conveniences of his dress. He then, rising and replacing the box, cast a
longing eye towards the watch on the toilet-table, which was of gold; but
he withdrew his gaze, and with a querulous sigh observed to himself: "The
old blowen kens of that, 'od rat her! but, howsomever, I'll take this:
who knows but it may be of sarvice. Tannies to-day may be smash
to-morrow!" [Meaning, what is of no value now may be precious hereafter.]
and he laid his coarse hand on the golden and silky tresses we have
described. "'T is a rum business, and puzzles I; but mum's the word for
my own little colquarren [neck]."

With this brief soliloquy Dummie descended the stairs and let himself out
of the house.




CHAPTER II.

Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlor splendours of that festive place.
_Deserted Village._

There is little to interest in a narrative of early childhood, unless,
indeed, one were writing on education. We shall not, therefore, linger
over the infancy of the motherless boy left to the protection of Mrs.
Margery Lobkins, or, as she was sometimes familiarly called, Peggy, or
Piggy, Lob. The good dame, drawing a more than sufficient income from
the profits of a house which, if situated in an obscure locality, enjoyed
very general and lucrative repute, and being a lone widow without kith or
kin, had no temptation to break her word to the deceased, and she