“‘Rivers, did you say?’ replied I, struck all of a heap.

“‘Yes,’ replied he; ’that was her name; she was of this town.  But never mind the name—­tell me what you think, messmate?’

“‘Well,’ says I (for I was quite bewildered), ’I’ll tell you what, old fellow—­as far as I’m consarned, you have my forgiveness, and now I must wish you good-by—­and I pray to God that we may never meet again.’

“‘Stop a little,’ said he; ’don’t leave me this way.  Ah!  I see how it is—­you think I’m a murderer.’

“‘No, I don’t,’ replied I; ’not exactly—­still, there’ll be no harm in your reading your Bible.’

“And so I got up, and walked out of the room—­for you see, Jack, although he mayn’t have been so much to blame, still I didn’t like to be in company with a man who had eaten up my own mother!”

Here Ben paused, and sighed deeply.  I was so much shocked with the narrative that I could not say a word.  At last Ben continued: 

“I couldn’t stay in the room—­I couldn’t stay in the workhouse.  I couldn’t even stay in the town.  Before the day closed I was out of it, and I have never been there since.  Now, Jack, I must go in—­remember what I have said to you, and larn to read your Bible.”

I promised that I would, and that very evening I had my first lesson from Peter Anderson, and I continued to receive them until I could read well.  He then taught me to write and cipher; but before I could do the latter, many events occurred, which must be made known to the reader.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

     In which the Doctor lets out some very novel Modes of Medical
     Treatment, which are attended with the greatest Success.

Such a change has taken place since I can first recollect Greenwich that it will be somewhat difficult for me to make the reader aware of my localities.  Narrow streets have been pulled down, handsome buildings erected—­new hotels in lieu of small inns—­gay shops have now usurped those which were furnished only with articles necessary for the outfit of the seamen.  Formerly, long stages, with a basket to hold six behind, and dillies which plied at the Elephant and Castle, were the usual land conveyances—­now they have made place for railroads and omnibuses.  Formerly, the wherry conveyed the mariner and his wife, with his sea-chest, down to the landing-place—­now steamboats pour out their hundreds at a trip.  Even the view from Greenwich is much changed, here and there broken in upon by the high towers for shot and other manufactories, or some large building which rises boldly in the distance; while the “Dreadnaught’s” splendid frame fills up half the river, and she that was used to deal out death and destruction with her terrible rows of teeth, is now dedicated by humanity to succor and relieve.

I mention this because the house in which Dr. Tadpole formerly lived no longer exists; and I wish particularly to describe it to the reader.