had led to ambitious usurpation. A one-legged, sturdy sailor had mounted
his throne, and wielded his sceptre. The decorum of the street forbade
altercation to the contending parties; but the sailor referred discussion
to a meeting at a flash house in the Rookery that evening. There a jury
was appointed, and the case opened. By the conventional laws that
regulate this useful community, Beck was still in his rights; his
reappearance sufficed to restore his claims, and an appeal to the
policeman would no doubt re-establish his authority. But Beck was still
so ill and so feeble that he had a melancholy persuasion that he could
not suitably perform the duties of his office; and when the sailor, not a
bad fellow on the whole, offered to pay down on the nail what really
seemed a very liberal sum for Beck's peaceful surrender of his rights,
the poor wretch thought of the bare walls at his "mammy's," of the long,
dreary interval that must elapse, even if able to work, before the
furniture pawned could be redeemed by the daily profits of his post, and
with a groan he held out his hand and concluded the bargain.

Creeping home to his "h-old crittur," he threw the purchase money into
her lap; then, broken-hearted and in despair, he slunk forth again in a
sort of vague, dreamy hope that the law, which abhors vagabonds, would
seize and finish him.

When this tale was done, Percival did not neglect the gentle task of
admonition, which the poor sweeper's softened heart and dull remorse made
easier. He pointed out, in soft tones, how the avarice he had indulged
had been perhaps mercifully chastised, and drew no ineloquent picture of
the vicious miseries of the confirmed miser. Beck listened humbly and
respectfully; though so little did he understand of mercy and Providence
and vice that the diviner part of the homily was quite lost on him.
However, he confessed penitently that "the mattress had made him vorse