a very smart young quaker came on a visit to Reading. lie was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Cophagus, and was soon, as might be expected,an admirer of Susunt►uh, but he re ce►ved no encouragement. tie was am idle person, and passed much of his time sitting in my shop and talking with me, and being much less reserved and unguarded than the generality of the young men of the sect, 1 gradually became intimate with him. One day, when my assistant %%as out, he said to me, "Friend hnou•laud, tell me candidly, bust thou ever seen my face beterel" "Not that 1 can recollect, friend Talbot." 'Then my recollection is better than yours: and now having ob!ained thy friendship as one of the society; I will remind thee of our former acquaintance. When thou wert Mr. N•e•w•luud, walking about town with Major Carbonnell, I was Lieutenant Talbot, of the Dragoon Guards." 1 was dumb with astonishinent,and I star. ed him in the fice. "Yes," continued he, bursting into laugh- ter, "such is the fact. Yuu have thought, perhaps, that you were the only man of fashion who had ever been transformed in- to a quaker; now you behold another, so no longer imagine yiursell the [lmmix ofyour tribe." "1 do certainly recollect that name,' re plied 1; "but although, as you must be ac qua►nted with my history, ►t is very easy to conceive why 1 may have joined the society, yet, upon what grounds you can have so done, is to u►e inexplicable." "Newland,it certainly does require oxpla• nation; it hai3 been, I assert, my misfortune, and not my iault. Not that 1 am not hap py. On the contrary, I feel that lam now in .my proper situation. 1 ought to huve been born ot•quaker parents—at all events, 1 was born u quaker in disposition; but I will come to-morrow early, and then, ifyou will give your man somethiog to do out of the way, I will tell you my history. I know that you will keep my secret." The next morning he came, and us soon as we were alone he imparted to me what !allows. "1 recollect well, Newland, when you were one ut the leaders of fashion. 1 was then in the Dragoon Guards, and although not very intimate with you, had the honor of a recognition when we met at parties.. I cannot help laughing, upon my soul, when I look at us both now; but never mind. I was of course a great deal with my regi ment, and at the club., My father, as you may not perhaps be aware, was highly con. pected,and all the family have been brought p to the army; the question of profession lias never been mooted by us, and every . Talbot has turned a soldier us naturally as a young duck takes to the water. Well, I entered the artily, ammo_ ti my min; irm, and was admired .by the young htdies. Before I received my lieutenant's commission, my lather, the old gentleman, died, and left me a younger brother's fortune of f air hundred per 111111M11; but, a,. my uncle, said, "II was quite enough ler a Talbot, who would push hi mßelf firrwa rd in his prulession, as the Talbots had ever dune helbre him." I soon titund out that my Income was not sufficient to enable me to continue in the Guards, and my uncle was very anxious that I should ex change into a regiment nn service. I there• fire, by purchase, obtained a company in the 23d, ordered out to reduce the French colonies in the West Indies, and I sailed with all the expectation of covering myself with as much glory as the Talbuts had done front time immemorial. We landed, and in a short tunic the bullets and grape were flying in all directions,and then I discovered, what declare never fur a moment came into my head blfore, to wit—that I had mistaken Iny profession." "How do you mean, Talbot?" "Mean! why, that I was deficient in a cer tain qualification, which never was before denied to a Talbot--cuurage." "And you never knew that befire?" "Never, upon my honor; my mind was always full of courage. In my mind's eye I built castles of teats of bravery, which should eclipse all the Talbots,from him who burnt Joan of A rc, down to the present day - . I u-sure you, that surprised as other people were,tio one wits more surpass d than myself. Our regiment wait ordered to advance, and led on my company,but the bullets flew like hail. I trued to go on, but I could not; at last, notwithstanding all my endeavours to the contrary, 1 fairly took to my heels. I was met by the commanding officer—in fitct, I ran right against turn. He ordered me back,and I returned to my reginamt,not feel ing at all afraid. Again I was in the lire, again I resisted the impulse, but it was of no use,and at last,just befirre the assault took place, I ran away as if the devil was after me. Wasn't it odd?" "Very odd, indeed," replied I, laughing. "Yes, but yua do not exactly understand why it was odd. You know what philoso phers tell you about volition; and that the body is governed by the mind, consequently obeys it; now, you see, in my case, it was exactly reversed. I tell you, that it is a that an mind l