"Better, at all events, than you," emphatically replies the man.
"I'm only in for cribbing voters; which, be it known, is commonly
called a laudable enterprise just before our elections come off, and
a henious offence when office-seekers have gained their ends. But
what use is it discussing the affairs of State with a thing like
you?" The vote-cribber, inclined to regard the new-comer as an
inferior mortal, shrugs his shoulders, and walks away,
contemplatively humming an air.

"If here ain't Tom Swiggs again!" exclaims a lean, parchment-faced
prisoner, pressing eagerly his way through the circle of bystanders,
and raising his hands as he beholds the wreck upon the floor.

"Fate, and my mother, have ordered it so," replies Tom, recognizing
the voice, and again imploring the jailer to bring him some brandy
to quench the fires of his brain. The thought of his mother floated
uppermost, and recurred brightest to the wandering imagination of
this poor outcast.

"There's no rum here, old bloat. The mother having you for a son is
to be pitied-you are to be pitied, too; but the jail is bankrupt,
without a shilling to relieve you in the liquor line," interposes
another, as one by one the prisoners begin to leave and seek their
several retreats.

"That breath of yours," interrupts the vote-cribber, who, having
returned, stands regarding the outcast man with singular interest,
"would make drunk the whole jail. A week in 'Mount Rascal'
The upper story used for the confinement of felons. will be
necessary to transmute you, as they call it, into something