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[Illustration: pp. 29]

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 THE RUNAWAY;

 OR, THE

 ADVENTURES OF RODNEY ROVERTON. 

 "He cast his bundle on his back, and went, He knew not whither, nor for what intent; So stole our vagrant from his warm retreat, To rove a prowler, and be deemed a cheat. "

 CRABBE. 

 APPROVED BY THE COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION. 

 BOSTON: NEW ENGLAND SABBATH SCHOOL UNION. W. HEATH, 79 CORNHILL. 

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 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by

 WILLIAM HEATH, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 

 Stereotyped by HOBART & ROBBINS, Boston. 

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INTRODUCTION. 

A truthful narrative, not a tale of fiction, is presented inthe following chapters to our readers. All that the imaginationhas contributed to it has been the names of the actors, --truenames having been withheld, lest, perhaps, friends might begrieved, --the filling up of the dialogues, in which, whilethoughts and sentiments have been remembered, the verbiage thatclothed them has been forgotten, and, in a few instances, thegrouping together of incidents that actually occurred at widerintervals than here represented, for the sake of the unity ofthe story. 

CONTENTS. 

 PAGE

 CHAPTER I. RODNEY UNHAPPY IN A GOOD HOME 7

 CHAPTER II. REVOLVING AND RESOLVING 18

 CHAPTER III. RODNEY IN NEW YORK 26

 CHAPTER IV. RODNEY FINDS A PATRON 33

 CHAPTER V. RODNEY IN PHILADELPHIA 44

 CHAPTER VI. THE PUNISHMENT BEGINS 53

 CHAPTER VII. THE WATCH-HOUSE 60

 CHAPTER VIII. RODNEY IN JAIL 73

 CHAPTER IX. THE DUNGEON 88

 CHAPTER X. THE HOSPITAL 99

 CHAPTER XI. THE TRIAL 118

 CHAPTER XII. CONCLUSION 128

THE RUNAWAY. 

CHAPTER I. 

RODNEY UNHAPPY IN A GOOD HOME. 

It was a lovely Sabbath morning in May, 1828, when two lads, theelder of whom was about sixteen years old, and the younger aboutfourteen, were wandering along the banks of a beautiful brook, called the Buttermilk Creek, in the immediate vicinity of the cityof Albany, N. Y. Though there is no poetry in the name of thislittle stream, there is sweet music made by its rippling waters, asthey rush rapidly along the shallow channel, fretting at the rocksthat obstruct its course, and racing toward a precipice, down whichit plunges, some thirty or forty feet, forming a light, featherycascade; and then, as if exhausted by the leap, creeping sluggishlyits little distance toward the broad Hudson. The white spray, churned out by the friction against the air, and flung perpetuallyupwards, suggested to our sires a name for this miniature Niagara;and, without any regard for romance or euphony, they called itButtermilk Falls. It was a charming spot, notwithstanding itshomely name, before the speculative spirit of progress--stern foeof Nature's beauties--had pushed the borders of the city close uponthe tiny cataract, hewed down the pines upon its banks, and openedquarries among its rocks. 

It was before this change had passed over the originalwilderness, that the lads whom we have mentioned were strolling, in holy time, upon the banks of the little stream, above thefalls. 

"Rodney, " said the elder of the boys, "suppose your mother findsout that you have run away from Sunday-school, this morning;what will she say to you?"

"Why, she will be very likely to punish me, " said Rodney; "butyou know I am used to it; and, though decidedly unpleasant, itdoes not grate on my nerves as it did a year or two ago. VanDyke, my teacher, says I am hardened. But I would rather have astroll here, and a flogging after it, than be shut up in schooland church all day to escape it. I wish, Will, that mother waslike your grandfather, and would let me do as I please onSunday. "

"Now that I am an apprentice, " replied Will Manton, "and shut upin the shop all the week, it would be rather hard to prevent myhaving a little sport on Sunday. I think it is necessary toswallow a little fresh air on Sunday, to blow the sawdust out ofmy throat; and to have a game of ball occasionally, to keep myjoints limber, for they get stiff leaning over the work-bench, shoving the jack-plane, and chiseling out mortices all theweek. "

"Well, Will, I, too, get very sick of work, " replied theyounger boy. "I do not think I ever shall like it. When I amroused up early in the morning, and go into the shop, and lookat the tools, and think that, all day long, I must stand andpull leather strands, while other boys can go free, and taketheir sport, and swim, or fish, or hunt, or play, just as theyplease, it makes me feel like running away. Now, here am I, alittle more than fourteen years old; and must I spend sevenyears in a dirty shop, with the prospect of hard work all mylife? It makes my heart sick to think of it. "

The boys threw themselves upon the ground, under the shade of alarge pine, and, reclining against its trunk, remained someminutes without uttering a word. At length, William Manton, whose thoughts had evidently been running in the channel openedby the last remarks of Rodney, said, "I have often thought of it. "

"Thought of what, Will?"

"Of running away. "

"Where could you go? What could you do? How could you live?"were the quick, eager inquiries of Rodney. 

"Three questions at once is worse than the catechism, " was thelaughing response; "but, though I never learned the answers outof a book, yet I have them by heart. I will tell you what I havethought about the matter. You know Captain Ryan?--he was in ourshop last week, and was telling how he came to be a sailor. Hesaid that his uncle, with whom he lived when he was a boy, promised him a beating, one day, for some mischief he had done;and, as he had often felt before that his lashes were not light, he ran off, went on board a ship as a cabin-boy, learned tohandle sails and ropes, and, after five or six voyages, was mademate of a ship; and now he is a captain. I have been thinkingabout it ever since. Now, if I could get a place in a ship, Iwould go in a minute. I am sure travelling over the world mustbe pleasanter than spending a life in one place; and pulling arope is easier work than pushing a plane. "

Rodney sprang up from his reclining posture, looked straight inhis companion's face for a moment, and exclaimed, "That would beglorious! How I should like to go to London, to Canton, toHolland, where the old folks came from, --to travel all over theworld! But, "--and he leaned back against the tree again as hespoke, --"but it is of no use to think about it; mother would notconsent, and nobody would help me; no ship would take me. Isuppose I must pull away at the leather all my life. " He spokebitterly, and leaned his face upon his hands; and, between hisfingers, the tears were seen slowly trickling. In truth, he hadno taste or inclination for the trade to which he was forced. Ifthe bias of his own mind had been consulted, he might have beencontented in some employment adapted to his nature. 

"Bah, Rodney, don't be a baby!" was the jeering expostulationof Will Manton, when he saw the tears; "crying never got afellow out of a scrape. I believe it is easy enough done. If wecould only get off to New York, they say that boys are so muchwanted on ships, that the captains take them without asking manyquestions. "

"Do you think so?"

"Don't you think it is worth a trial?"

"But I should have to leave my mother, and grandmother, andsister, and all. "

"Of course; you would not want to take them with you, wouldyou?"

"But I could not tell them I was going. I should have to stealaway without their knowledge. "

"You could write to them when you started. "

"I might never see them again. "

"You are as likely to live and come back as Captain Ryan was. "

"But they would feel so much hurt, if I should run away. "

Will Manton curled his lip into a sneer, and said, scornfully, "Why, Rodney, I didn't think you was so much of a baby. You area more faint-hearted chicken than I thought you. "

"Well, Will, the thought of it frightens me. I have a goodmother and a good grandmother; and, though they make me learn atrade I hate, yet I do not think I should dare to run away. "

"Well, you poor mouse-heart, stay at home, then, and tieyourself to your mamma's apron-strings!" was the reply. "Do asyou please; but, I tell you, --and I trust the secret to you, andhope you won't _blow_ it, --I have made up my mind to go to sea. "

"Will you run away?"

"Indeed I will. "

"When?"

"Why should I tell you, if you will not go with me?"

"Well, I want to be off with you, but how can I?"

"Easy enough. But I will see you to-morrow night, and we willtalk it over. It is time to go home. "

"I must see Dick Vanderpool, and find out where the text was, so that I can tell the old folks. "

CHAPTER II. 

REVOLVING AND RESOLVING. 

Conversations similar to those recorded in the last chapter, were frequently held between the two lads, during the nextmonth. Will Manton's determination was fixed, and he was makingsecret preparations to start upon his wild journey. Rodney, though equally desirous to escape the restraints of home, couldnot yet make up his mind to risk the adventure. He regarded hiscomrade as a sort of young hero; and he wished he had thecourage to be like him. 

One Monday morning, in June, as he was returning from his work, he saw Will Manton's old grandfather standing before the door, looking up and down the street; and he noticed that he seemedvery uneasy, and much distressed. When he came opposite thehouse, on the other side of the street, the old gentleman calledhim over, and asked him, "Rodney, do you know where Will is?"

