STORICULES.

V.--A BORN ARISTOCRAT.

[Illustration]

Whenever I forgot to put the matches in my pocket on leaving the
chambers, I used to buy a box from a boy who stood at the street
corner, where the 'busses stop. He was a small boy, somewhat ragged
and occasionally a good deal splashed with mud. He was bright and
energetic, and he did a very fair trade. There was an air of complete
independence about him, which one does not often find in match-boys.
His method of recommending his wares was considerably above the
average of the peripatetic vendor; it suggested a large emporium,
plate glass, mahogany counters, and gorgeous assistants with fair hair
parted in the middle:

"Now off'rin! A unooshally lawge box of wax vestas for one penny.
Shop early and shop often. Foosees, Sir? Yessir. Part o' a bankrupt's
stock."

This was smart of him. By differing a little from the usual match-boy
manner, he attracted more attention, and grins, and coppers.

One morning I had climbed up to the top of the 'bus and taken my seat,
when I saw that the boy had followed me.

"No use," I said; "I don't want any this morning."

"Well, I ain't sellin' none this mornin', Sir. I'm goin' a ride on