Clipped from US, Pennsylvania, Smethport, Settler and Pennon , May 20, 1841
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ik..‘A. beggarr‘Yes, ,a beggar; don .. halfpence, and say, ‘Thanka copper for poor Jack, your hokiu* rejoined Spicer, mimicking me. ‘When I see that pretty sister of yours, that looks so like a real lady, I often thinks to niyself, ‘Fine and smart as you are, misd, your brother’s only a beggar.* Now, would you not like to return from a cruise with a bag of doubloons to throw into her lap, proving that you were a gentlemen, and above coppers thrown to you out of charity! Well, old as 1 am, and maimed, I’d sooner starve where I now stand—but I must be off; so good bye, Jack—look sharp afteir the halfpence.’4s Spicer walked away, my young biodd boiled. A beggar! it was bpt too tnii*—and yet I had never thought it adisgrace before. I sat down on the rteSs, and was soon in deep thought. Boat after boat came to the stairs, and yet I stirred not. Not one halfpenny did I take during the remainder of that day; for I could 'not—would not ask for oner My pride, hitherto latent, was roused: ahd before I rose fromwhere I had been seated, I made a resolution that 1 would earn my livelihood in some other way. What hurt me most was his observations about Virginia and her beggar brother. 1 was so proud of Virginia I felt that her brother ought not to be a beggar.— Such was the effect produced in so short a timq by the insiduous discourse of this man, that had he still remained at the steps, I do believe that I should havb asked, probably followed his ad-vice. Fortunately he had left; and, after a little reflection, I had the wisdom to go and seek Peter Anderson, and consult him as to what I could do; for to dhange my mode of obtaining my livelihood I was, determined upon.I found Anderson, as usual, seated under the collonnade, readitig; and 1 went up to hirru ‘Well, Jack, my boy, you are homo early,’ skid he.‘Yes,* replied I, gravely; and then Iwas silent. I # ,After a pause of about a minute Peter Anderson said--?- I‘Jack, I see there’s something the matter. Now, tell me what it is. Can!I help you!’, j‘I did wish to speak to yduf replied I. I’ve been thinking—about #ing to sea.’ ‘And how long have you thought ofthnjt, Jack!1 1‘I’ve thought more of it lately,* replied f.‘Yes, since Spicer has ■Rn talking to you. Now, is that not tjhe case!* lYes, it is.’'I knew that, Jack. I’m at your ser-ricje for as long as you please; npw sit town and tell me all he has said to pou, that you can remember. I aha’n't interrupt you.’I did so, and before I had half finished, Anderson replied—‘That's quite enough, Jack. One thing Is evident to me—that Spicer has led a bad and lawless life, and would sven now continue it* old as he is, only that he is prevented by being crippled.Jack, he has talked to you about priva-‘x.. i v*i Cu ..as the tears ca^. % y cs.‘Well, well! I see how' it is,’ replied Anderson; ‘it’s a pity you ever fell in with that man.'*‘That’s true as gospel,’ observed my fathpr; ‘but still, if be had said nothing worjse than that, 1 should not have minded] I do think that. Jfslf is now enough to do something better, and I mult say, I do not dislike his wishlag so to do—for it is begging for halfpence, arte r all.’ ! 1‘Well, boy,1* said Peter Anderson, ‘suppose you leave your father and me to folk over the matter; and to-morrow by this time we will tell you what wethink will be best.’ I‘Anything-janything, * replied 1, ‘butbeipg a beggar.*os along, you are a foolish boy,* said Anderson. (.like his spirit, though,’ said my fa-their, as 1 walked away. !n the next day, the important question was to be decide^. I did not go to the stairs to follow up my vocation. I hud talked the matter over with Vir- ginia, who, although she did not like thatI should go away, had agreed with me that she objected to my begging for money. I waited very impatiently for the time that j Anderson had appointed; ‘‘and, at last, he and my father came together, when the former said—Well, Jackj it appears that you dofW*tlinot like to be a waterman; and that yoii have no great fancy for a man-of-war* although you have a hankering for the sea. Now, as you cannot cruise with your friend Spicer on the Spanish Main, nor yet he safe from impresame nt in a privateer or merchantman, we have been thinking that perhaps yo i would have no objet tion to a channel and river pilot; if so, I have ait olej. friend in that service, who, I think, .y help you, ■jWhat do you say!I should like it very much.’JYes, it is a good service, and a man is jisefufly employed. You may be the means, as soon as you are out of * our time* and have passed your examination, of saving many a vessel and more lives. You have had a pretty lair education, indeed, quite sufficient; and, as you will often be coming up the river, you will have opportunities of seeing yotir father' and your friends. If you decide,! vfill write at once.*‘It is the'very thing that I should like/ replied I; ‘and many thanks to you, Anderson.1♦And it’s exactly what I should, also,’ replied my father. ‘So that job’s jobbed, as the saying is.’ «After this arrangement, 1 walkedaway as proud at If I had been anerrjaneipated slave: that very lining I announced my intention of gi^piing my office of ‘Poor Jack;* and lttwled as1 my successor the boy with who® 1 had fought so desperately to obtain it: when the prospect was held out to me, by old Ben,of my becoming Poor Jack— forever. *
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