urn as brave as any man in existence; but I had a cowardly carcass, and what is still worse, it proved the mas ter of my mind, and ran away with it. I had no mind to run away; on the contrary, I wished to have been of the foi Joni hope, and had volunteered, but was refused. Sure ly, ill had not courage I should have avoid ed such a post of danger. IF it not so?" "It certainly appears strange that you should volunteer for the forlorn hope, and then run away." "That's Just what I say. I have the soul oft he Talbots, but a body which don't belong to the family, and too powerful for the "So it appears. Well, go on." "It was go off, instead of going on. 1 tried again that day to mount the breach and as the fire was over, I succeeded; but there was a mark against me, and it was iii timated that I should have an opportunity ul redeeming my character." "There was a fort to be stormed the next day, and 1 requested to lead my company in advance. Surely that was no proof of want Acuurage? Permission was granted. We were warmly received, and 1 felt that my legs refused to advance; so what did I do? I tied my sash round toy thigh, and telling the men that I was wounded, requested they would carry me to the attack. Surely that was courage?" "Must undoubtedly so. I'al btn." "We were at the foot of the breach; when the shot flew about me,! kicked and wrestled so, that the two men who carried me were obliged to let me go, and my rascally body was at liberty. 1 say unfortunately, for only conceive,if they had carried me wound ed up the breach, what an heroic act it would have been considered on my part; but fate decided it otherwise. If I had lain still when they dropped me, I should have done well, but I was anxious to get up the breach, that is, my mind was so bent; but as soon as I got on my lege, confound them if they didn't run away with me! and then I was found half a mile from the fort with a pre tended wound. That was enough; I had a hint that the sooner I went home the better. On account of the family I was permitted to sell out, and I then walked the streets as a private gentleman, but no one would speak to me. I argued the point with several,but they were obstinate, and would not be con• vineed; -they said that it was no use talking about being brave, if I rau away." "They were not philosophers, Talbot." "No, they could nut comprehend how the mind and the body could be at variance.— It was nJ use arguing; they would have it that the' movements of the body depended upon the mind, and that I had made a mis take; and that I was a coward in soul as well as body." "Well, what did you do?" "Oh, 1 did nothing! I had a great mind to knock them down, but as 1 knew my body would not atisist me, I thought it better to leave it alone. However, they taunted me so, by calling me fighting Tom, that my uncle shut his door upon me as a disgrace to the family, saying, he wished the first bullet had laid me dead—very kind of him —at last my patience was worn out, and I looked about to find whether there were not $7 ROBEP.T WIT MIIDIDLMTOII, =mon, P 1 7.13L11311MR AND PROPRIE'T'OR. "I WISH NO OTHER HERALD, NO OTHER SPEAKER OF MY LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION."-SUARS. amwwzr9taiwzia o zpzic. GutwPmcaz. , I:O2V2XalBb2 sa. Ina. It was like a "Is it possible, Japhet," replied Timothy, "that I find you a broad-brimmed quaker?" "Even so, Timothy. lam really and truly one." "Then you are less disguised than I am," replied Timothy,kic king off his wooden leg, and letting down his own, which had been tied up to his thigh, and concealed in his wide blue trowsers. "I am no more a sai lor than you are, Japhet; and since you left me,have never yet seen the salt water,which I talk and sing so much about." “Then thou ha:-:t been deceiving, Timo thy, which I regret much." "Now I do perceive that you are a qua ker," replied Tim; "but do not blame me until you have heard my story. Thank God, I have found you at last. But tell me, Japh et, you will not send me away, will you?— If your dress is changed, your heart is not. Pray answer me, before I say any thing more. You know I can be useful here." "Indeed, Timothy, I have often wished for you since 1 have been here, and it will be your own fault if I part with you. You shall. assist me in the shop; but you must dress like me." "Dross like you! have lf not always dress ed like you? When we started from Copt's gus's, were we not dressed much alike? did we not wear spangled jackets together? did I not wear your livery, and belong to you? I'll put on any thing, Japhet—but we must not I..trt again." "My dear Timothy, I trust we shall not; hut I expect my assistant here soon, and do not wish that he should"see you in that garb. Go to a small public•honse at the farther end of this 'street, and when you see me pass, come out to me, and we wilt walk out into the country, and consult together." some people who did not consider courage ;is a sine qua non. I found that the quo• kers' tenets were against fighting,and there tire courage could not he necessary, - so I have joined then), and I find that, if not a good soldier,' am at all events a very respect- able quaker; and now you have the whole of my story—and tell me ifyou are of my opin ion." "Why, really it's a very difficult point to decide. I never heard such a case of dig. integration before. 