A TERRIBLE MONSTER CAGED
A most wretched criminal was brought into the Police Court yesterday morning, on a charge of petty larceny. He stands between three and four feet in his shoes, and has arrived at the age of ten years. His name does not appear on the register, so the world must remain in ignorance of that. He is an orphan who has been provided with a home in a respectable family of this city, and is charged with having taken some chips and sticks from about Dr. Toland's fine new building, which it is supposed he uses in kindling the fires for the family he lives with. The person whose vigilance discovered grounds for suspecting this fatherless and motherless boy of the horrible crime, is a carpenter who works at the building. The county is indebted to him. The little fellow came into Court under a strong guard. He was terrified almost out of his senses, and looked as if he expected the Judge to order his head to be chopped off at once. The matter, if entertained at all, will be heard on Monday, and in the mean time the little boy will anticipate worlds of misery. It is a matter of wonder to some that a deliberate attempt to send an indefinite number of souls to Davy Jones' locker, by one who occupies a prominent position, escapes Judicial scrutiny, while the whole force conservatorial is hot foot in the chase after some little ragged shaver, some fledgling of St. Giles, unkempt and uncared for, who flits from corner to corner, and from hole to hole, as if fleeing from his own shadow. But such persons don't understand conservatorial policy. Let the hoary headed sinners go, they can get no worse, and soon will die off, but look sharply after the young crop. The old trunk will decay after a while and fall before the tempest, but the sapling must be hewn down.
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