Justice in the By-Ways A Tale of Life

ate's welfare at heart; he knows there is no state of degradation so low that the victim cannot, under proper care, be reclaimed from it; and he fe

ance, and your care a delicate hand. The stubbornly-inclined nature, when coupled with ignorance, is that in which vice takes deepest root, as it is, when educated, that against which vice is least effectual. To think of changing the natural inclination of such natures with punishment, or harsh correctives, is as useless as would be an attempt to stop the ebbing and flowing of the tide. You must nurture the feelings, he thought, create a susceptibility, get the heart right, by holding out the value of a better state of things, and make the head to feel that you are sincere in

ready to do "a bit of a good turn for one in need," as he would say when a needy friend sought his assistance. McArthur is a dealer in curiosities,

rk a favorable revolution in the feelings of Tom's mother; and to be prepare

back and see how Tom prospers at the old prison. You, we well know, have not much love of prisons. But unless

I thought I'd just haul my tacks aboard, run up a bit, and see what sort of weather you were making, Tom," says he, touching clumsily his small-brimmed, plait hat, as he recognizes the young man, whom he

her eyes, ye see, yeer fit only to make fees out on, for them ar lawyer chaps. They'd keep puttin' a body in an' out here during his natural life, just for the sake of gettin' the fees. They don't care for such things as you and I. We hain't no rights; and if we had, why we hain't no power. This carryin' too much head sail, Tom, won't do-'twon't!" Spunyarn shakes his head reprovingly, fusses over Tom,

eein' as how I'm

, shaking his head, and peering

ft all right again. And when you have got her right you must keep her right. I say, Tom!-it won't do. You must reef down, or the devil 'll seize the helm in one of these blows, and run you into a port too warm for pea-jackets." For a moment, Spunyarn seems half inclined to grasp Tom by his collarless coat and shake the hydrophobia, as he calls it, out of him; then, as if incited by a second thought, he draws from his shirt-bosom a large, wooden c

old sailor. Indeed there was something so whole-hearted about old Spunyarn, that he was held in u

f, Tom-don't mind me,"

s hand. "You've had a

ng, as he lays his han

om head

ents a day it provides for our living into his breeches pockets. Say what you will about it, old fellow, it's a brief way of doing a little profit in the business of starvation. I don't say this with any ill-will to the State that regards its powerless and destitute with such criminal contempt-I don't." And he brings water, gets Tom upon h

the devil think you know he is trying to put the last seal on your fate-never!" Having slipped the black kerchief from his own neck, he secures it about Tom's, adjusts the shark's bone at the throat, and mounts the braid hat upon his head with a hearty bl

a shade up, I reckon! And I feel-I have to thank you for it, Spunyarn-something different a

hank my

, Tom," interpo

pair!" And he bursts into a wild, fierce laugh. A moment's pause, and he says, in

y when a friend in need claimed his attention. And this generous propensity he the more frequently exercised upon the effects-whiskey, cold ham, crackers and cheese- of the vote-cribber, whom he regards as a sort of cold-hearted land-lubber, whose political friends outside were not what they should be. If the vote-cribber's aristocratic friends (and South Carolina politicians were much given to dignity and bad whiskey) sent him l

r bottle, drags it forth, holds it in the shadow of the doorway, squints exultingly at the contents, shrugs his stalwart shoulders, and empties a third of the liquid, which he replaces with water from a bucket near by, into his tin-topped flask. This done, he ingeniously replaces the bottle, sl

s only for lawyers to get fees of. The State 'll starve you, old Hardscrabble 'll make a few dollars out of your feed-but what of that? We don't want you here." There was something so sullen and mysterious in the coarse features of this stalwart man-something so revolting in his profession, though it was esteemed necessary to the

here; you're a fi

upts the inebriate-"Bet

n man drops his head into his hands, stabbed with remorse, while the vote-cribber folds his brawny arms leisurely, paces to a

yourself so much

a good subject to crib, a week or two befo

or the "old Charleston" party, being sure of a releas

I've no great respect for it; but there is a wide difference between a man who they put in here for sinning against himself, and one who only violates a law of the State, passed in opposition to popul

so low that even the felon loathed his presence? Was he an outcast, stripped of every means of reform-of making himself a man? Oh no! The knife of the destroyer had plunged deep-disappointment had tortured his brain-he was drawn deeper into the pool of misery by the fatal fascinations of the house of Madam

sted bread, is accosted by several suspicious-looking prisoners, who have assembled in the corridor f

hurries up stairs as the vote-cribber hurries down, and setting his offering on the window-sill, draws from his bosom the concealed flask. "There, Tom!" he says, with childlike satisfaction, h

oning the quality of the dr

d. "My honor is nothing to the world, Spunyarn, but it is yet something to me; and by it I swear (here he grasps tighter the hand of the old sailor, as a tear moistens his suffused cheeks) never to touch the

you strength to keep the resolution. That's my wish." And the ol