married, Peter Strong, all of Rotherhithe, and to Thomas Day, Henry Day, and Nicholas Day, of Eltham, the whole of my money and personal effects, share and share alike, equally divided among them all.  There, sir, that will do.  I can’t write, but I’ll put my cross to it.’  Well, the old fellow died that night, and notice of his will was sent to his nephews and nieces, who all came on the day of his burial dressed in their best, for they were all mechanics and laborers, poor people, to whom, I suppose, a legacy was a great object.  The chaplain had asked Nobbs where his money was, and he replied that it was in the hands of Lieutenant ——­, who knew all about his affairs.  After the funeral they all went in a body to the lieutenant, who stated that he had ten shillings belonging to Nobbs, out of which seven shillings were to be deducted for the white pall; and that as for his other effects, they must be in his cabin, as he never heard of his having anything but what was there.  So we went to his cabin, and there we found five or six penny prints against the wall, two pair of old canvas trousers, and an old hat, six cups and saucers, cracked and mended; and this was all his property, altogether not worth (with the three shillings) more than seven or eight at the outside, if so much.  You may guess the disappointment of his nephews and nieces, who had lost a good day’s work and come so far for nothing; and I must say they were not very dutiful in their remarks upon their old uncle as they walked off.  Now you see, Tom, this old fellow had been in the hospital for more than twenty years, and had been able to save no more than what he had out of his shilling per week, and in his eyes this small property was very large, for it was the saving of twenty years.  He thought so, poor fellow, because he probably had never saved so many shillings in his life.  There was no joking about it, I can assure you.”

“Well, father, I hope I may be able to save more than seven shillings before I die; but no one knows.  I have made my decision as I think for the best, and we must leave the rest to Providence.  We never know whether we do right or wrong.”

“Never, Jack; things which promise well turn out bad, and things which look very bad often turn out just as well.  I recollect an instance which was told me, which I’ll give you as a proof that we never know what is best for us in this world.  A man may plan, and scheme, and think in his blindness that he has arranged everything so nicely that nothing can fail, and down he lies on his bed and goes to sleep quite satisfied that affairs must turn out well as he has ordered them, forgetting that Providence disposes as it thinks fit.  There was a gentleman by birth, of the name of Seton, who lived at Greenock; he was very poor, and although he had high friends and relations well-to-do, he was too proud to ask for assistance.  His wife was equally proud; and at last one day he died, leaving her with hardly a