In one pane, by permission, was placed the sign board of my honored parent, informing the reading public, that

‘Repairs were neatly executed!’

In my mind’s eye how distinctly do I behold that humble shop in all the greenness and beauty of its Saturday morning’s display.

Nor can I ever forget the kind dumpy motherly Mrs. James, who so often patted my curly head, and presented me with a welcome slice of bread and butter and a drink of milk, invariably repeating in her homely phrase, “a child and a chicken is al’ays a pickin’”—­and declaring her belief, that the ‘brat’ got scarcely enough to “keep life and soul together”—­the real truth of which my craving stomach inwardly testified.

Talk of the charities of the wealthy, they are as ‘airy nothings’ in the scale, compared with the unostentatious sympathy of the poor!  The former only give a portion of their excess, while the latter willingly divide their humble crust with a fellow sufferer.

The agreeable routine of breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper, was unknown in our frugal establishment; if we obtained one good meal a day, under any name, we were truly thankful.

To give some idea of our straitened circumstances, I must relate one solitary instance of display on the maternal side.  It was on a Saturday night, the air and our appetites were equally keen, when my sire, having unexpectedly touched a small sum, brought home a couple of pound of real Epping.  A scream of delight welcomed the savory morsel.

A fire was kindled, and the meat was presently hissing in the borrowed frying-pan of our landlady.

I was already in bed, when the unusual sound and savor awoke me.  I rolled out in a twinkling, and squatting on the floor, watched the culinary operations with greedy eyes.

“Tom,” said my mother, addressing her spouse, “set open the door and vinder, and let the neighbors smell ve has something respectable for once.”

Chapter.  III.—­On Temperance.

“I wou’dn’t like to shoot her exactly; but I’ve a blessed mind to turn her out!”

Armed with the authority and example of loyalty, for even that renowned monarch—­Old King Cole—­was diurnally want to call for

“His pipe and his glass”

and induced by the poetical strains of many a bard, from the classic Anacreon to those of more modern times, who have celebrated the virtue of

“Wine, mighty wine!”

it is not to be marvelled at, that men’s minds have fallen victims to the fascinations of the juice of the purple grape, or yielded to the alluring temptations of the ‘evil spirit.’

It is a lamentable truth, that notwithstanding the laudable and wholesome exertions and admonitions of the Temperance and Tee-total Societies, that the people of the United Kingdom are grievously addicted to an excessive imbibation of spirituous liquors, cordials, and compounds.