What Will He Do With It, Book 3.

has not his being in good society: no one cages him, no one pets. He is an idle vagrant. But when he steals through the green herbage, and basks unmolested in the sun, he crowd

dull and very sombre were the thoughts of little Sophy. She walked slowly behind the gray cripple, who had need to lean so heavi

ies, which were perhaps yet more dreary than those of the dejected child, halted abruptly, passed his hand once or twice rap

d, little o

sad, G

enly away from the pretty young gentleman, who was so kind to you,

Sophy; and her under-lip slightly pouted

But don't you think that I did what I felt was best for you? Must I not hav

eman. It might be very well for the pretty young gentleman to promise to correspond with her, but as soon as he returned to his friends he would have other things to think of, and she would soon be forgotten; while she, on the contrary, would be thinking of him, and the Thames and the butterflies, and find hard life still more irksome. Of all this, and much more, in the general way of consolers who set out on the principle that grief is a matter of logic, did Gentleman Waife deliver himself

lsively, kissed his rough face with imploring pathetic fondness, and forced out through her tears, "D

ery lightly, on the child's arm. But there was no immediate reaction from gloom to gayety. Waife began talking in softened undertones, and vaguely, of his own past afflictions; and par

r- nothing scatterling; I trod rich carpets, and slept under silken curtains. I took the air in gay carriages,-I such a scapegrace; and you,

or I have no dreadful Mrs. Crane to beat me now, and say things more hard to bear than beating; and you have taken me to yourself. How I prayed for that! And I take care of you too, Grandy,-don't I? I prayed for that too; and as to carriages,"

eople behaved i

s and silk curtains, and all the f

puzzled look, "that people actually

nd no Crane (she monster) as you did, my little angel. Such prospects before me, if I had walked straight towards them! But I followed my own fancy, which led me zigzag; and

what did you call it?- independent inc

good to me still. Ah! what signifies fortune? How happy I was with my

er jealousl

o me two years: such sunny years! And how grateful I ought to be that she did

t is like reading an epitaph on a tombstone. So, at last, solitary and hopeless, I came back to my own land; and I found you,-a blessing greater than I had ever dared to count on. And how was I to maintain you, and take you from that long-nosed alligator called Crane, and put you in womanly gentle hands; for I never thought then of subjecting you to all you have since undergone wit

Ah, how w

into the alehouse bemoaning his loss. A bright thought struck me. Once in my day I had been used to acting. I offered to try my chance on Mr. Rugge's stage: he caught at me, I at him. I succeeded: we came to

hat,-suffered all

at I most disliked and dreaded, and never would have thought of but that I fancied it might be a help to you,-I mean the London stage,-and had that bad accident on the railway, how did it end? Oh! in saving you" (and Waife closed his eyes and shuddered), "in saving your destiny from what might be much worse for you, body and soul, than the worst that has happened to you

he Spotted B

e income; but let us only trust in Providence, and I sho

stro

f good f