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THE COTTAGE OF LAME FELIX.

His cottage was very prettily situated, beautiful green meadows and corn-fields stretching out in front as far as the eye could reach, with no houses or buildings, except a farm-house, known as Bobby Rofe's, to intercept the view ; behind was a large nursery garden belonging to a Wesleyan local preacher named Clarke. Throughout the spring months, when nature dressed herself in her lovely mantle of green, the cuckoo might there be heard, the thrush, the linnet, the lark, and, in the hush of the night, the melody of the nightingale. Felix had made himself a seat outside his cottage door, where, in the quiet of the holy evening time, he would sit and enjoy his pipe, while neighbours, inclined for a chat, would lean over the gate or garden fence. Sometimes the minister would saunter down in his study coat, with his immense meerschaum between his lips, and swaying himself backwards and forwards with the motion of the gate, which he would unlatch, would commence conversation by saying, “Lor, Felix, what a man you are to smoke!”

Ay, ay; so we are, sir," would be Felix's reply.

The minister was a character. He rolled in his walk like a sailor accustomed to stormy seas. His face was not a very handsome one, but his nose was prodigious in size-some would insist that as a coming event it cast its shadow before ; and one irreverent fellow, a tailor, whose mother adored her pastor, and was always eager and pleased to catch a

AN IRREVERENT TAILOR.

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glimpse of his face as he passed by, would make game of it; while sitting at work in his bow window he would suddenly cry out, “Mother, here comes Johnnie Garter !”

“Why, where, boy?" the mother would reply, after looking vainly down the street.

“Well, I know I saw the shadow of his nose !"

By calling the minister Johnnie Garter no disrespect was intended; it was simply an affectionate term used by all who knew him. He was full of fun and laughter, passionately fond of smoking ; indeed, when he preached a sermon somewhat better than the ordinary run of his discourses it was generally observed that "Johnnie smoked an extra pipe over that." Yet he was a man who had passed through many and severe trials, and fortune had dealt him a few very hard blows; nevertheless, he bore it all heroically, having his shelter in the Rock of Ages.

Such were Lame Felix and a few of his surroundings.

CHAPTER II.

Tom POTTER: OR. The PowN-HILL PATH.

B

He who sows brambles must not go barefoot.

He who doth what he should not, shall feel what he would not."

The thief is sorry to be hanged, but not that he is a thief."

Better speak truth roughly, than lie covertly."

a

The credit that is got by a lie, only lasts iill the truth comes out!

Tell me with whom thou goest, and I'll tell thee what thou doest."

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