The boy's heart beat wildly, and his cheek turned pale; for heat once surmised that his comrade had carried out his purpose. He stammered out, in reply, "I have not seen him since last Friday night. "

"It is very strange, " said the old man. "He has not been athome since last Sunday, at dinner-time. What has become of him?"

Will Manton was gone!

To the anxious inquiries that were made, his friends discoveredthat he had left Albany in the evening boat, on Tuesday, for NewYork. Though a messenger was immediately sent after him, notrace of him could be discovered. A few months after, theyreceived a letter from him, written from Liverpool, where he hadgone in a merchant-ship, as a cabin-boy. His friends were verymuch grieved and distressed, but hoped that he would soon growweary of a hard and roving life, and return to his home. 

There was a romantic interest in all this for young Rodney. In hisimagination, Will Manton was a hero. He was scarcely ever out ofhis thoughts. He would follow him in fancy, bounding over the broadsea, with all the sails of the majestic ship swelling in thefavoring breeze, now touching at some island, and looking at thestrange dresses and customs of a barbarous people; now meeting ahomeward-bound vessel, and exchanging joyful greetings; and nowlying to in a calm, and spearing dolphins and harpooning whales. When the storm raged, he almost trembled lest he might be wrecked;but, when it was over, he fancied the noble ship, having weatheredthe storm, stemming safely the high waves, and careering gracefullyon her course. Or, if he was wrecked, he imagined that he must becast upon some shore where the hospitable inhabitants hurried downto the beach to the relief of the crew, bore them safely throughthe breakers, and pressed upon them the comforts of their homes. His wild imagination followed him to other lands, and roved withhim along the streets of European cities, among the ruins ofGrecian temples, over the gardens of Spain and the vineyards ofItaly, through the pagodas of India, and the narrow streets ofCalcutta and Canton. 

"O, " thought he, "how delightful must be such a life! Howpleasant to be roaming amid scenes that are always new! And howwretched to be tied to such a life as I lead, following the sameweary round of miserable drudgery every day!"

But it was Rodney's own fancy that painted this enjoyment of asailor-boy's life. Will Manton did not find it so pleasant inreality. There was more menial drudgery to the poor cabin-boy onship-board, than he had ever known in the carpenter's shop. Hewas sworn at, and thumped, and kicked, and driven from one thingto another, by the captain, and mates, and steward, and crew, all day long. And many a night, when, weary and sore, he creptto his hard, narrow bunk, he lay and cried himself to sleep, thinking of his kind and pleasant home. 

When Fancy pictures before the restless mind distant andunknown scenes, she divests them of all the rough realitieswhich a nearer view and a tried experience find in them. Themountain-side looks smooth and pleasant from a distance, but wefind it rugged and wearisome when we attempt to climb it. 

One idea had now gained almost sole possession of poor Rodney'smind. He must go to sea! He thought of it all day, and dreamedof it at night. He did not dare to speak about it to his mother, for he knew that she would refuse her consent. He must _runaway_! He formed a hundred different plans, and was forced toabandon them. Now Will Manton was gone, there was no one withwhom he could consult. He was afraid to speak of it, lest itshould reach the ears of his mother. Alone he nursed hisresolution, and formed his plans. 

He was very unhappy, because he knew that he was purposingwrong. He could not be contented with his employment, and heknew how it would grieve the hearts of those who loved him, ifhe should persist in his design. Yet, when he pictured tohimself the freedom from restraint, the pleasure of roaming fromplace to place over the world, and the thousand exciting scenesand adventures which he should meet by becoming a sailor, hedetermined, at all hazards, to make the attempt. 

Unhappy boy! He was sowing, for his own reaping, the seeds of abitter harvest of wretchedness and remorse. 

CHAPTER III. 

RODNEY IN NEW YORK. 

On a beautiful Sabbath morning in July, Rodney stood in the hall ofthe old Dutch house in which successive generations of the familyhad been born, and paused to look the last farewell, he dare notspeak, upon those who loved him, and whom, notwithstanding hiswaywardness, he also loved. 

There sat his pious and venerable grandmother, with the littleround stand before her, upon which lay the old family Bible, over which she was intently bending, reading and commenting toherself, as was her custom, in half-audible tones. He had oftenstood behind her, and listened, unobserved, as she read verseafter verse, and paused after each, to testify of its truth, orpiously apply it to herself and others. And now he thought that, in all probability, he would never see her again, and he halfrepented his determination. But his preparations were all made, and he could not now hesitate, lest his purpose should bediscovered. 

He looked at his mother, as she was arranging the dress of ayounger and only brother, for the Sabbath-school. As she leanedover him, and smoothed down the collar she had just fastenedround his neck, Rodney, with heart and eye, bade farewell toboth. 

He stood and gazed for a moment upon his only sister, who satwith her baby in her arms, answering the little laughingprattler in a language that sounded like its own, and whichcertainly none but the two could understand. Some might doubtwhether they understood it themselves; but they both seemedhighly interested and delighted by the conversation. 

That dear sister, amiable and loving, is long since dead. Shegreeted death with a cheerful welcome, for the messengerreleased her from a life of domestic unhappiness, and introducedher into that blessed heaven "where the wicked cease fromtroubling, and the weary are at rest. "

And that prattling infant has become, in his turn, a runawaysailor-boy, flying from an unhappy home to a more wretcheddestiny, of whose wanderings or existence nothing has been heardfor many years. 

It was one hasty, intense glance which Rodney cast over thesegroups, and each beloved figure, as it then appeared, was fixedin his memory forever. He has never forgotten--_he never canforget_--that moment, or the emotions that thrilled his heart ashe turned away from them. 

He had hidden a little trunk, containing his clothing, in thestable, and thither he hastened; and, throwing his trunk uponhis shoulder, he stole out of the back gate, and took his coursethrough bye streets to the dock, where he went on board asteamboat, and in half an hour was sailing down the Hudsontowards New York. 

He had no money with which to pay his passage. He had left homewithout a single sixpence. When the captain came to collect thepassengers' fare, he told him a wicked, premeditated lie. He saidthat, in taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he hadaccidentally drawn out his pocket-book with it, and that it hadfallen overboard. Thus one sin prepares the way to the commissionof another. 

He offered to leave his trunk in pledge for the payment of thepassage; and the captain, after finding it full of clothing, ordered it to be locked up until the money was paid. Rodneyexpected to be able to get a situation in some ship immediately, and to receive a part of his wages in advance, with which hecould redeem his clothing. 

He slept on board the steamboat, and on Monday morning startedin search of a ship that would take him. He wandered along thewharves, and at first was afraid to speak to any one, lest heshould be questioned and sent home. At last he made up his mindto ask a sailor, whom he saw sauntering on the dock, if he knewwhere he could get a place on board a ship. 

The sailor looked at him a moment, turned his huge tobacco quidover in his mouth, hitched up his trowsers, and said:

"Why, you young runaway, do you want to go to sea? What cansuch a chap as you do on a ship? Go home, and stick by yourmammy for five years more, and then you'll have no trouble inshipping. "

Rodney was a good deal frightened at such a reply, and walked onfor some time, not venturing to ask again. Toward noon he wenton board a large vessel, and seeing a man, whom he took for thecaptain of the ship, asked him if he could give him a place. 

"No, my boy, " he replied; "we don't sail for three weeks, and wenever ship a crew before the time. "

All day he wandered about the wharves, and to all his questionsreceived repelling replies, mingled oftentimes with oaths, jeers, and insults. No one seemed to feel the least interest forhim. 

CHAPTER IV. 

RODNEY FINDS A PATRON. 

Late in the afternoon Rodney strolled up the East River wharves. He was hungry, for he had eaten nothing all day. He was verysad, and sat down on a cotton bale, and cried. In what aposition had a single day placed him! He had no place where hecould lay his head for the night, no bread to eat, and he knewnobody whom he dared to ask for a meal; and so, with a sorrowfulheart, he sat down and wept. 

He buried his face in his hands, and for a long time sat theremotionless. He did not know that a man was standing before him, watching him, until he was startled by a voice:

"Why, my boy, what is the matter with you?"

He looked up, and saw a tall man in a sailor's dress standingnear him. 

"I want to get a place on a ship, sir, to go to sea, " repliedRodney; "I can't find any place, and I have no money and nofriends here. "

The man sat down beside him, and asked him, "Where are yourfriends?"

"In Albany, sir. "

"What did you leave them for?"

"Because I wanted to go to sea. "

They talked some time together, and Rodney told him truly all abouthimself and his friends. The man seemed to pity him, and told himthat he was a sailor, and had lately been discharged from a UnitedStates vessel, where he had served as a marine, --that he had spentalmost all his money, and was looking for another ship. He toldRodney to go with him, and he would try what could be done for him. They went into a sailors' boarding-house, and got something to eat. 

