CHAPTER III. 



" Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 

 O'er a' the ills of life victorious." 



(HOUGH not by any means in- 

 different to butcher's meat, at 

 the time when Dick was to be 

 heard of in the kitchen he began to 

 show an uncommon dislike to those whis- 

 tling youngsters who so recklessly pitch 

 mutton-chops and prime cuts into cus- 

 tomers' premises. The Supervisor of our 

 ward, in private life a butcher, supplied 

 our household with meat, delivered by 

 one of the most pestiferous young scamps 

 that ever drove a cart. This fellow cared 

 nothing at all for the civic virtues which 

 had given his master a good start on the 

 road to Congress. His intimates during 



