ew in the apparent wantonness of
mischief, the whole of the poor girl's day-property, and scrambling for
the spoil, disseminated themselves in different directions, leaving not
the vestige of a rabbit behind!

A torrent of tears, feelingly shewed the anguish of her mind. She was
ruined beyond hope of redemption; the rabbits she had every morning on
credit, she plied the streets in selling them, through many a wearisome
hour in the day, happy if next morning, having realized a very moderate
profit by her laborious vocation, she could settle accounts with the
wholesale dealer, and take a fresh cargo with which to commence another
day's adventure.--But now, wringing her hands in an agony of grief,
"It is all over with me!" she exclaimed,--" my means of subsistence is
gone,--my credit is lost,--and God's will be done,--I must go home and
starve!"{1}

1 It is scarcely credible that one salesman in Leadenhall
market, at the present time, sells on an average 14,000
rabbits weekly. He contracts with the coach masters for the
carriage, and pays them eleven pounds per thousand,
amounting, weekly, to L154. The way he disposes of them, is
by employing 150 travelling pole-men and women; in the
morning they are started upon credit, and the next day they
return, bringing back the skins, settle the accounts, and
then take a fresh cargo.

Ever prone to relieve distress, Dashall and Tallyho sympathized most
sincerely with this unfortunate girl; there was an indescribable
something of extreme interest about her, which was well calculated to
excite a feeling of generous commiseration.

Shall we now say the two philanthropists? for such they
proved themselves. Each then, in the same moment, expanded his purse,
and together more than compensated the delighted and astonished girl for
her loss, who, blessing her benefactors, went home rejoicing.

Gaining the extremity of the market, at the bottom of Skinner-street,
the two friends rounded the corner, and verged towards Ludgate-hill
by the Fleet Prison. Here a fresh claim, though of lesser magnitude,
obtruded itself on their benevolence. "Pity the poor debtors, having no
~96~~ allowance!" exclaimed an emaciated being, gazing with an eye
of wistful expectancy, through the thrice-grated window of a small
apartment on a level nearly with the street; "Pity the poor debtors;"
The supplicating tone of deep distress in which these words were uttered