Then the man, --who said his name was Bill Seegor, and that hemust call him Bill, and not Mister, nor sir, --took him withhimself into a ball-room. Here he saw a great many sailors andbad women, who danced together, and laughed, and shouted, andcursed, and drank, until long past midnight. Rodney had neverwitnessed _such_ a scene. He had never heard such filthy andblasphemous language, nor seen such indecent behavior. 

"Come, my lad, " said a bluff sailor to him; "if you mean to be aman, you must learn to toss off your glass. Your white facedon't look as if you ever tasted anything stronger than tea. Here is a glass of grog, --down with it!"

And Rodney, who wanted to be a man, drank it with a swaggeringair, though it scorched his throat; and then another, until hebecame very sick;--and the last he remembered was, that thesailors and the women all seemed to be swearing and fightingtogether. 

The next morning he was awaked by Bill Seegor, and foundhimself in a garret, on a miserable bed, with all his clotheson. How he had ever got there he could not tell. His head ached, and his limbs were stiff and pained him when he moved. Histhroat was parched and burning, and he felt so wretchedly, that, if he had dared, he would have begged permission to stay thereon the bed. But Bill told him that it was time to start and lookup a ship, for he had only money enough to last another day. After breakfast they started, and inquired at every place whichBill knew, but without success; no men or boys were wanted. 

In the afternoon, Rodney was terribly frightened at seeing hisbrother-in-law walking along the wharves. He knew in a momentthat he had come to New York to search for him; and he dartedround a corner into an alley, and hid himself behind somebarrels, till he had passed by. He afterwards learned that hisbrother-in-law had been looking for him all day, and that he hadfound and taken his trunk, and had been several times at placeswhich he had just left. O! if he had then abandoned his foolishand wicked course, and gone home with his brother, how muchmisery he would have escaped! But he contrived to keep out ofhis way. 

That evening Bill said to him, as they were eating their supperin a cellar--

"Rodney, to-morrow morning we must start for Philadelphia. "

"But how shall we get there?"

"We shall have to tramp it. "

"How far is it?"

"About a hundred miles. "

"How long will it take?"

"Four or five days. "

"But how shall we get anything to eat, or any place to sleep onthe road?"

"Tell a good story to the farmers, and sleep on the hay-mows. "

Rodney began to find out that "_the way of the transgressor ishard_. "

That night they went to the theatre. Bill had given Rodney adirk, which he carried in his bosom. They went up into the thirdtier of boxes, which was filled with the most wicked and debasedmen and women. While the rest were laughing, and talking, andcursing, Rodney sat down on the front seat to see the play; butthey made so much confusion behind him that he could not hear, so he turned round, and said, rather angrily: "I wish youwouldn't make so much noise. "

"Who are you talking to?" shouted a rough, bully-looking manbehind him, with a terrible oath; "I'll pitch you into the pit, if you open your head again. "

He rushed towards him, but, quick as thought, Rodney snatchedthe dirk from his breast, drew his arm back over his head, andtold the bully to keep off. The man stopped, and in an instantthe whole theatre was in confusion. The play on the stageceased; and there, in full view, leaning over the front of thebox, stood the boy, with the weapon in his hand, gleaming in theeyes of the whole audience. 

Bill Seegor rushed to him, pulled him back toward the lobby, andtook the dagger from his hand. The bully then aimed a tremendousblow at the boy's face, which fortunately was warded off by oneof the women. Just then a police-officer came up, and, takingRodney by the collar, led him down stairs. Half a dozen men, whowere Bill's friends, followed; and when they got into thestreet, they dashed against the officer, and broke his hold, when Bill caught Rodney by the arm and told him to run. Theyturned quickly through several streets, and escaped pursuit. 

Do you think that Rodney was happy amid such scenes? Ah! no; hewas alarmed at himself. He felt degraded and guilty; he feltthat he was taking sudden and rapid strides in the path ofdebasement and vice. He thought of his home and its sweetinfluences. He knew how deep would be the grief of those wholoved him, should they hear of his course. His consciencecondemned him, and he thought of what he was becoming withhorror. But he seemed to be drawn on by his wild desires, andfelt scarcely a disposition to escape the meshes of the net thatwas winding around him. 

The sailors praised him, and patted him on the back; told himthat he was a brave fellow, --that he was beginning right, andthat there was good stuff in him. And Rodney laughed, tickled bysuch praises, and drank what they offered, and tried to stiflehis conscience and harden himself in sin. Yet often, when he wasalone, did he shrink from himself, and writhe under the lashingsof conscience; and the remembrance of home, and thoughts of hisconduct, rendered him very wretched. 

CHAPTER V. 

RODNEY IN PHILADELPHIA. 

Young Rodney was prepared for an early start on the followingmorning; and, in company with Bill Seegor, he crossed the ferryto Jersey City just as the sun rose, and together they commencedtheir journey to Philadelphia. They were soon beyond thepavements of the town, and in the open country. It was a lovelymorning, and the bright summer developed its beauties, anddispensed its fragrance along their path. The birds sangsweetly, and darted on swift wing around them. The cattle roamedlazily over the fields, and the busy farmers were everywhereindustriously toiling. All nature seemed joyously reflecting theserene smile of a benevolent God. 

Even the wicked hearts of the wanderers seemed lightened by theinfluence of the glorious morning, and cheerily, with many ajocund song and homely jest, they pressed on their way. Evenguilt can sometimes forget its baseness, and enjoy the bountiesof the kind Creator, for which it expresses no thankfulness andfeels no gratitude. 

At noon they stopped at a farmer's house, and Bill told thehonest old man that they belonged to a ship which had sailedround to Philadelphia; that it had left New York unexpectedly, without their knowledge, and taken their chests and clotheswhich had been placed on board; and that, being without money, they were compelled to walk across to Philadelphia to meet it. 

The farmer believed the falsehood, and charitably gave them agood dinner. They walked on till after sunset, and then crossedover a field, and climbed up into a rack filled with hay, wherethey slept all night. 

In the morning they started forward very hungry, for they hadeaten nothing, since the noon before, except a few green apples. They stopped at the first farm-house on the road, and, bytelling the same falsehood that had procured them a meal the daybefore, excited the pity of the farmer and obtained a goodbreakfast. 

Thus did they go on, lying and begging their way along. 

On the third day there were heavy showers, accompanied by fiercelightnings and crashing thunders. They were as thoroughly soakedas if they had been thrown into the river, and at night had tosleep on a haystack, in the open field, in their wet clothes. Rodney's feet, too, had become very sore, and he walked in greatand constant pain. 

In the afternoon of the fourth day they stopped on the banks ofthe Delaware, five or six miles from Philadelphia, to wash theirclothes, which had become filthy in travelling through the dustand mud. As they had no clothing but what they wore, there wasnothing else to be done but to strip, wash out their soiledgarments, and lay them out on the bank to dry, while they swamabout the river, or waited on the shore, with what patience theycould summon. 

A little after sunset they reached the suburbs of the greatcity; and now the sore feet and wearied limbs of the boy couldscarcely sustain him over the hard pavements. Yet Bill urged himonward with many an impatient oath, on past the ship-yards ofKensington, --on, past the factories, and markets, and farmers'taverns, and shops of the Northern Liberties, --on, through thecrowded thoroughfares, and by the brilliant stores of thecity, --on, into the most degraded section of Southwark, inPlumb-street, where Bill said a friend of his lived. This friendwas an abandoned woman, who lived in a miserable frame cabin, crowded with wicked and degraded wretches, who seemed thewell-known and fitting companions of Rodney's patron. The womanfor whom he inquired was at a dance in the neighborhood, andthere Bill took the boy in search of her. 

They went up a dark alley, and were admitted into a large roomfilled with men and women, black and white, the dregs andoutcasts of society. 

A few dripping candles, placed in tin sconces along the bare walls, threw a dim and sickly glare over the motley throng. A couple ofnegro men, sitting on barrels at the head of the room, were drawingdiscordant notes from a pair of cracked, patched, and greasyfiddles. And there were men, whose red and bloated faces gavefaithful witness of their habitual intemperance; and men, whosethreadbare and ragged garments betokened sloth and poverty; andmen, whose vulgar and ostentatious display of showy clothing, andgaudy chains, and rings and breast-pins, which they did not knowhow to wear, indicated dishonest pursuits; and men, whose bluejackets and bluff, brown faces showed them to be sailors; and men, whose scowling brows and fiendlike countenances marked them asvillains of the blackest and lowest type. And there were women, too, some old--at least, they looked so--and haggard; some young, but with wretched-looking faces, and dressed in tawdry garments, yet generally faded, some torn and some patched, and all seeming tobe brought from the pawnbroker's dusty shop for the occasion. 

In a little filthy side-room was a bar covered with bottles andglasses, behind which stood a large, red-faced man, with a bignose, and little ferret, fiery eyes, now grinning like a satyr, now scowling like a demon, dealing out burning liquors to hismiserable customers. 