1 must think upon it." "Ot course you will not say a word about it Newland." "Never fear, I will keep vonr secret,Tal , got. flow long have you worn the dress?" "Oh, more than a year. By the by, what a nice young person that Susannah Temple is. I've a great mind to propose for her.'' "But you must first aqcertam what your body says to it, Talbot," replied I, sternly. "I allow no one to interfere with me, quaker or not." "My dear fellow I beg your pardon, I shall think no more about her," said Talbot, rising up, as he observed that I looked very fie:ce. "I wish you a good morning. I leave Reading to-morrow. I will call . NI you, and say good•b'ye, can;" and IstiW no more of friend Talbot, whose rnind*aii all courage, but whose body was so rene• About a montlrafler this, I heard a sailor with one leg, and a handful of ballads, sing ing ma most lachrymal tone. Why, what's that to you if my eyes I'm a wiping? A tear is a pleasure, d•ye see, in its way"— "Bless your honor, shy a copper to poor Jack, who's lost his leg io the service.— Thanky, your honor,"- and he continued, "Ws nonsense for trifles, I own, to be piping, But they who can't pity—why 1 pities they, Says the captain, says he; I shall never forget it, Olcourage, you know, boys, the true from the sham." "Back your inamtopsail, your worship, for half a minute, and jusi assist a poor dis mantled craft, who has been riddled in the wars. "Tit; a furious lion." Long life to our honor—"ln battle so let it." , •rri, a furious lion, in battle so let it; Hut duty appeased—but duty appeased— " Buy a song, young woman, to sing to your sweetheart, while you sit on his knee in the dog watch-- "But duty appeased. 'tis the heart of a lamb." I believe there are few people who do not take a strong interest in the English sailor, • particularly in one who has been mained in the defence of his country. 1 always have, and as 1 heard the poor disabled fellow bawl ing out his ditty, certainly not with a very remarkable voice or execution, 1 pulled out the drawer behind the counter, and took out some halfpence to give him. When I caught his eye I beckoned to him, and he entered the shop. "Here, my good fellow," said I, "altho' a man of peace myself, yet I feel for those who sutler in the wars;" and I put the mo ney to him. "piny your honor never know a banyan day," replied the sailor; "and a sickly season for you, into the bargain." "Nay, friend, that is not a kind wish to others," replied I. The sailor fixed his eyes earnestly upon me, as if in astonishment, for until I had an swered ho had not looked at me particularly. "What are you looking at?" said I. "Good heavens!" exclaimed he. "It is— yet it cannot be!" "Cannot be! what, friend?" He ran odt of the door, and read the name over the shop, and then came in, and sank upon a chair outside of the counter. "Japh. et, I have found you at last!" exclaimed he, faintly. - "Good Heaven! who are you?" He threw off his hat, with false ringlets fastened to the inside of it, and I beheld Tim othy. In a moment 1 sprang over the coun ter, and was in his arms. "Is it possible," exclaimed I, after a short silence on both sides, "that I find you, Timothy, a disabled sailor?" "I have put up at a small house not fir off, and have some clothes there; I will alter my dress, and meet you. God bless you, .1 aphet." Timothy then picked up his ballads,whielt were scattered on the floor, put up his leg, and putting on his wooden stump, hastened away, after once inure silently pressing my hand. In halfan hour my assistant returned,and I desired him to remain in the shop, as 1 ' was going out on business. I then walked to the appointed rendezvous, and was soon joined by Tim, who had discarded his sai• lor's disguise, and was in what is called a shabby genteel sort of dress. A (ler the first renewed greeting, I requester Tim to let me know what had occurred to him since our separation, "You cannot imagine, Japhet, what my feelings were when I tound,by your noteo hat you had left me. 1 had perceived how un• happy you had been for a long while, and 1 was equally distressed, although I knew not the ctiuse. I had no idea until I got your letter, that you had lust all your money; and 1 felt it more unkind of you to leave me then, than Wpm had been cundbrtable and rode pendent. As for looking after you, that I knew would be useless; and I immediately went to Mr. Masterton, to take his advice as to how I should proceed. Mr. Masterton had received yOur letter, and appeared to be very much annoyed. "Very tbolish bly," said he, "but there is nothing that can be done now. He is mad, and that is all that can be said in his excuse. You must do as he tells you, I suppose, and try the best for yourself. 