ow three children of his own, and the
necessity of eschewing skittles, and presiding over the sawpit, became
urgent. With all his vices and his roughness, he was surprisingly fond
of me. He, too, applauded my spirit in attacking himself. He now
rejoiced to take me to the sawpit, to allow me to play about the
timber-yards, and share with him his _alfresco_ midday meal and pot of
porter. I always passed for his eldest son, my name being told to the
neighbours as Ralph Rattlin Brandon. I knew no otherwise, and my
foster-parents kept the secret religiously. At seven I began to fight
with dirty little urchins in the street, who felt much scandalised at
the goodness of my clothes. It is hard work fighting up-hill at seven
years of age. Old Ford would wipe the blood from my nose, and clap the
vinegar and brown paper on my bruises with words of sweet encouragement;
though he always ended by predicting that his hopeful godson would be
hung, and that he should live to see it. I have certainly not been
drowned yet, though I have had my escapes, and old Ford has been dead
these thirty years. As one part of the prophecy will certainly never be
fulfilled, I have some faint hopes of avoiding the exaltation hinted at
in the other.

About this time, I began to notice that a lady, at long intervals, came
to see me. She seemed exceedingly happy in my caresses, though she
showed no weakness. She passed for my godmother, and so she certainly
was. She was minute in her examination in ascertaining that I was
perfectly clean; and always brought me a number of delicacies, which
were invariably devoured immediately after her departure, by me and
those little cormorants my loving foster-brothers and sister. Moreover,
my nurse always received a present, which she very carefully and
dutifully concealed from her liege lord of the pits. However, I cannot
call to my mind more than four of these "angelic visits" altogether.
"Angelic visits," indeed, they might be termed, if the transcendent
beauty of the visitor be regarded. At that time, her form and her
countenance furnished me with the idea I had of the blessed inhabitants
of heaven before man was created, and I have never been able to replace
it since by anything more beautiful. The reader shall soon know how, at
that very early age, I became so well acquainted with angelic lore.

When eight years old I was sent to school. I could read before I went
there. How I picked up this k