A man fell beastly drunk from a bench upon the floor. "Take him upstairs, " said the man at the bar. Rodney followed the two men whocarried him up, and looked into the sleeping apartment. The floorwas covered with dirty straw, where lodgers were accommodated forthree cents a night. Here the poor wretches were huddled togetherevery night, to get what sleep they could in the only home they hadon earth. 

Thus does vice humble, and degrade, and scourge those who aretaken in its toils. From the threshold of the house of guiltypleasure there may issue the song and laugh of boisterous mirth;but those who enter within shall find disgrace and infamy, woeand death. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE PUNISHMENT BEGINS. 

Bill Seegor found the woman he sought, and soon they returnedto her house. Here the bottle was brought out and passed round;and, after much blasphemous and ribaldrous conversation, a strawbed was made up on the floor, and Rodney laid down. Before hewent to sleep, he heard Bill tell the woman that he was entirelyout of money, and beg her to lend him five dollars for a fewdays. After some hesitation she consented, and drew out fromunder the bed an old trunk, which she unlocked, and from whichshe took five dollars in silver and gave it to him. Bill, looking over her shoulder, saw that she took it from a littlepile of silver that lay in the corner of the trunk. 

For a long time Rodney could not sleep. The scenes of the lasteventful week were vividly recalled to his mind, and, in spiteof his fatigue, kept him awake. He tried to make himself believethat it was a glorious life he had begun to lead, --that now hewas free from restraint, and entering upon the flowery paths ofindependence and enjoyment. Though he had met with somedifficulties at the start, he thought that they were now nearlypassed, and that soon he should be upon the blue water, and inforeign countries, a happy sailor boy. 

But conscience would interpose its reproaches and warnings, andremind him of the horrible company into which he had beencast, --of the scenes of sin which he had witnessed, and in whichhe had participated; and he could not but shudder when hethought of the probable termination of such a life. 

But he felt that, having forsaken his home, --and he was noteven yet sorry that he had done so, --he was now in the current, and that there was no way of reaching the shore, even had hebeen disposed to try; and that he must continue to float alongthe stream, leaving his destination to be determined bycircumstances. 

It is very easy to find the paths of sin. It is easy, and, for aseason, may seem pleasant, to travel in them. The entrance isinviting, the way is broad, companions are numerous and gay. Butwhen the disappointed and alarmed traveller, terrified at thethought of its termination, seeks to escape, and hunts for thenarrow path of virtue, he finds obstacles and entanglementswhich he cannot climb over nor break. It requires an Omnipotentarm to help him then. 

Rodney fell asleep. 

How long he had slept he knew not; but he was awakened by aviolent shaking and by terrible oaths. The side-door leadinginto the yard was open, and three or four wretched-looking womenwere scolding and swearing angrily about him. He was confused, bewildered, but soon perceived that something unusual hadhappened; and he became very much frightened as he at lastlearned the truth from the excited women. 

Bill Seegor was gone. He had got up quietly when all wereasleep, and, drawing the woman's trunk from under her bed, hadcarried it out into the yard, pried open the lock, stolen themoney, and escaped. 

The woman was in a terrible passion, and her raving curses werefearful to hear. Rodney pitied her, though she cursed him. He wasindignant at his companion's rascality, and offered to go with herand try to find him. It was two o'clock in the morning. He lookedround for his hat, collar, and handkerchief; but they were gone. The thief had taken them with him. Taking Bill's old hat, he wentout with the woman, and looked into the oyster-cellars andgrog-shops, some of which they found still open; but they couldfind no trace of Bill Seegor. 

The woman met a watchman, and made inquiries, and told him ofthe robbery. 

"And this boy came with the man last night, did he?" inquiredthe watchman. 

"He did, " said the woman. 

"Do you know the boy?"

"I never saw him before. "

"Well, I guess he knows where he is, or where he can be foundto-morrow. "

Rodney protested that he knew nothing about him, that his ownhat, collar, and handkerchief had been stolen, and that he hadhad nothing to do with the robbery. He even told him where hehad met with Bill, and how he came to be in his company. 

"All very fine, my lad, " said the watchman; "but you must gowith me. This must be examined into to-morrow. "

And he took Rodney by the arm, and led him to the watch-house. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE WATCH-HOUSE. 

For poor Rodney there was no more sleep that night, even hadthey placed him on a bed of roses. But they locked him up in alittle square room, with an iron-barred window, into which a dimlight struggled from a lamp hung outside in the entry, showing awooden bench, fastened against the wall. There were four men inthe room. 

One, whose clothes looked fine and fashionable, but all coveredwith dirt, lay on the floor. A hat, that seemed new, but crushedout of all shape, was under his head for a pillow. His face wasbruised and bloody. He was entirely stupefied, and Rodney saw ata glance that he was intoxicated. 

On the bench, stretched out at full length, was a short, stoutnegro, fast asleep. On another part of the bench lay a whiteman, who seemed about fifty years old, with a sneering, malicious face, and wrapped up in a shaggy black coat. Theremaining occupant of the cell sat in one corner, with his headdown on his knees, and his hat slouched over his face. 

Rodney stood for a few moments in the middle of the cell, and, in sickening dismay, looked round him. Here he was with felonsand rioters, locked up in a dungeon! True, he had committed nocrime against the law; but yet he felt that he deserved it all;and the hot tears rolled from his eyes as he thought of hismother and his home. 

Hearing his sobs, the man in the corner raised his head, lookedat him for a moment, and said:

"Why, you blubbering boy, what have you been about? Are you thepal of these cracksmen, or have you been on a lay on your ownhook?"

Rodney did not know what he meant, and he said so. 

"I mean, " said the man, in the same low, thieves' jargon, "haveyou been helping these fellows crack a crib?"

"Doing what?" said Rodney. 

"Breaking into a house, you dumb-head. "

[Illustration]

The boy shuddered at the thought of being taken for an accompliceof house-breakers; and told him he knew nothing about them. He hadread that boys are sometimes employed by house-breakers to climb inthrough windows or broken pannels, to open the door on the inside;and now he was thought to be such a one himself. 

It was a dismal night for him. 

Early in the morning the prisoners were all taken before amagistrate. 

The drunkard, who claimed to be a gentleman, and who had beentaken to the watch-house for assaulting the barkeeper of atavern, was fined five dollars, and dismissed. 

The negro and the old white man had been caught in the attemptto break into a house, and were sent to prison, to await theirtrial for burglary; and the other white man was also sent toprison, until he could be tried, for stealing a pocket-book inan auction store. 

Rodney was then called forward. The watchman told how and why hehad taken him; and the boy was asked to give an account ofhimself. He told his story truthfully and tearfully, while themagistrate looked coldly at him. 

"A very good story, " said the magistrate; "it seems to be wellstudied. I suspect you are an artful fellow, notwithstandingyour innocent face. I shall bind you over for trial, my lad. Ithink such boys as you should be stopped in time; and a fewyears in some penitentiary would do you good. "

What could Rodney say? What could he do? He was among strangers. He could send for no one to testify of his good character, or tobecome bail for him. And, if his friends had been near, he feltthat he had rather die than that they should know of hisdisgrace. 

The magistrate gave an officer a paper--a commitment--and toldhim to take the boy to the Arch-street jail. The constable tookhim by the arm, and led him out. 

As they walked along the street, Rodney looked around him tosee if there was no way of escape. If he could only get a chanceto run! As they came to the corner of a little alley, he askedthe constable to let him tie his shoe, the string of which wasloose. The man nodded, and Rodney placed his foot upon adoor-step, sheering round beyond the reach of the officer'shand, and towards the alley. Rodney, as he rose, made onespring, and in a moment was gone down the alley. The officerrushed after him, and shouted, "Stop thief! stop thief!"

"O, that I should ever be chased for a thief!" groaned Rodney, clenching his teeth together, and running at his best speed. 

That terrible cry, "_Stop thief!_" rung after him, and soonseemed to be echoed by a hundred voices, as the boy dashed alongNinth street and down Market street; and, from behind him, andfrom doors and windows, and from the opposite side of thestreet, and at length from before him, the very welkin rung withthe cries of "Stop thief! stop thief!" A hundred eyes werestrained to catch a glimpse of the culprit; but Rodney dashedon, the crowd never thinking that _he_ was the hunted fox, butonly one of the hounds in pursuit, eager to be "in at thedeath. " At the corner of Fifth and Market-streets, a porter wasstanding by his wheelbarrow. He saw the chase coming down, andtruly scented the victim; and, as Rodney neared the corner, hesuddenly pushed out his barrow across the pavement. Rodney couldnot avoid it; he stumbled, fell across it, and was captured. 

"You young scoundrel! is this one of your tricks?" said theconstable, as he came up; "I'll teach you one of mine;" and hestruck him a blow on the side of the head, that knocked the poorboy senseless on the pavement. 

