Christian. On 'the Mount' you will have a chance to
philosophize-mollify the temperature of your nervous system-which is
out of fix just now."

There is an inert aristocracy, a love of distinction, among the
lowest dregs of society, as there is also a love of plush and other
insignificant tawdry among our more wealthy republicans. Few would
have thought of one inebriate affecting superiority over another,
(the vote-cribber was an inebriate, as we shall show,) but so it
was, nevertheless.

"I own up," rejoins Tom, "I own up; I love my mother, and am out of
sorts. You may call me a mass of filth-what you please!"

"Never mind; I am your friend, Tom," interrupts the brusque old
jailer, stooping down and taking him gently by the arm. "Good may
come of the worst filth of nature-evil may come of what seemeth the
best; and trees bearing sound pippins may have come of rotten cores.
Cheer up!"

The cool and unexpected admonition of the "vote-cribber" leaves a
deep impression in Tom's feelings. He attempts, heaving a sigh, to
rise, but has not strength, and falls languidly back upon the floor.
His countenance, for a few moments, becomes dark and desponding; but
the kind words that fall from the jailer's lips inspire him with
confidence; and, turning partly on his side, he thrusts his begrimed
hands into a pair of greasy pockets, whistling "Yankee Doodle," with
great composure.

The jailer glances about him for assistance, saying it will be