My young readers will probably desire to know something about Harry's "antecedents"; and while the poor fellow is mourning over the hard lot which Squire Walker has marked out for him, we will briefly review his previous history. Unlike the heroes of modern novels and romances, Harry did not belong to an ancient, or even a very respectable family. We need not trace his genealogy for any considerable period, and I am not sure that the old records would throw much light on the subject if we should attempt to do so. The accident of birth in our republican land is a matter of very little consequence; therefore we shall only go back to Harry's father, who was a carpenter by trade, but had a greater passion for New England rum than for chisels and foreplanes. The bane of New England was the bane of Franklin West; for he was a kind-hearted man, a good husband and a good father, before he was deformed by the use of liquor. He made good wages, and supported his little family for several years; but the vile habit grew upon him to such a degree that the people of Redfield lost all confidence in him. As his business decreased, his besetting vice increased upon him, till he was nothing but the wreck of the man he had once been. Poverty had come, and want stared him in the face. While everybody was wondering what would become of Franklin West, he suddenly disappeared, and no one could form an idea of what had become of him. People thought it was no great matter. He was only a nuisance to himself and his family. Mrs. West was shocked by this sudden and mysterious disappearance. He was her husband, and the father of her children, and it was not strange that she wept, and even hoped that he would come back. The neighbors comforted her, and put her in the way of supporting herself and the children, so that she was very soon reconciled to the event. When West had been gone a month, his wife received a letter from him, informing her that he had determined to stop drinking, and be a man again. He could not keep sober in Redfield, among his old companions, and he was at work in Providence till he could get money enough to pay his expenses to Valparaiso, in South America, where a lucrative place awaited him. He hoped his wife would manage to get along for a few months, when he should be able to send her some money. Mrs. West was easy again. Her husband was not dead, was not drowned in the river, or lost in the woods; and her heart was cheered by the prospects of future plenty, which the letter pointed out to her. A year passed by, and nothing more was heard from Franklin West. The poor, forsaken wife had a hard time to support her little family. The most constant and severe toil enabled her to pinch her way along; but it was a bitter trial. She had no relations to help her; and though the neighbors were as kind as neighbors could be, life was a hard struggle.