Those who stood by cried, "Shame! shame!" and the officer glaredfuriously around him; but, seeing that the numbers were againsthim, he raised the boy from the ground. Rodney soon recovered;and the constable, grasping him firmly by the wrist of his coat, and, drawing his arm tightly under his own, led him, followed bya crowd of hooting boys, up Fifth, and through Arch-street, toward the old jail. 

What a walk was that to poor Rodney! The officer, stern andangry, held him with so firm a grip as to convince him of theuselessness of a second attempt. 

Fatigued, and nearly fainting as he was from the race and theblow, he was compelled almost to run, to keep up with the longstrides of the constable. A crowd of boys pressed around, to geta glimpse of his face. 

"What has he done?" one would ask of another. 

"Broke open a trunk, and stole money, " would be the reply. 

Rodney pulled Bill Seegor's old hat over his face, and hunghis head, in bitter anguish of soul, as he heard himselfdenounced as a thief at every step; and as he heard doors dashedopen, and windows thrown up, similar questions and replies smotehis heart. He knew that he was innocent of such a crime; hissoul scorned it; he felt that he was incapable of theft; but hefelt that he had been too guilty, too disobedient and tooungrateful, to dare to hold up his head, or utter a word in hisown defence. It seemed as though that long and terrible walkwith the constable would never end, and he felt relieved when hereached the heavy door of the jail, amid two files of staringboys, who had ran before him, and arranged themselves by thegate, to watch him as he entered. He was rudely thrust in, thebolt shot back upon the closed door, and he was delivered overto the keeping of the jailer, with the assurance of thepoliceman, that "he was a sharp miscreant, and needed to bewatched. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

RODNEY IN JAIL. 

Such are the rewards which sin gives to its votaries; full ofsoft words and tempting promises in the beginning, they find, inthe end, that "it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like anadder. " Thoughts like these passed through Rodney's mind, as thejailer led him to a room in which were confined three otherlads, all older than himself. At that time, the system ofsolitary confinement had not been adopted in Pennsylvania, andprisoners were allowed to associate together; but it was deemedbest to keep the boys from associating with older and morehardened culprits, whose conversation might still more corruptthem, and they were therefore confined together, apart from themass of the criminals. 

At first Rodney suffered the most intense anguish. A sense ofshame and degradation overwhelmed him. He staggered to a cornerof the room, threw himself on the floor, and, for a long time, sobbed and wept as though his very heart would break. For awhile the boys seemed to respect his grief, and left him insilence. At last one of them went to him, and said, "Come, there's no use in this; we are all here together, and wemay as well make the best of it!"

Rodney sat up, and looked at them, as they gathered around him. 

They were ragged in dress, and pale from their confinement, andRodney involuntarily shrank from the idea of associating with them, regarding them as criminals in jail. But he soon remembered his ownposition, --that he was now one of them, --and he thought he wouldtake their advice, and "make the best of it. "

"Well, what did they squeeze you into this jug for, my covey?"asked the eldest boy. 

Rodney told them his story, and protested that he was innocentof any crime. 

The boy put his thumb to the end of his nose, and twirled hisfingers, saying, "You can't gammon us, my buck; come, out withit, for we never _peach_ on one another. "

Rodney was very angry at this mode of treating his story. But, inspite of himself, he gradually became familiar with the companionsthus forced upon him, and, in a day or two, began to engage withthem in their various sports, to while away the weary hours. Sometimes they sat and told stories, to amuse one another; and thusRodney heard tales of wickedness and depredation and cunning, thatalmost led him to doubt whether there was any honesty among men. They talked of celebrated thieves and robbers, burglars andpirates, as if they were the models by which they meant to mouldtheir own lives; and, instead of detesting their crimes, Rodneybegan to admire the skill and success with which they wereperpetrated. The excitement and freedom, and wild, frenziedenjoyment of such a life, as depicted by the young knaves, began tofascinate and charm his mind. Something seemed to whisper in hisear, "As you are now disgraced, without any fault of your own, whynot carry it out, and make the most of it? They have put you intojail, this time, for nothing; if they ever do it again, let themhave some reason for it. " Who knows what might have been the resultof such temptations and influences, had these associations beenlong continued, and not counteracted by the interposition of God?

But then the instructions of childhood, the lessons of home andof the Sabbath-school, were brought back to his memory, and hesaid to himself, "What, be a thief! Make myself despised andhated by all good people! Live a life of wickedness anddread, --perhaps die in the penitentiary, and then, in allprobability, lose my soul, and be cast into hell! No, never! Ishall never dare to steal, or to break into houses; and as forkilling anybody for money, I shudder even at the thought!"

So did the bad and the good struggle together in the heart ofthe poor boy. How many there are who, at the first, feel andthink about crime as he did, but who, in the end, becomefamiliar with vice, lose their sense of fear and shame andguilt, become bold and reckless in sin, having their consciencesseared as with a hot iron, and violating all laws, human anddivine, without compunction, and without a thought save that ofimpunity and success!

All the elements of a life of crime were in the heart of thiswayward boy; and had it not been for the instructions of hischildhood, which counteracted these evil influences, and theprovidence and grace of God, which restrained him, he would havebecome a miserable outcast from society, leading a wretched lifeof shame and guilt. 

"I wish we had a pack of cards here, " said one of the boys, oneweary afternoon. 

"Can't we make a pack?" inquired another. 

And then the lads set their wits to work, and soon manufactureda substitute for a pack of cards. They had a couple of oldnewspapers, which they folded and cut into small, regularpieces, and marked each piece with the spots that are found onplaying cards, making rude shapes of faces, and writing"_Jack_, " "_King_, " "_Knave_, " &c. , under them. With these, theyused to spend hours shuffling and dealing and playing, untilRodney understood the pernicious game as well as the rest. 

"Joe, " said Rodney, one day, to the oldest boy, "what did theyput you in here for?"

"Well, " said he, "I'll tell you. Sam and I run with theMoyamensing Hose Company. Many a jolly time we have had of it, running to fires, and many a good drink of liquor we have had, too; for when the people about the fires treated the firemen, weboys used to come in for our share of the treat. There was astanding quarrel between us and the 'Franklin' boys, and we usedto have a fight whenever we could get at them. I heard one ofthe men say, one day, that if there was only a fire down Twelfthor Thirteenth-street, and the 'Franklin' should come up in thatdirection, we could get them foul, and give them a gooddrubbing. Well, there _was_ a fire down Twelfth-street the nextnight! I don't mean to say who kindled it; but a watchman sawSam and me about the stable, and then running away from it asfast as we could. The fellow marked us, and as we were goingback to the fire with the machine, he nabbed us, and walked usoff to the watch-house, and the next day we were stuck into thishole. "

"But _did_ you set fire to the stable?"

"What would you give to know? I make no confessions; and if youever tell out of doors what I have said here, I'll knock yourteeth down your throat, if I ever catch you. "

These two boys had actually been guilty of the dreadful crimeof setting fire to a stable. It was used by two or three poormen for their horses and carts, which was the only means theyhad of making an honest living; and yet these wicked boys hadtried to burn it down, just for the fun of going to a fire, andgetting up a fight! There are other boys, in large cities, whowill commit similar acts; but such young villains are ripe foralmost any crime, and must, in all human probability, come tosome dreadful end. 

"Hank, " said Rodney to another boy, --his real name was Henry, but Hank was his prison name, --"tell us now what you have done. "

"I'll tell you nothing about it. "

"What is your last name, Hank?" inquired Sam, after a fewmoments' pause. 

"Johnson, " said Hank. 

"Ah! I know now what you did. I read it in the paper, justbefore I came in, and, somehow, I thought you was one of thelarks as soon as I clapped eyes on you. 

"You see, Hank and some of his gang, watching about, saw a housein Arch-street, and noticed that it was empty. The family, Isuppose, had all gone to the country, and it was shut up. So, one Sunday afternoon, four of them climbed over the back gateinto the yard, pried open a window-shutter, got in, and helpedthemselves to whatever they could lay their hands on. After darkthey sneaked out at the back gate with their plunder. One ofthem was caught, trying to sell some of the things, and hepeached, and they jugged them all. Isn't that the fact, Hank?"

"Well, it's no use lying; it was pretty much so. "

"What became of the other fellows, Hank?"

"Why, their fathers or friends bailed them out, and I have nofather, or anybody who cares for me. But"--and he swore afearful oath--"if ever I catch that white-livered Jim Hulsey, who was the ringleader in the whole scheme, and got me into thescrape, and then blowed me, to save himself, I'll beat him to amummy, I will. "

And _these_ were the companions with whom Rodney was compelledto associate! Sometimes he shrank from them with loathing; andsometimes he almost envied the hardihood with which they boastedof their crimes. Had he remained in their company much longer, who can tell to what an extent he would have been contaminated, and how rapidly prepared for utter moral degradation and eternalruin?

