another. And so, I should like to meet with some decent man, as a tutor,
to teach the lad Latin and vartue!"

"My eyes!" cried Dummie; aghast at the grandeur of this desire.

"The boy is 'cute enough, and he loves reading," continued the dame;
"but I does not think the books he gets hold of will teach him the way
to grow old."

"And 'ow came he to read, anyhows?"

"Ranting Rob, the strolling player, taught him his letters, and said
he'd a deal of janius."

"And why should not Ranting Rob tache the boy Latin and vartue?"

"'Cause Ranting Rob, poor fellow, was lagged [Transported for burglary]
for doing a panny!" answered the dame, despondently.

There was a long silence; it was broken by Mr. Dummie. Slapping his
thigh with the gesticulatory vehemence of a Ugo Foscolo, that gentleman
exclaimed,--

"I 'as it,--I 'as thought of a tutor for leetle Paul!"

"Who's that? You quite frightens me; you 'as no marcy on my narves,"
said the dame, fretfully.

"Vy, it be the gemman vot writes," said Dummie, putting his finger to
his nose,--"the gemman vot paid you so flashly!"

"What! the Scotch gemman?"

"The werry same!" returned Dummie.

The dame turned in her chair and refilled her pipe. It was evident from
her manner that Mr. Dunnaker's suggestion had made an impression on her.
But she recognized two doubts as to its feasibility: one, whether the
gentleman proposed would be adequate to the task; the other, whether he
would be willing to undertake it.

In the midst of her meditations on this matter, the dame was interrupted
by the entrance of certain claimants on her hospitality; and Dummie soon
after taking his leave, the suspense of Mrs. Lobkins's mind touching
the education of little Paul remained the whole of that day and night
utterly unrelieved.

CHAPTER III.

I own that I am envious of the pleasure you will have in finding yourself
more learned than other boys,--even those who are older than yourself.
What honour this will do you! What distinctions, what applauses will
follow wherever you go!
--LORD CHESTERFIELD: Letters to his Son.

Example, my boy,--example is worth a thousand precepts.
--MAXIMILIAN SOLEMN.

Tarpeia was crushed beneath the weight of ornaments. The language of the
vulgar is a sort of Tarpeia. We have therefore relieved it of as many
gems as we were able, and in the foregoing scene presented it to the
gaze of our readers simplex munditiis. Nevertheless, we could