Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

26 TIM BUMBLE’S CHARGE. even when he wasn’t himself—an’ he looked so innicent, thinks I to mesilf it’s no harm, which as ye may say was dis- obeyin’ orders intirely ; but how’d I know, so desayed as I was —well, (here he paused to take breath, to strike an attitude, and to run his fingers through his hair,) as I live, I weren’t gone a minnit by the watch, Shrewsbury time, ‘an’ no mistake, when I goes back with the bouk that it took me a long time to hunt up, beca’se of it’s name, which I ain’t used to like a scholar might be—and by me sowl the bit of a body was in the place at all, at all. He couldn’t git out o’ the windy in his room, ’cause that were barred wid iron—and he didn’t git _ out by me, ’cause I'd felt the rush as he wint past. But he jist cl’ared the hall, and let himsilf down by the grape-vine under his sister's windy—that must ’ave bin the way of it. Whin I found him missin’ I just stood an’ I tore me hair out by the handfuls, for how'd I ‘meet his father or his mother, an’ they to put such confidence in me? An’ whin I told ’em —an’ whin Bridget came to hear of it—och! the way me ears was battered. to be sure, and now they’re all going crazy, ivery mother’s son of ’em, and—’ _“ Another rap and another visitor—this time Mr. Lattison himself, his hair drenched and the rain streaming down his haggard cheeks, his beautiful dark eyes strained and shot with red—his thin lips quivering. _ “* Have they found him? he cried. ‘Oh! Heaven!—my poor wife is almost beside herself—Anne is prostrated, I can not lose him—the last of seven, Oh! sir, you behold an unhappy father—oh! wretched man that I am! 4 Where can he be—which way could he have taken ?— let us the searclt anew,’ cried my father, taking his hat and hurriedly leaving the room with Mr. Lattison. “ As for me I was in agony almost too cruel to be borne. The thunder still rolled harshly along the far-off heaven—the lightning still penetrated, in vivid flashes, the cracks in the window-blinds, and the rain poured continuously. I gave loose to my imagination. I pictured my poor friend Anne, faint with terror and a I saw all the distress of the careeoas mother—I went 4 iw’ oa the aoe shore, now angry with the wildly-tossing e ts,and traced the footsteps of the fugitive. I saw him running wildly in comicloOoks. com