What afterwards became of them, Rodney never knew; but they areprobably either dead, --God having said, "The wicked shall notlive out half their days, "--or else preying upon society by thecommission of more dreadful crimes, or perhaps spending longyears of life in the penitentiary, confined to hard labor andprison fare. 

One day, after he had been about two weeks in jail, Rodney tookthe basin in which they had washed, and threw the water out ofthe window. The grated bars prevented his seeing whether therewas any one below. He had often done so before. It had not beenforbidden. He did not intend to do any wrong. 

But it happened that one of the keepers was walking under thewindow, and the water fell upon his head. 

He came to the door, in a great rage, and asked who had thrownthat water out. Rodney at once said that he had done it, butthat he did not know that he had done any harm. 

The man took him roughly by the arm, and, telling him he mustcome with him, led him through a long corridor to another partof the prison, and thrust him into a small, dark dungeon. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE DUNGEON. 

The room was very small, --a mere closet, --lighted only by a narrowwindow over the door, which admitted just light enough from thecorridor to enable Rodney to see the walls. There was somescribbling on the walls, but there was not light enough, even afterhis eyes became accustomed to the place, to distinguish a letter. 

There was neither chair nor bench, not even a blanket, on whichto lie. The bare walls and floor were unrelieved by a singlearticle of comfort. Here, for four long days and nights, Rodneywas confined. There was nothing by which he could relieve thedreadful wearisome time. He heard no voice save that of thesurly jailer, once a day, bringing him a rough jug of water andhalf a loaf of black bread. He had no books with which to whileaway the long, tedious hours, nor was there light enough toread, had there been a whole library in the cell. 

The first emotions of the boy, when the door was locked uponhim, were those of indignation and anger. "Why, " said he tohimself, "am I treated in this way? They are brutes! I have donenothing to deserve this barbarity. I am no felon or thief, thatI should be used in this way. I have broken no rule that wasmade known to me, since I have been in this place. The heartlesswretch of a jailer thrust me into this hole, to gratify his ownspite. He knows that I couldn't have thrown water on himpurposely, for I couldn't see down into the yard. He never toldme what I was to do with the dirty water, and there was no otherplace to throw it. He deserves being shut up in this denhimself! O, I wish I had him in my power for a week! I wouldgive him a lesson that he would remember as long as he lived. 

"Was there ever such an unlucky boy as I am? Everything goesagainst me. There is no chance for me to do anything, or toenjoy anything, in this world. I wish I was dead!"

A bitter flood of tears burst from him, which seemed, as itwere, to quench his anger, and gradually his heart became opento more salutary reflections. 

"Do you not deserve all this?" whispered his conscience. "Haveyou not brought it upon yourself by your own wickedness anddisobedience? You had a good home and kind friends; and if youhad to work every day, it was no more than all have to do in oneform or another. Blame yourself, then, for your own idle, reckless disposition, that would not be satisfied with your lot. You are only finding out the truth of the text you have oftenrepeated, --'The way of the transgressor is hard. '"

He thought of his home, as he lay upon that hard floor. Theforms of his pious old grandmother, and of his mother andsister, all seemed to stand before him, and to look down uponhim reproachfully. He remembered now their kindness and goodcounsel. He groaned in bitterness, "O! this _would_ break theirhearts, if they knew it! I have disgraced myself, and I havedisgraced them. " He had leisure for reflection, and his mindrecalled, most painfully, the scenes of the past. He thought ofthe Sabbath-school, of his kind teacher, and of the instructionsthat had been so affectionately imparted. How much better forhim would it have been, had he regarded those instructions!

And then he thought of God! He remembered that His _all-seeingeye_ had followed all his wanderings, and noted all his guilt. He had sinned against God, and some of the bitterness ofpunishment had already overtaken him. The idea that God wasangry with him, and that _He_ was visiting his sins with the rodof chastisement, took possession of his soul. Now he ceased toblame others for his sufferings, and acknowledged to himselfthat all was deserved. Again he wept, but it was in terror atthe thought of God's anger, and in grief that he had sinned soungratefully against his Maker. 

He tried to pray; but the words of the prayers he had beentaught in his childhood did not seem to be appropriate to hispresent condition. Those prayers were associated with days andscenes of comparative innocence and happiness. He now feltguilty and wretched, and felt deeply that other forms ofpetition were necessary for him. But he could not frame wordsinto a prayer that would soothe and relieve his soul. "God willnot hear me, " was his bitter thought. "I do not deserve to beheard. O! if God would have mercy upon me, and deliver me fromthis trouble, I think I would try to serve and obey Him as longas I lived. "

He kneeled down upon the hard floor, and raised his claspedhands and streaming eyes toward heaven; but he could find noutterance for his emotions, save in sobs and tears. Prayer wouldnot come in words. Again and again he tried to pray, but invain; he felt that he could not pray; and, almost in despair, hepaced the narrow cell, and was ready to believe that God's favorwas forever withdrawn from his soul, --that there was no ear tolisten, and no arm to save, and that nothing was left for him inthe future but a life of misery, a death of shame, and aneternity of woe!

On the third morning, he awoke from a troubled sleep, and, ashe rose with aching bones from the bare planks, his limbstrembled and tottered beneath him. Finding that he could notstand, he sat down in the corner of the dungeon, and leanedagainst the wall. His head was hot, and his throat parched, andthe blood beat in throbs through his veins. A sort of deliriousexcitement began to creep over him, and his mind was filled withstrange reveries. 

He saw, or fancied he saw, great spiders crawling over the wall, and serpents, lizards, and indescribable reptiles, creepingabout on the floor; and he shouted at them, and kicked at them, as they seemed to come near him. Soon they were viewed withoutdread or terror. He laughed at their motions, and thought heshould have companions and pets in his loneliness; still he didnot wish them to come too near. 

Then there seemed to be other shapes in his cell. His oldgrandmother sat in one corner, reading, through her familiarspectacles, the well-worn family Bible. His sister sat there, playing with her baby, and his mother was singing as she sewed. And he laughed and talked to them, but could get no answer. Occasionally he felt a half-consciousness that it was all adelusion, --a mere vision of the brain; and yet their fanciedpresence made him happy, and he laughed and talked incessantly, as if they heard him, and were wondering at his own strangeemotions. 

And then the gruff voice of the jailer scared away his visions, and roused him for a moment from his reveries. 

"You are merry, my boy, and you make too much noise, " said thekeeper. 

The interruption made his head swim, and he attempted to rise;but he was very weak and faint, and fell back again. He turnedto say, "I believe I am sick;" but before the words foundutterance, the man had set down his pitcher and bread, and wasgone. 

There was an interval of dreary, blank darkness, and then therewere other visions, too wild and strange to describe, and soonthe darkness of annihilation settled upon his soul. How long atime elapsed while in this state of insensibility, he could notsay; but he was at length half-aroused by voices near him, andhe was conscious that some hand was feeling for his pulse, andthat men were carrying him out of the dungeon. He afterwardslearned that it was the jailer and the physician. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE HOSPITAL. 

Upon a narrow cot, in the Hospital apartment of the jail, theylaid Rodney, and immediately prepared the medicines suited tohis case. The medicines were at length administered, and, with apleasant consciousness of comfort and attention, he fell asleep. 

When he awoke, it was evening; he was perfectly conscious, and feltbetter; but it was a long time before he could recall his thoughts, and understand where he was, and how he had come thither. He lookedaround him, and saw a line of cots on each side of him. About adozen of them were occupied by sick men. A large case of medicines, placed on a writing-desk, stood at one end of the room. Two orthree men, who acted as nurses, were sitting near it, talking andlaughing together. In another part of the room, by a grated window, looking out upon the pleasant sunset, were two of the convalescentprisoners, pale and thin, conversing softly and sadly. There wasnot a face he knew, --none that seemed to feel the slightestinterest for him; and the wicked scenes of the past two months, andthe unhappy circumstances of the present hour, flashed through hismind, and he hid his face in his pillow and wept. 

He heard steps softly approach his cot, and knew that some onewas standing beside him. But he could not stifle his sobs, andhe did not dare to look up. 

"I am glad to see that you are better, though I am sorry to seeyou so much troubled, my poor boy, " said a soft, kind voice. 

It was long since he had been spoken to in a kind tone, and heonly wept the more bitterly, and convulsively pressed his facecloser to the pillow. Presently he felt an arm passed slowlyunder the pillow, which wound around his neck, and gently drewhis head toward the stranger. 

"Come, come, " said the same soft voice, "don't give way to suchgrief; look up, and talk to me. Let me be a friend to you. "

Rodney yielded to the encircling arm, and turned his tearfuleyes to the man who spoke to him. 

He was a tall, slender man, pale from sickness, decentlydressed, and with an intelligent, benevolent countenance. He wasone of those whom Rodney had observed looking out of the window. 

"What is the matter?" said he; "what has brought you into thishorrible place?"

