m himself."

"You've a father," said he; "but I'm a horphan, without father nor
mother--a houtcast!"--and he sunk his head upon his bosom; and I observed
that his scrubby crop was already becoming thin and bald.

"Since I left the place in the 'lane,' I've bin a-going--down--down"--and
he nearly touched the floor with his hand. "That gal, Mary, was the ruin
of me--I shall never forget her.--My hopes is sunk, like the sun in the
ocean, never to rise agin!" I was rather amused by this romantic, though
incorrect, figure; but I let him proceed: "I've got several places, but
lost 'em all. I think there's a spell upon me; and who can struggle
against his fate?"

I tried to console him, and found, upon a further confession, that he had
flown to spirits "now and then," to blunt the sharp tooth of mental
misery.

Here, then, was the chief cause of his want of success, which he blindly
attributed to fate--the common failing of all weak minds. For my part,
notwithstanding the imperial authority of the great Napoleon himself, I
have no faith in Fate, believing that the effect, whether good or bad,
may invariably be traced to some cause in the conduct of the individual,
as certainly as the loss of a man, in a game of draughts, is the
consequence of a "wrong move" by the player!--And poor Matthew's
accusation of Fate put me in mind of the school-boy, who, during a wet
vacation, rushed vindictively at the barometer, and struck it in the
face, exclaiming--"Only three holidays left, and still this plaguey glass
says 'very wet;'--I can't bear it--I can't--and I won't."

I did all in my power to comfort the little porter, exhorting him to
diligence and sobriety.

"You were always a kind friend," said he, pathetically; "and
perhaps--perhaps you will give me something to drink your health, for
old-acquaintance sake." This unexpected turn compelled me to laughter.
I gave him sixpence.

Alas! Matthew, I found, was but a piece of coarse gingerbread, tricked
out with the Dutch metal of false sentiment.

CHAPTER XVI.--The Loss of a Friend.

"I say, ma'am, do you happen to have the hair of 'All round my hat I
vears a green villow?'"

I was startled by the batho-romantic sentiment of Matthew, somewhat in
the same manner as the young lady at the bookseller's, when she was
accosted by a musical dustman, with--"I say, ma'am, do you happen to have
the hair of 'All round my hat I vears a green villow?'"

But, however ridiculo