water, yielded a thin treacle. At length the cart stopped on one of the
wharves, and the cartman began to unload. As he tilted over the cask in
which Charles lay, an exclamation broke from his lips, and the edge of
the cask fell from his hands, sliding its late occupant upon the wharf.
To regain his short legs, and to put the greatest possible distance
between himself and the cartman, were his first movements on regaining
his liberty. He did not stop until he reached the corner of Front
Street.
Another blank succeeds in this veracious history. He cannot remember
how or when he found himself in front of the circus tent. He has an
indistinct recollection of having passed through a long street of stores
which were all closed, and which made him fear that it was Sunday, and
that he had spent a miserable night in the sugar cask. But he remembers
hearing the sound of music within the tent, and of creeping on his hands
and knees, when no one was looking, until he passed under the canvas.
His description of the wonders contained within that circle; of the
terrific feats which were performed by a man on a pole, since practised
by him in the back yard; of the horses, one of which was spotted
and resembled an animal in his Noah's Ark, hitherto unrecognized and
undefined; of the female equestrians, whose dresses could only be
equalled in magnificence by the frocks of his sister's doll; of the
painted clown, whose jokes excited a merriment, somewhat tinged by
an undefined fear, was an effort of language which this pen could but
weakly transcribe, and which no quantity of exclamation points could
sufficiently illustrate. He is not quite certain what followed. He
remembers that almost immediately on leaving the circus it became dark,
and that he fell asleep, waking up at intervals on the corners of the
streets, on front steps, in somebody's arms, and finally in his own bed.
He was not aware of experiencing any regret for his conduct; he does
not recall feeling at any time a disposition to go home; he remembers
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