1 will help you in any way that 1 un,my poor fellow," said he, "so don'tcry." 'Went back io the house and 'collected to. Other your papers, which 1 sealed up. 1 knew that the house was to be given up in a few days. I sold the furniture, and made the best I could of the remainder of your wardrobe, and other things of value that you had left; indeed, every thing, with the ex ception of the dressing-case and pistols, which belonged to Major Carbonnell, and I thought you might perhaps some day like to have them." 44 How very kind of you, Timothy, to think of me,jn that way. I shall indeed be glad; but no—what have 1 to do with pis tois or silver dressing.cases now? I must not have them, but still I thank you all the same." 'The furniture and every thing else fetch. ed 4301., alter all expenses were paid." "I am glad of it, Timothy, for your sake; but I am lorry, judging by your present plight, that it appears to have done you but little good." "Because I did not make use of it,Japhet. What could 1 do with all that money? I took it to Mr. Musterton, with all your pa• pers, and the dressing•cuse and pistols:—he has it now ready for you when you ask for it. He was very kind to me, and offered to do any thing foi me; but I resolved to go in search of you. I had inure money in my pocket when you went away than 1 gener ally have, and with the surplus of what you left for the bills, I had twelve or fourteen pounds. So I wished Mr. Masterton good b'ye,and have ever since been on my adven tures in search of my master." "Not master, Timothy; say rather of your friend." "Well, of both if you please, Japhet; and very pretty adventures I have had, I assure you, and some very hair•breadth escapes." "I think, when we compare notes, mine will be found the most eventful, Timothy; but we can talk of them, and compare notes another time. At present, whom do you think I am residing with?" "A quaker, I presume." "You have guessed right so far; but who do you think that quaker is?" "There I'm at fault." "Mr. Cophagus." At this intelligence Timothy gave a leap n the air, turned round un his heel,and turn. bled on the grass in a fit of immoderate laughter. "Cophagus!—a quaker!" cried he at hist. "Oh! I long to see him. Sod tie, snuffle—broad brims—wide skirts—and so on. Capital!" "It is very true, Timothy, but you must not mock at the persuasion." "1 did not intend it, Japhet, but there is something to me so ridiculous in the idea. But," continued Timothy, "is it not still stranger, that after having separated so ma ny years, we should all meet again—and that I should find Mr. Cophagus—an apoth ecary's shop—you dispensing medicines— and I—as I hope to be—carrying them a bout as I did before. Well, I shall row in the same boat, and I will be a quaker as well as you both." "Well, we will now return, and I will take you to Mr. Cophagus, who w;11, I am sure, be glad to see you." "First, Japhet,let me have some quaker's clothes: I should prefer it." "You shoji have a suit amine, Timothy, since you wish it; but recollect it is not at all necessary, nor indeed will it be permitted that you enter into the sect .without prepar- story examinatiou as to your fitness for ad nission." then went to the shop, and sending out he assistant, walked home and took out a coarse suit of clothes, with which I hastened to Timothy. He put them on in the shop, and then walking behind the counter, said, "This is my place, and here I shall remain as long as you do.". "I hope so, Timothy; as for the one who is with me at present, I can easily procure him other employnient, and he wall not be sorry to go, for he is a married man, mid does not like the coolittemeni." "I have some money," said Timothy, ta king out of his old clothes a dirty rag, and producing nearly twenty pounds. "1 ain well off, you see." "You are, indeed," replied I. "Yes, there is nothing like being a sailor with one leg,singing ballads. Do you know, Japhet. that sometimes I have taken more than a pound a day since I have shammed the sailor?" "Not very honestly, Tim." "Perhaps not, Japhet; but it is very strange, and yet very true, that when hon. est I could make nothing, and when 1 de ceived, I have done very well." I could not help calling to mind that the same had occurred to me during my event ful career; but I had long considered that there was no excuse for dishonesty,and that, in the end, it would only lead to exposure and disgrace. I went home early in the evening to introduce Timothy to Mr. Co phagus, who received him with great kind ness, and agreed immediately that he ought to he with me in the shop. Timothy paid his respects to the ladies, and then went dawn with Ephraim, who took him under his protection. In a few days he was as es tablished with us as if he had been