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“MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. This is a joke of yours. "I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. Auntie has taken the nails out of my palms, but the scars will always be there. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. Morality tells you what is right, and adventure moves you. "What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. " "How had he offended you?" inquired the widow.
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