I felt that he could not; and in fact advised him to act as he did." "Now, George Burrell, you didn't," said she, reproachfully.
"Yes I did, my dear, because I thought of his family; I really believe though, had I encouraged him, he would have made the sacrifice." "And what became of the boy ?" "Oh; poor lad, he seemed very much cut down by it--I was quite touched by his grief.

When I came out, I found him standing by a shop window crying bitterly.

I tried to pacify him, and told him I would endeavour to obtain a situation for him somewhere--and I shall." "Has he parents ?" asked Mrs.Burrell.
"Yes; and, by the way, don't you remember whilst the mob was raging last summer, we read an account of a man running to the roof of a house to escape from the rioters?
You remember they chopped his hands off and threw him over ?" "Oh, yes, dear, I recollect; don't--don't mention it," said she, with a shudder of horror.

"I remember it perfectly." "Well, this little fellow is his son," continued Mr.Burrell.
"Indeed! and what has become of his father--did he die ?" "No, he partially recovered, but is helpless, and almost an idiot.

I never saw a child, apparently so anxious to get work; he talked more like a man with a family dependent upon him for support, than a youth.