The tears stood in the old man’s eyes, as he fixed them hopelessly upon his boy whilst the child looked ravenously at the money, trifling as it was, and seemed to think of nothing except getting the worth of it of food.  As they left the priest, “Oh, come, come father,” said the little fellow, “come and let us get something to eat.”  “Easy, dear, till I draw my breath a little, for, John I am weak; but the Lord is strong, and will bring us home, if we put our trust in him; for if he’s not more merciful to his poor creatures, than some that acts in his name here, John, we would have a bad chance.”  They here sat down on the ledge of a rock, a few yards from the chapel, and I still remained bound to the spot by the interest I felt in what I had just witnessed.  “What do you want, sir,” said the priest to me; “did you get your ticket?” “I did, sir,” I replied; “but I hope you will permit me to become an advocate for that poor man and his son, as I think their case is one in which life and death are probably concerned!” “Really, my good young man, you may spare your advocacy, I’m not to be duped with such tales as you’ve heard.”  “By the tale, sir, if tale you call it,” I returned, “which the father told, I think, any man might be guided in his charity; but really I think the most pitiful story was to be read in their faces.”  “Do you think so?  Well, if that’s your opinion, I’m sure you have a fair opportunity of being charitable; as for me, I have no more time to lose with either you or them,” said he, going into a comfortable house, whilst I could have fairly seen him up to the neck in the blessed element about us.  I here stepped over, and instantly desired the old man to hand me the fivepence, telling him at the same time that there was something better in prospect, as a proof of which I gave him half-a-crown.  I then returned to the priest, and laid his fivepence down on the table before him; for I had the generosity, the fire, and the candor of youth about me, unrepressed by the hardening experience of life.  “What’s this, sir?” said he.  “Your money, sir,” I replied—­“it is such a very trifle, that it would be of no service to them, and they will be enabled to go home without it; the old man returns it.”  “That is as much as to say,” he replied, sarcastically, “that you will patronize them yourself; I wish you joy of it.  Was it to witness the distresses of others that you came to the island, let me ask?” “Perhaps I came from a worse motive,” I returned.  “I haven’t the least doubt of it,” said he; “but move off—­one word of insolence more,” said he, stretching to a cutting whip, for the use of which he was deservedly famous.  “I will cut you up, sirrah, while I’m able to stand over you.”  “Upon my word,” said I, extending my feet one after another, “you have cut me up pretty well already, I think; but,” I added, with coolness, “is that, sir, the weapon of a Christian?” “Is it the weapon of a Christian, sir? whatever weapon it is, you will soon feel the weight of it,” said