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An Exploit.

THE exploit had been a complete success, without the slightest mishap. And it was something for boys to be proud of. A few words will explain it. Some six or seven miles along the coast, a beetling rock, called Eagle's Cliff, rose close to the water. It got its name from the fact that an eagle had for many years built his nest near the top in a recess of the rock, which seemed inaccessible. No serious attempt had ever been made to disturb the royal bird, and year after year, as the season came round, he returned and took possession of his eyrie. So things continued till last year, when Jim Lambert and his three mates resolved to beard the eagle in his den, though, as they well knew, at the risk of laming themselves, or breaking their necks. Old Jerry, the boatman, warned them against such a foolhardy adventure; but they were not to be frightened. Bravely, and with a dash of wild glee, they rowed to the foot of the Cliff, and prepared for the perilous ascent. The climb was frightful. Among loose stones, and jutting crags, and knarled roots of primeval trees they slowly scrambled after each other as best they could. About midway, further advance seemed hopelessly barred. Huge rocks hemmed them all round. But by means of a thick root projecting from one of the crevices they swung themselves to a more open space, and were thus able to push their way. At length, to their unspeakable relief, they reached the nest, which they found to be little more than a heap of dry sticks, with some straw and feathers in the middle of it. They were somewhat crestfallen to find it had neither eggs nor young ones, and that their feat had been so fruitless. Still, they had climbed the Cliff, and seen the nest, and this was something. And now for the descent. This they found more difficult and dangerous than the climb. At length, with great care and dexterity, they all reached the bottom in safety, and were soon at home again, telling their friends of their wonderful exploit.

The Merchant's Clerk.

CHAPTER VI.

JAMES had been in Leadenhall-street little more than two years, when one evening Mr. Harvey left a that he was to go to his house in Bishopsmessage gate-street-(merchants did not live so far away from their business premises as they do now)—as he

desired to see him particularly. James set off to do his bidding directly his day's work was done, revolv. ing in his mind as he went along what business it could possibly be for which his benefactor wanted him. He had never been to his house since the day of his entering the firm, and he could not help dwelling on the difference in his circumstances to what they had been then.

Perhaps some of my readers may think that he had nothing to boast of even now ; but James thought differently. He felt that he had risen considerably in the social scale, for was he not now as well versed in reading, writing, and arithmetic as any of the clerks in the firm? Had not Mr. Williams told him with his own lips that such was the case ? and as he strongly believed in the latter's judgment, he knew it must be so.

On arriving at Mr. Harvey's, he was at once shewn into that gentleman's presence by Bridget, the pert housemaid, who said, with a toss of the head as she looked at him from top to toe, 'Well, to be sure! Dress do make a difference, certainly!'

'Come into the room, my boy! Come in!' exclaimed Mr. Harvey, on his entering. 'Don't stand close to the door, come to the fire and warm yourself a bit you must be nearly frozen!'

'Thank you, sir!' James replied, moving further up. 'I'm not very cold, and I'm not used to being close to a fire.'

'No, no! Of course not,' muttered the old gentleman. 'What was I thinking about! Poor boy, poor boy!' Then suddenly looking up into his face, he said, 'Can you guess why I have sent for you, eh ?'

'No, sir; indeed, I cannot.'

'You haven't been doing anything wrong, have you, eh?'

'No, sir, I hope not,' he answered, gazing at his questioner with surprise. 'If I have, sir, it was without knowing it.'

'Well, what do you think of Mr. Williams, eh?' 'I think he's a grand man, sir,' James replied, his whole face lighting up with enthusiasm. 'The cleverest and kindest.' He stopped suddenly, his countenance suffused with blushes.

'Go on,' said Mr. Harvey, wondering at his hesitation. Finish what you were going to say-the cleverest and kindest--)

'I made a mistake, sir,' returned the lad, fidgetting nervously with his cap.' 'I-I-, it was not quite true what I was going to say!'

'But I've a better friend than he, one who sent me to him, and

'Oh! I see. But all that is over now. You have given up having lessons, so there's no call to dwell on it; it's a thing of the past.'

'Yes, sir, but it's a past bearing strong on the future, and can what has been cease to be?'

'Why, Williams has made quite a philosopher of you!' returned the old gentleman, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Upon my word, he has taught you more than I bargained for. Well, well!' he muttered to himself, 'he's a clever man, an upright, honest man; but the one thing needful, ah! the one thing needful!' and he shook his head several times as if his thoughts had wandered far away.

Mr. Harvey sat thus for several minutes, the ticking of the clock which stood in a far corner of the room being the only sound that broke the still

ness.

Then he roused himself, and said, turning to the lad, 'I have sent for you here to-night, James, to tell you that you are no longer to fill the post of errand boy. An opening has offered for you to be promoted as clerk. Charles Oldham is sick, which sickness is unto death. So we have determined that you shall take his place. Now, what do you say to that, eh?'

'I can only say, sir,' James replied, the tears springing to his eyes in gratitude, 'that your kindness is such as I can never repay. I cannot even find words to thank you as I could wish.'

'It will be sufficient thanks to me,' returned the old merchant, solemnly, 'that you fill the place which is about to be yours in such a way as shall please God. He really is your Master. I am but an instrument in His hand-an unworthy instrument,' he added, in a low tone. 'You will enter on your new duties to-morrow. Mr. Jones will inform you what they are; and now

Mr. Harvey remained silent for so long a time that James thought it was meant that he should take his departure. So saying, 'Good night, sir, and thank you much for your great kindness to me,' he moved towards the door.

'Stop a minute!' called out Mr. Harvey, 'I have

51

not done with you yet. Here, take this seat near me,' indicating a chair close by him. 'I have something very particular to say to you.'

With bewildered feelings James did as he was ordered, and waited with the best patience he could for what was to follow. He had not to wait long, for Mr. Harvey entered on the subject at once. 'It is about lodgings that I am going to speak to you, for it will be necessary that in your altered position you should cease to occupy the room you do now. