I'd lost sight of her then for a bit, when one day And he told me as how she'd been locked up, She'd took some fruit for her poor sick kid, So they had her up an' giv' her a month I see her again, in a little while, Lookin' whiter and wuss than afore; But the weaker she grow'd, poor soul, she seem'd To cling to her boy the more. Now there came the "Peddlers' Hact" just then, That has caused such a deal o' fuss;— A Hact for turnin' men into thieves, And women into wuss! "Once a thief-allers a thief Brand 'em an' stop their bread, When I heard as how they'd stopp'd her rounds, And writ "convicted" agin her name, I felt a chokin' like i' the throat, Well, I'd come one bitter night, dead-beat, And the tramps was singin' and hollerin' out I'd sot me down in a weary mood, When the missis come in an' pray'd em all For there was a poor young stranger gal An' they wanted to keep her quiet, poor soul, "For God's sake, missis," I whisper'd hoarse, For I think I know her of old, yer see, "Come and see her, an' welcome," she said, It might be a comfort, like, to her, Yes, it was her; the poor wrong'd gal, A woman was bathing her aching head, Hushing the boy, who knew me again, She looked up then, and saw me, and smiled- And her white lips mutter'd the old, old cry, "Poor soul!"-'twas the missis as whisper'd the words— 'That's how she's been all through; She thinks o' nought but her mother and boy; But I dunno what we can do." When the parson ask'd her name, she sobbed, "I've no name now to own; You see what I am, sir, a sinful girl, That looks to Christ alone. I fell on my knees afore them all, And it seemed as if words was given me, "My lass, I don't ask you who you are, "Will you trust your pretty boy to me? "And I'll shield him, ay, as a mother would, "So, if you can trust your boy to me, She smiled, an' tried to give me her hand, She died next day, with a perfect trust And I carried her orphan boy in my arms. But I said "Look here, sir, I'm bad, no doubt, So I took the boy, and I went my way I got a place as a hostler fust, And I just work'd on till I'd saved enough 'Were shy o' the reg'lar lodgin' cribs, And I'm savin' a trifle, don't yer see, And so we jogs on, my Willie and I, There! I must ha' tired you out, I'm 'fraid, THE OLD CARD-MAKER. BY DOUGLAS JERROLD. THE old card-maker's face was sharp and withered; and his nightcap half removed from his head showed a few short white hairs, like goose-down. The old man's face had in it nothing venerable: it was mere old age-mere decay, without that sweet, serene light which gives to years a halo of holiness. The young wife looked at her sleeping mate in silence, and then a deep, deep sigh broke from her almost unconsciously. She retreated from the bedside as the man awoke. "Who's there? Devils again?" cried the sick man in a hoarse trembling voice. The wife made no answer, and walked on tiptoe out of the room. "Who's there?" again cried the card-maker; and then he mumbled: "Devils-devils-more devils. And I shall go among 'em-I must go among 'em-no help. Damned —damned-ha! ha!-damned.' For an hour and more the old man raved, groaned, and muttered to himself. He had, as I heard, committed no peculiar wickedness in life, but his imagination had caught a disease from a spiritual counsellor, who, in the anxiety of his soul for the dying man, felt it a duty to convince him that he must be damned. He had dealt in cards; he had made gold by the devil's tools, and there was no help for him; the devil must have him. This comfortable assurance Mr. Uriah Cloudy conceived it to be his Christian duty to pour once a day at least into the ears of the departing tradesman, who had such confidence in the authority of the Muggletonian-for Cloudy was said to be of that enlightened sect-that he gave himself up to inevitable perdition. Hence, to his crazed perception, his chamber was beset by devils, male and female; all of them wearing the faces, forms, and habits of the kings, queens, and knaves of cards; all of them, by such masquerade, torturing the remorseful spirit of the dying dealer. "Oh! Ugh!" he groaned-"and there, peeping between the curtains-there's that cat, the Queen of Diamonds!" Then he sat bolt upright in his bed; and, throwing his nightcap into the room, he screamed, "Jack of Clubs, my time's not up-I defy you!" At this moment Becky entered the room. Cloudy come to see you," "Here's Mr. The name seemed to awaken new terror in the cardmaker, for he fell back in his bed, and howled like a wolf. In an instant the Muggletonian was at the bedside. |