Clasped in each other's arms, those two children of poverty--the victims of horrible and daily cruelties--repulsed by a father whose neck they had longed to encircle with their little arms, and whose hand they had vainly sought to cover with kisses; trembling even at the looks of a mother whom they loved in spite of all her harshness towards them, and from whose lips one word--one single word of kindness would have gladdened their poor hearts;--under such circumstances, we say, did these persecuted but affectionate infants, still smarting with the pain of cruel blows, and with tears upon their cheeks,--thus did they sink into slumber in each other's arms! Merciful God! it makes the blood boil to think that this is no over-drawn picture--that there is no exaggeration in these details; but that there really exist monsters in a human form--wearing often, too, the female shape--who make the infancy and early youth of their offspring one continued hell--one perpetual scene of blows, curses, and cruelties! Oh! for how many of our fellow-creatures have we to blush:--how many demons are there who have assumed our mortal appearance, who dwell amongst us, and who set us examples the most hideous--the most appalling! As soon as the children were in bed, the woman went out, and returned in a few minutes with two pots of strong beer--purchased with the alms that day bestowed by the charitable upon her suffering offspring. She and her husband then partook of some cold meat, of which there was a plentiful provision--enough to have allowed the boy and the girl each a good slice of bread. And the bread which this man and this woman ate was new and good; but the morsels thrown to the children were stale and mouldy. "I tell you what," said the woman, whispering in a mysterious tone to her husband, "I have thought of an excellent plan to make Fanny useful." "Well, Polly, and what's that?" demanded the man. "Why," resumed his wife, her countenance wearing an expression of demoniac cruelty and cunning, "I've been thinking that Harry will soon be of use to you in your line. He'll be so handy to shove through a window, or to sneak down a area and hide himself all day in a cellar to open the door at night,--or a thousand things." "In course he will," said Bill, with an approving nod. "Well, but then there's Fanny. What good can she do for us for years and years to come? She won't beg--I know she won't. It's all that boy's lies when he says she does: he is very fond of her, and only tells us that to screen her. Now I've a very great mind to do someot that will make her beg--aye, and be glad to beg--and beg too in spite of herself." "What the hell do you mean?" "Why, doing _that_ to her which will put her entirely at our mercy, and at the same time render her an object of such interest that the people _must_ give her money. I'd wager that with my plan she'd get her five bob a day; and what a blessin' that would be." "But how?" said Bill impatiently.