The confidence of the boy was easily won. He had felt aninexpressible desire to talk to some one, and now he was readyto lay open his whole heart at the first intimation of sympathy. 

"I ran away from home, " was the frank and truthful reply. 

"But they do not put boys in jail for running away; you musthave done something else. "

"I was charged with something else; but indeed, indeed, I aminnocent!"

"That is very possible, " said he, with a sigh; "but what didthey charge you with doing?"

And Rodney moved closer to him, and leaned his head upon hisbreast, and told him all. There was such an evident sincerity, such consistency, such tones of truth in the simple narrative, that he saw he was believed, and the sympathizing words andlooks of the listener inspired him with trust, as though he wastalking to a well-known friend. 

For several days, they were constantly together; the strangerwaited upon Rodney, and gave him his medicine, and helped himfrom his cot, talked with him, and manifested for him thekindness of a brother. From several conversations, Rodneygleaned from him the following history. 

Lewis Warren, --so will we call him--(indeed, Rodney never knewhis true name), --was born and had lived most of his life in aNew England village. He was the son of a farmer; a pious man, and deacon of a church, by whose help he received a liberaleducation. Soon after he had graduated at ---- College, he cameon to Philadelphia, with the expectation of getting into somebusiness. At the hotel where he stopped, he became acquaintedwith a man of very gentlemanly appearance and address, who saidthat he, too, was a stranger in the city, and proposed toaccompany him to some places of amusement. Warren went with himto the theatre, and, on succeeding evenings, to various placesof amusement. As they were one evening strolling up Chestnut-street, this friend, Mr. Sharpe, stopped at the well-lighted vestibuleof a stately building, that had the air of a private house, although it was thrown open, and proposed that they should goin, and see what was going on there. Warren consented, and, after ascending to the second floor, and passing through a hall, they entered a large, brilliantly-lighted billiard saloon. Around several tables were gathered gentlemanly-looking men, knocking about little ivory balls, with long, slender wands orcues, and seeming, evidently, engrossed in their respectivegames. After looking around for a while, Sharpe proposed goingup stairs into the third story. They ascended to the upperrooms. In the upper passage stood a stout, short negro-man, whoglanced at Sharpe, stepped one side, and permitted them to passunquestioned. They entered another smaller room, --for the thirdstory was divided into several rooms, --and found other gamesthan those exhibited below. After walking through some of therooms, and observing the different games, most of which were newto Warren, his companion said to him:

"Do you understand anything about cards?"

"Not a great deal; I have occasionally played a game of whist orsledge. "

"Well, that is about the sum of my knowledge. Suppose we whileaway a half-an-hour at one of these vacant tables. "

Warren consented, and they sat down. After playing a game ortwo, Sharpe proposed having a bottle of wine, and, said he, laughingly, "Whoever loses the next game, shall pay for it. "

"Agreed, " said Warren; and the wine was brought, and he won thegame. 

"Well, that is your good luck; but I'll bet you the price ofanother bottle you can't do it again. "

Warren won again. 

They tried a third, and that Sharpe won; a fourth, and Warrenrose the winner. 

The next evening found them, somehow, without much talk aboutit, at the same place. They played with varied success; but whenthey left, Warren had lost ten dollars. 

He wanted to win it back, and himself proposed the visit for thethird night. He became excited by the game, and lost seventydollars. 

Still his eyes were not open; he did not dream that he was inthe hands of a professed gambler, and, hoping to get back whathe had lost, and what he felt he really could not spare from hissmall amount of funds, he went again. 

"There!" said he, after they had been about an hour at thetable, "there is my last fifty-dollar bill; change that, andI'll try once more. "

"Well, " said Sharpe, "here is the change; but the luck seemsagainst you. We had better stop for to-night. "

But Warren insisted upon continuing, and he won thirty dollarsin addition to the fifty which Sharpe had changed for him. Thegambler then rose, and told him that he would give him a chanceto win all back another time, as fortune seemed to be againpropitious to him. 

Warren never saw him after that night. The next morning hedetermined to seek a more private boarding house, and economizehis remaining funds, and seek more assiduously some businesssituation. He stepped to the bar to pay his board, handing theclerk one of the notes he had received in change for his lastfifty-dollar bill. The clerk examined it a moment, and passed itback, saying, "That is a counterfeit note, sir. " He took itback, amazed, and offered another. 

"This is worse still, " said the clerk. "I think we had bettertake care of you, sir. You will please go with me before amagistrate. "

"But I did not know----!"

"You can tell that to the squire. "

"You have no right to take me, " said Warren; "you have nowarrant. "

"No; but I can keep you here till I send for one, which I shallcertainly do, unless you consent to go willingly. "

And Warren, conscious of his own innocence in this respect, andnever thinking of the difficulty of proving it, went to amagistrate's office with the clerk at once. 

The clerk entered his complaint, and, besides swearing to theoffer of the notes, swore that he had seen him, for several dayspast, in the company of a notorious gambler. 

Warren was stunned, overwhelmed, by this declaration. Norepresentation that he made was believed. His pockets weresearched, and all the money he had, except some small change, was found to be counterfeit. A commitment was at once made outagainst him, and he was sent to jail, to await his trial on thecharge of passing counterfeit money. 

This is one of the methods by which professional gamblers"pluck young pigeons. " No young man is safe who allows himselfto play with cards, or to handle dice. 

Rodney believed that Warren had told him the truth, andfellowship in misfortune drew the hearts of the duped man andthe wronged boy towards each other; for though both had beenvery much to blame, yet duped and wronged they had been byknaves more cunning and wicked than themselves. 

They had many serious conversations together, for both had beenpiously instructed, and Warren, who seemed truly penitent forhis wanderings, as he sat by the bed-side of the sick boy, encouraged him in his resolutions to lead a different life, --toseek the forgiveness and grace of God through a mercifulRedeemer. Seldom has a poor prisoner received sweeter sympathy, or more salutary counsel, than was given to Rodney within thewalls of that old Arch-street jail, by his fellow-prisoner. 

[Illustration]

"Rodney, " said Warren to him one day, --it was the first daythat he had left his cot, --"I shall soon leave this place; Ihave written to my father, and he will be here at the trial withsuch evidences in my favor, from the whole course of my life, ascannot fail to secure me an acquittal. I feel no doubt that thisstain upon my character will be wiped away. And I believe that Ishall have reason to thank God, as long as I live, for havingpermitted this trouble. It is a very hard lesson, but I trust itwill be a salutary one. Since I have been here, I have prayedearnestly to God for the pardon of my sins. I have resolved, insincerity of soul, to consecrate my affections and my life tohis service. I have had a severe struggle; but I believe, I_feel_, that God has heard my prayers, forgiven my iniquities, and the last few days in this jail have been the happiest of mylife. I feel that I hate the sins of which my heart has been sofull, and that I love God even for the severe providences thathave checked my course of impenitence. I feel like a new man;and if I am not deceiving myself, --and I pray that I may notbe, --I have experienced that regeneration of heart of which Ihave so often heard, but which I could never before comprehend. 

"I hope that you, too, will try and seek the Saviour, pray tohim for forgiveness, and beg the guidance of His Holy Spirit foryour future life. If we both do this sincerely, we shall havereason forever to bless God for the way in which he has led us. "

"Pray for me, " said Rodney; while tears rolled down his palecheeks. "I want to be a Christian, and I hope that God will havemercy upon me, and guide me, for the future, in the right path. "

A few days after, Warren was called into court to take histrial; and, to Rodney's great delight, --for he had learned tolove him like a brother, --he heard from one of the nurses thathe had been honorably acquitted. 

During the same week, the case of Rodney was called up, and hewas conducted by an officer to the court-house. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE TRIAL. 

Justice was now to be administered, and Rodney was brought intothe crowded court-room for trial. The officer led him to theprisoner's narrow dock, an enclosed bench, at each end of whichsat a constable, with a long staff in his hand. There were fiveor six other prisoners sitting in the dock with him. Next to himwas a woman, her garments ragged, her hair matted, and her facered and bloated. Next to her sat a squalid negro, who seemedtotally indifferent to the scenes that were passing around him. On the other side of him was a young man, apparently abouttwenty years old, of thin, spare form, with a red flush atintervals coloring his cheek, and a hollow cough that soundedlike an echo from the grave. He was evidently in a deepconsumption, and had been already several months in prison. Andhe leaned his head upon the railing, as though he would hidehimself from every eye. He had been tried a few days before, forhaving been associated with others in a burglary, and foundguilty, and he was now present to hear his sentence. 

