“Wait, Thompson.  I must not suffer you”——­

“Did you hear what I said, sir? where do you apply?”

“At X.Y.Z.” said I, “in Swallow street, Saint James’s.”

“Then, don’t you lose a minute.  I shouldn’t be surprised if the place is run down already.  London’s overstocked with tutorers and men of larning.  You come along o’ me, Billy, and don’t you lose sight of this ’ere chance, my boy.  If they wants a reference, tell ’em I’ll be glad to wait upon ’em.”

Three days had not elapsed after this conversation, before my services were accepted by X.Y.Z.—­and I had engaged to travel into Devonshire to enter at once upon my duties, as teacher in the dwelling-house of the Reverend Walter Fairman.  X.Y.Z. was a man of business; and, fortunately for me, had known my father well.  He was satisfied with my connexion, and with the unbounded recommendation which Thompson gave with me.  Mr Fairman was incumbent of one of the loveliest parishes in England, and the guardian and teacher of six boys.  My salary was fifty pounds per annum, with board and lodging.  The matter was settled in a few hours, and before I had time to consider, my place was taken in the coach, and a letter was dispatched to Mr Fairman, announcing my intended departure.  Nothing could exceed the joy of Thompson at my success—­nothing could be kinder and more anxious than his valuable advice.

“Now,” he said as we walked together from the coach-office, “was I wrong in telling you that better things would turn up?  Take care of yourself, and the best wrangler of the lot may be glad to change places with you.  It isn’t lots of larning, or lots of money, or lots of houses and coaches, that makes a man happy in this world.  They never can do it; but they can do just the contrarery, and make him the miserablest wretch as crawls. A contented mind is ‘the one thing needful.’  Take what God gives gratefully, and do unto others as you would that they should do unto you.  That’s a maxim that my poor father was always giving me, and, I wish, when I take the young ’uns to church, that they could always hear it, for human natur needs it.”

The evening before my setting out was spent with Thompson’s family.  I had received a special invitation, and Thompson, with the labouring sons, were under an engagement to the mistress of the house, to leave the workshop at least an hour earlier than usual.  Oh, it was a sight to move the heart of one more hardened than I can boast to be, to behold the affectionate party assembled to bid me farewell, and to do honour to our leave-taking.  A little feast was prepared for the occasion, and my many friends were dressed, all in their Sunday clothes, befittingly.  There was not one who had not something to give me for a token.  Mary had worked me a purse; and Mary blushed whilst her mother betrayed her, and gave the little keepsake.  Ellen thought a pincushion might be useful; and the knitter of the large establishment