living with us for months. I had sonic trouble, at first, in checking his vivacity and turn for ridicule; but that was gradually efil!cted, and I found him not only a great acquisition, but, as lie always was,a cheerful and affectionate com• panion. I had, during the first days of our meeting,recounted my adventures,and made many enquiries of Timothy relative to my few 9-iends. tie told me that from Mr. Mas tenon he had learnt that Lady de Clare and Fleta had called upon him very much afflict ed with the contents of my letter—that Lord W indermear also had been very much vex ed and annoyed--that Mr. Masterton had advised him to obtain another situation as a valet, which he had retused,and at the same time told hint his intention of searching fur me. Ile had promised Mr. Masterton to let him know if he tbund me, and then bade him farewell. "1 used to lie in bed, Japhet," continued Timothy, "and think upon the best method of proceeding. At last, I agreed to myself, that to look for you as you looked after your father, would be a wild-goose chase,and that my money would soon be gone; so I reflect. ed whether I might not take up some roving trade which would support Me . , and at the same time enable me to proceed from place to place. W hat do you think was' my first speculation? Why, I saw a man with a dog harnessed in a little cart, crying dog's meat and cat's meat, and I said to myself, "Now there's the very thing—there's a profession can travel and earn my livelihood. I entered into conversation with him, as he stopped at a low public house, treating him to a pot of beer; and having gained all I wanted as to the mysteries of the profession, I called for another pot, and proposed that I should purchase his whole concern, down to his knife and apron. The fellow agreed, and after a good deal of bargaining, I paid him three guineas for the set out or set up, which you please. He asked me whether I meant to hawk in London or not, and I told him no,that 1 should travel the country. He advised the western road, as there were more populous towns on it. Well, we had another pot to clench the bargain, and I paid down the money and took possession, quite delighted with my new occupation. Away I went to Brentford, selling a bit here and there by the way, and at last arrived at the very bench wliv-e we had sat down together and eaten our meal." •'lt is strange that I did the same, and a I very unlucky bench it proved to me." "So it did to me, as you shall hear. I had taken up my quarters at that inn, and for three days had done very well in Brent ford. On the third evening 1 had just come back, it was nearly dusk, and 1 took my seat on the bench, thinking of you. My dog, rather tired, was lying down before the cart, when all of a sudden I heard a sharp whis tle. The dog sprang on his legs immedi ately and ran oil' several yards before I could prevent him. The whistle was re peated, and away went the dog and cart like lightning. I ran as fast as I could, but could nut overtake him; and I perceived that his old master was running a-head of the dog as hard as he could,and this was the reason why the dog was off. Still I should, I think, have overtaken him, but an old wo man coming out of a door with a saucepan to pour the hot water into the gutter, I knocked her down and tumbled right over her down into a cellar without steps. There I was, and before I could climb out again, man, dog, cart, cat's meat and dog's meat, had all vanished, and 1 have never seen them since. . Tne 'rascal got clear off, and I was a bankrupt. So _much fur my first set-up in business." "You forgot to purchase the good will when you made your bargain, Timothy, fur the stuck in trade." "Very two, Japhet. However, after re ceiving a very fair share of abuse from the old woman, and a plaister of hot greens in my face--tbr she went supperless to bed, rather than not have her revenge—l walked buck to the inn, and sat down in the tap.— The two men next to me were hawkers; one carried a large pack ofdimities and calicoes, and the other a box hill of combs, needles, taped, scissors, knives, and mock-gold trill kets. I entered into conversation with them, and as I again stood treat, 1 soon was very intimate. They told me -what their profits were, and how they contrived to get on, and [WHOLE NO. 298. I thought for a rambling lite it was by no means an unpleasant one; so having Amin. ed all the intiormation I required, 1 went back to town, took out a hawker's license, f it. which I paid two guineas, and purchas. ing at a shop, to which they gave me a di rection, a pretty fair quantity of artielee in the tape and scissor line, off I set once more on my travels. I took the north road this time, and picked up a very comfortable sub. sistence selling my goods for a few half pence here, and a few half.pence there, at the cot tages as I passed by; but I soon found out that without a newspaper, I was not a con firmed hawker, and the