THE BEGGAR'S OPERA-TION

The ingenuity of the professional beggar oftentimes rises to the dignity of positive genius. No matter where his lot be cast, whether it be beneath the clime of sunny Italy, or within the confines of New-York, or in any place in our own Dominion, his activity submits to no réduction in scope, and he carries out the System of pillage which he has

inaugurated, without fear and without reproach, thereby equalling, in some respects, at least, the chivalrous greatness of the mighty Bayard of happy memory. It is not my intention however, to enlarge upon the functions of the beggar — I do not mean the pauper, for that very ordinary personage is only the beggar in reduced circumstances, and in conséquence is a very cheap spécimen of the tribe, and perhaps, not worth the mentioning in the same breath with his more picturesque and better-circumstanced chief — but I hâve an incident to relate which will serve to exhibit after a fashion, the wonderful resources of the mendicant when really put to his wits' end to devise a System of swindle with which to impose on the benevolent and charitable. A friend of mine — a young clergyman — who after graduating with high honours, passed

the first few years of his ministry as a missionary among the poor in the town— at that time parish — of Portland, Saint- John, New-Brunswick. In this capacity lie had abundant means of witnessing many pitiful scènes of real distress, and to corne into contact with several cases of gross imposture and cheatery. Being naturally of a tender heart, and as sensitive as a woman, his nature was one which might easily be playsd upon, and it is not too much to say that very often the generous-spirited young clergyman became the dupe of the shrewd thieves who thrived pretty succesfully on his bounty. The incident which he related to me, several years ago, will illustrate in a practical manner, one of the keenest ways of " raising the wind," perhaps ever devised by human kind before. The story is at least a good one, and shorn of its meaner ele-

ment, there is something left which may perhaps, be laughed at, even if the whole thing be very justly condemned, and the fraud practised be duly execrated. My friend tells the taie as follows :

A woman clad in the habiliments and trappings of woe, sad in countenance and mien, and leaden-eyed, and with a babe of tender âge at her breast, sought aid for a dying husband, and a helpless family of little ones. The young clergyman, deeply touched by her sorrowful story, did what he could to assist her, and she went away murmuring thanks and a bénédiction. In a day or two afterwards she returned to the hospitable door and sought andobtained further relief. A week passed away, when one day, my friend,

Mr. C , was hastily summoned into

his library by an urgent visitor. It proved

to be the same woman that he had relieved on two occasions in the manner related. She told a harrowing story. Her husband, she sobbed, was dead. He had died that morning, and she and her family were left destitute and alone in the world. They had nothing to eat, they must go to the Poor House, and the husband would hâve to be buried in the pauper's lot.

Mr. C , heard her story, gave her a

little money, spoke some kindly words of comfort, and promising to call round at her home in the afternoon, he sent her on her way. After dinner he proceeded to the house of death. Knocking softly at the door, he was ushered in by a little girl in tatters. He found the widow and children bathed in tears. In a dark and further corner of the room was a long pine table, on which the body of the hus-

band and father lay, washed, and dressed, and ready to be laid in his coffin. The eyes were apparently closed in that sleep which knows no awaking. Coppers were laid over the lids, and the chin was supported by a band fastened on the top of the head. The hands and arms lay straight and stiff by the side. Every feature of the face wore the placid look of death ; and gloom and despondency settled themselves over the little room. It was a sad sight this picture of Death in such a place, and the young man could not hold back the burning tears which filled his eyes and coursed down his cheeks.

He extended his hands to the widow. He spoke comforting and sympathetic words into her ears. He tried to soothe the aching heart, and he kissed the smiling baby in her arms, and patted the curly

heads of the two little girls who sobbed at their father's side as if their very hearts would break. After offering up a prayer in which the mother and the children

joined, Mr. C rose to take his leave,

promising to look in, in the morning ; and then giving the widow enough money to defray the burial expenses of her husband, he bade the tearful and narrowed circle adieu, and started for his home with a bleedingheart. He had not proceeded far along the street, when he be-thought himself of something which he had wished to say to the woman, and which, in his excitement, he had forgotten. He retraced his steps, and stealing softly up the narrow stairs, he gently opened the door.

A strange mocking sight met his view.

There, boit upright on the table, sat the corpse, busily counting the money the

clergyman had left for his own funeral expenses, while bending over him stood the wife, an interested spectator of the scène, holding a tallow candie in her hand. The two children were playing with the baby

on the floor. Mr. C 's eyes met the

affrighted gaze of the corpse and the equally guilty wife. He said nothing, but hastily closing the door, fled away from the iniquitous den of deceit. The story tells its own moral.

" Walden." *

* George Stewart, jr., Esquire.