Mother Rigby, with a rueful glance at the relics of
her ill-fated contrivance; "my poor, dear, pretty Feathertop! There are
thousands upon thousands of coxcombs and charlatans in the world, made
up of just such a jumble of worn-out, forgotten, and good-for-nothing
trash, as he was! Yet they live in fair repute, and never see themselves
for what they are! And why should my poor puppet be the only one to know
himself, and perish for it?"

While thus muttering, the witch had filled a fresh pipe of tobacco, and
held the stem between her fingers, as doubtful whether to thrust it into
her own mouth or Feathertop's.

"Poor Feathertop!" she continued, "I could easily give him another
chance, and send him forth again to-morrow. But, no! his feelings are
too tender; his sensibilities too deep. He seems to have too much heart
to bustle for his own advantage, in such an empty and heartless world.
Well, well! I'll make a scarecrow of him, after all. 'Tis an innocent
and a useful vocation, and will suit my darling well; and if each of his
human brethren had as fit a one, 'twould be the better for mankind; and
as for this pipe of tobacco, I need it more than he!"

So saying. Mother Rigby put the stem between her lips. "Dickon!" cried
she, in her high, sharp tone, "another coal for my pipe!"

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Concluded from page 186.

From Colburn's New Monthly Magazine

A CHAPTER ON GAMBLING.

Very little doubt can be entertained that gambling is rapidly falling
from its pristine eminence in the fashionable world: we seldom or never
hear of thousands being now lost at a sitting; and those of the present
generation can scarcely credit all that is said or written of the doings
of their forefathers, or that whole estates were set on the hazard of a
game of picquet, as a certain Irish writer voraciously informs us.
Railway coupons have usurped the place of the cue and the dice-box, and
the greedy passion finds an outlet in Capel Court. We do not for a
moment mean to assert that gambling is dying away--the countless
betting-lists in town and country furnish a melancholy proof of the
widely-extended contagion--but still we do say that its very
universality has brought it out of fashion, and that it is not regarded
with that indulgence it formerly claimed, but is rather looked upon as
the "dernier resort" of the hard-up man about town.

Such being the case, it may cause our readers some surprise, on
referring to the headin