more radical the newspaper the better. A newspaper will pay half the expenses of a hawker, if he can read. At every house, particularly every small hedge ale house, he is received and placed in the best corner of the chi tnney,and has his board and lodging, with the excep. Lion of what he drinks, gratis, if he will pull out the newspaper and read it to those around him who cannot read, particularly if he can explain what is unintelligible. Now I became a great politician, and moreover, a great radical, for such were the politics of all the lower classes. I lived well, slept well, and sold my wares very test. I did not take more than three shillings in the day, yet us two out of the three were clear profit, 1 did pretty well However, a little accident happened which obliged me to change my profession, or at least, the nature of the articles which I dealt." " W hat was that? "A mere trifle. I had arrived late at a* small ale-house, had put my pack, which was in a painted deal box, on the table in the tap. room, and was very busy, after read ing a paragraph in the newspaper, making a tine speeeli,which I always found was re ceived with great applausemid many shakes of the hand, as a prime good fellow—a speech about community of rights, agrarian division, and the propriety of an equal dis tribution of property, proving that as we.. were all born alike, no one had a right to have more property than his neighbor. The people had all gathered around me, ap plauding violently, when I thought I might as well look atter my pack, which had been for some time hidden from my sight by the crowd, when, to my mortification, I found out that my earnest assertions on the pro priety of community of property had had such an influence upon some of my listeners, that they bad walked of with my, pack and its contents. Unfortunately; I had deposi ted in my boxes all my money, considering it safer there than in my pockets, and had nothing laft.but about seventeen shillings in silver, which I had received within the last three days. Every one was very sorry, but no one knew any thing about it: and when I challenged the landlord as answerable, he called me a radical blackguard, and turned me out of the door." "If you had looked a little more after your own property, and interfered less with that of other people, you would have done better, Tim," observed I, laughing. "Very true; but at all events, I have never been a radical since," replied Tim.— "But to go on. I walked off to the ni•arest town, and I commenced in a more humble way. I purchased a basket, and then,with the remainder of my money, 1 bought . the commonest crockery ware, such as basins, jugs, mugs, and putting them on my head, off I went again upon my new speculation. I wandered about with my crockery, but it was hard work. I could not reap the profits which I did as a hawker and pedlar. I aver aged, however, from ten to twelve shillings a week, and that was about sufficient for my support. f went down in as many kitch ens as would have sufficed to have found a dozen mothers,supposing mine to be a cook; but I did not see auy one who was at all like me. Sometimes a cook replaced a basin she had broken, by giving nie as much meat as had cost her mistress five shillings, and thus avoided a scolding, for an article which was worth only two-pence. At other times a cottager would give me a lodging, and would consider hi mselfrewarded with a mug that only cost me one penny. I was more than three months employed carrying crock ery in every direction, and never, during the whole time, ever broke one article, until one day, as I passed through Eaton, there was a regular smash of the whole concern." "Indeed, how was thatr " I met about a dozen of the Eaton boys, and they proposed a cock•shy, as they call ed it, that is, I was to place my articles on the top of a post, and they were to throw stones at them at a certain distance, paying me a certain sum for each throw. Well, this I thought a very good bargain, so I put up a mug (worth one penny) at one penny it throw. It was knocked down at theseeond shut, so it Wag just of; well to put the full price upon them at once ; they were such re. workable good aimers at any thiug. Each boy had a slick, upon Which 1 notched ► df their throws, and how much they would have to pay when all was over. after another was put up on the post until my basket was empty, and then I wanted 10 settle with them; but as soon as 1 talked a- bout that, they all buret out into a Ipud laugh and took to their heels. I 'chased them, but one might as well have chased eels. If 1 got hold of one, the others putted me be. hind until he escaped, and at last they wore all oil. and I had nothing left." " Nut your basket?" [TO BE CONTINUED.] • How le would be our ambition of ores. raents, were it nut for the p..ide of each log to appear attractive in the eyes of the Whim One art win
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