The True Bostonian Spirit

An oíd tramp, witü ms lace shrunken with hunger, was overturning the conents of an offal wagon down Main treet, last Tuesday afternoon, trying to sh out a lunch, when a policeman carne long and asked : "Why dou't you go to work sawin' wood, or diggin' clams, r somethin' and earn enough to get you square meal, and not be stulïin' yourelf with this unwholesome garba ge? Jam-by, 'afore you know it, you'll be !ead, and the city 'ill have to send yonr orpso up to the Brighton abattoir." ?he old outlaw stepped down on the idewalk, and, as he wiped his tangled whiskers, he said : " Pretty tuff times, k88, when er man hez ter git his wittles out of er swill wagon ! I hain't uscd to sich busines as this, and don't you forgit it; my father was one of tho richest nen on this continent once; he owned more'n half the city of Boston, and I was brought up in the lap of luxury, as tware; Igraduated at Harvard Ooilege, and know'd twenty different languages; cnowed all about astronamy; could teil re how fur the planite Satan, Versuvious, Juniper and Venice was from tho earth, and could repeat tho wholo Biblc rom the first chapter of Adam clear ihrongh to the landing of Noah's ark on ?lymouth rock." Then the policeman oóked as if he was going to drop down lead for a moment, then he rallied and struck across tho street, muttering : 'Well, I sware, I never heered anyihing equil that for ignerence, never." - Boston Traveller.