“Before he was six years old, he poized a broom stick with as good a grace as any soldier of his age in Europe.” See page 9.
THE HISTORY OF LITTLE JACK,
A FOUNDLING.
Glasgow:
PRINTED FOR RICHARD GRIFFIN & CO.
64, HUTCHESON STREET.
MDCCCXXVI.
MALCOLM & GRIFFIN, PRINTERS, GLASGOW.
THE HISTORY OF LITTLE JACK.
There was once a poor lame old man that lived in the midst of a wideuncultivated moor, in the north of England. He had formerly been asoldier, and had almost lost the use of one leg by a wound he hadreceived in battle, when he was fighting against the enemies of hiscountry. This poor man when he found himself thus disabled, built ahut of clay, which he covered with turf dug from the common. He had alittle bit of ground which he made a shift to cultivate with his ownhands, and which supplied him with potatoes and vegetables. Besidesthis, he sometimes gained a few halfpence by opening a[Pg 1] gate fortravellers, which stood near his house. He did not, indeed, get much,because few people passed that way. What he earned was, however,enough to purchase clothes and the few necessaries he wanted. But,though poor, he was strictly honest, and never failed, night andmorning, to address his prayers to God; by which means he wasrespected by all who knew him, much more than many who were superiorto him in rank and fortune. This old man had one domestic. In hiswalks over the common, he one day found a little kid that had lost itsmother, and was almost famished with hunger: he took it home to hiscottage, fed it with the produce of his garden, and nursed it till itgrew strong and vigorous. Little Nan (for that was the name he gaveit) returned his cares with gratitude, and became as much attached tohim as a dog. All day she browzed upon the herbage that grew aroundhis hut, and at[Pg 2] night reposed upon the same bed of straw with hermaster. Frequently did she divert him with her innocent tricks, andgambols. She would nestle her little head in his bosom, and eat out ofhis hand part of his scanty allowance of bread, which he never failedto divide with his favourite. The old man often beheld her with silentjoy, and, in the innocent feelings of his heart, would lift his handsto heaven, and thank the Deity, that, even in the midst of poverty anddistress, had raised him up one faithful friend.
One night, in the beginning of winter, the old man thought he heardthe feeble cries and lamentations of a child. As he was naturallycharitable, he arose and struck a light and going out of his cottage,examined on every side. It was not long before he discerned an infant,which had probably been dropped by some strolling beggar or gipsy. Theold man stood amazed at the sight, and knew[Pg 3] not what to do. “ShallI,” said he, “who find it so difficult to live at present, encumbermyself with the care of a helpless infant, that will not for manyyears be ca