After the formal opening of the court, this young man was thefirst called upon, and, with trembling limbs, he rose to hearthe sentence of the judge. After some remarks upon the enormityof his crime, and the clear evidence upon which he had beenconvicted, the judge sentenced him to five years' imprisonmentin the penitentiary. When those words, _five years_, reachedhim, he dropped back upon the seat, as if struck with a bullet, and then raising his face to the judge, with an expression ofprofound anguish, said, "Half the time would be more thanenough, your honor; I shall be in the grave before one year ispast. "

The case of the negro-man was immediately called up, but Rodneyheard nothing of it. He hid his face in his hands, and wept. Asense of his terrible position flashed upon him, and he couldnot keep back his tears, or stifle his sobs. He wept aloud, and_felt_, though he might not see, that all eyes were turned uponhim. His whole frame shook with the anguish of his soul. 

Presently a hand was laid upon his, and a head was bent over thebar near him, and a voice addressed him kindly: "Be calm, myboy; there is no good in crying; who is your counsel?"

Rodney looked up, and saw a young man, well dressed, and with anaffable and winning countenance, standing before him. His facelooked kind and benevolent, at least in Rodney's eyes, for hehad spoken to him gently and encouragingly. 

He replied to his question, "I have no counsel, sir; I have nomoney. "

"Well, I will try what I can do for you, " said the younglawyer. "Come out here, and sit by me, and tell me what you arehere for. "

He led him out of the disgraceful dock, gave him a seat directlyin front of the jury, sat down beside him, and asked him to tellhim the truth about all the circumstances that led to hisimprisonment and trial. Rodney told him truly all that happenedfrom the time of his running away to his arrest. He told him, too, who he was, and who were his relatives in the neighborhoodof Philadelphia. He had never spoken of these before. 

"Well, " said the lawyer, "I don't see that they can bringanything out to hurt you, if that is the true statement of thecase. And now, my boy, you may cry as much as you wish. "

Rodney looked up, surprised, wondering what on earth he wantedhim to cry for. He thought afterwards that the advice wasprobably given that his weeping might affect the sympathies ofthe jury, before whose eyes he was sitting. But he couldscarcely have shed a tear then if his liberty had depended uponit. He felt as though he had a friend, and his consciousness ofinnocence of any violation of human law, and his confidence thathis new friend could show that he was guiltless, set hisperturbed heart at rest, and he felt sure that he should beacquitted. 

When the court adjourned, the lawyer took out a card, and, giving it to Rodney, said, "If your case should be called upbefore I get here this afternoon, just tell them that I am yourcounsel, and they will put it off till I come. Here is my name. "

There was but one word on the card, and Rodney kept it long as agrateful memento of the disinterested kindness that had beenshown him in the hour of his bitter trial. The name on the cardwas

 +-----------------------+ | | | WATMOUGH. [A] | | | +-----------------------+

[A] This is not a fictitious but the real name of thegentleman whose kindness it commemorates. 

That young lawyer never knew the gratitude with which his namewas remembered for long, long years, and the thrill of emotionwhich its utterance always excited in the heart of thatbefriended boy. An act of kindness is never lost, and many a onewhich the benefactor may have forgotten, has won for him theprayers and blessings of a grateful heart. 

During the recess, Rodney was conducted across Independence-squareto the old Walnut-street prison. He ate his scanty prison dinnerthat day with a light and hopeful heart; and though he trembled atthe idea of the coming trial, yet he did not for a moment doubtthat the result must be his acquittal. He believed that the law wasframed to punish the guilty, and to do justice to the innocent; andhe could scarcely conceive that the guiltless could be made tosuffer by its administration. 

Immediately after the opening of the court, in the afternoon, the case was called up. The woman in whose house the robbery wascommitted, and one other, were witnesses; but not one word wassaid by either, in any way implicating Rodney in the robbery, beyond the fact that he had come to the house in company withthe robber. 

His friend made a very brief speech, demanding his acquittal;the judge said a few words to the jury, who consulted togetherfor a moment, when the foreman arose, and pronounced the happywords, "_Not Guilty_. "

And now the tears again rained down the cheeks of Rodney, as hecame out of the infamous dock, --but they were tears of joy. 

A few kind questions were asked him by the judge; and a smallsum of money, contributed by him and by several of the membersof the bar, furnished Rodney the means of returning to hisfriends. 

CHAPTER XII. 

CONCLUSION. 

Hastening to the end of our narrative, we pass by severalintervening months, and witness again another Sabbath morning inMay. 

Some twenty miles from the city of Philadelphia, a sparklinglittle brook passes through the meadow of a beautiful farm, losing itself in a thick wood that divides the contiguousestates. 

On that lovely May morning, --that serene Sabbath, --theremight have been seen, --there was seen by the Omniscient eye, --alad, some fifteen years old, walking thoughtfully along themargin of that little stream, and penetrating into the thickestpart of the wood. He carried a book in his hand, and sat downclose by the stream, under the shade of an old beech tree. Andas he read, the tears streamed from his eyes, and his sighsindicated a burdened spirit. Indeed, his heart was very sad. Hewas oppressed by the consciousness of the great sinfulness ofhis life and heart against the holy and benevolent God. Heremembered the early instructions he had received at home and inthe Sabbath-school. He recalled the precious privileges he hadenjoyed, and he remembered, with anguish and shame, how wickedlyhe had disregarded all these instructions, abused all theseprivileges, and sinned against his own knowledge of right, against his conscience and his God. He had long been burdenedwith these distressing emotions; he had often prayed, but hadfound little relief of his anguish, even in prayer. And now, even on this calm and beautiful Sabbath morning, there seemed tohis heart a gloom in the landscape. There was a smile, he knew, upon the face of nature, but he felt that it beamed not for him. The carol of wild birds rung out sweetly around him; but themusic saddened his heart yet more, for there was no inwardresponse of gratitude and joy. The bright green of the Springfoliage and of the waving grass seemed dark and gloomy, as hegazed upon it through tearful eyes. His mourning spirit gave itsown sombre interpretation to all the lovely scenes of nature. Hedeeply felt that he was a wretched sinner against God, and hecould not see how God could be merciful to one who had sogrievously transgressed. He scarcely dared to hope for thepardon of his iniquities, and was in almost utter despair ofever obtaining mercy. 

The book he had taken with him in his morning walk, was"Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul. " He read, carefully, the twelfth chapter in that excellent work, entitled, "The invitation to Christ of the sinner overwhelmed with a sense ofthe greatness of his sins. " He was convinced that Jesus Christ was_able_ to save even _him_; and the strong assurances of his_willingness_ to save, "even to the uttermost, " furnished in thepromises of the gospel, began to dawn upon his mind as he read whatseemed like a new revelation to his soul. When he read these wordsof Jesus, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, andI will give you rest, "--"Him that cometh unto me I will in no wisecast out, "--though he had read, or heard them read, a thousandtimes before, it seemed now as though they had been writtenexpressly for him. There seemed a freshness, a force, a gloriouspersonal adaptation in them which he had never seen before. 

He turned over the leaves of the book, and the chapter on "SelfDedication" caught his eye. He read it; and when he came to theprayer with which that chapter closes, he kneeled down, with thebook open before him, and solemnly, and with his whole heart, repeated that fervent prayer. It seemed to have been written onpurpose to express his emotions and desires. When he hadconcluded, he closed the book, and remained still upon hisknees, and tried, in his own language, to repeat the sentimentsof that solemn act of Dedication. Never was a boy more sincereand earnest than he. 

How long he prayed he did not know; but when he rose and lookedround him, the sun had long passed its meridian, and the shadowsof the trees were cast towards the east. 

There was a delicious, joyful calm in his soul. All doubts ofGod's willingness to pardon and receive him had gone. A veilseemed to have been removed from the character of God. Hethought of God as he had never thought before, --not as a sternand unrelenting Judge, but as a forgiving, loving Father. Hesaw, as he had never seen before, how sinners could be adoptedas children of God, for the sake of the sufferings and sacrificeof Jesus. 

His spirit was very calm, but O, how happy! He had solemnly givenhimself to God, pleading the merits of Jesus as the reason for hisacceptance, and he believed that God had received him, pardoned histransgressions, and accepted him as one of his own children. Againand again did he throw himself on the greensward, and pour out hissoul in gratitude and in prayer. It was the happiest day his lifehad ever known. 

The whole aspect of nature seemed changed in his eyes. Thegloomy shroud, that seemed to envelop it in the morning, hadpassed away. The smile of God seemed reflected from everysunbeam that played upon the green leaves and danced over thedistant waving meadow. There was sweet melody now in the songsof the birds, in the rippling of the brook, in the hum of thebees, and in the sighing of the soft breeze. All seemed to singof the goodness and grace of the adorable Creator. "_Old_ thingshad passed away, behold all things had become _new_. "

That lad was the RODNEY ROVERTON of this little volume. Thatchange was wrought by the regenerating grace of God. It was the"peace of God, that passeth all understanding, " diffused throughall his soul. Where "sin had abounded, grace did much moreabound. "

Rodney Roverton yet lives. He has been, for many years, a professeddisciple of Jesus Christ, and an honored and successful minister ofthe Gospel.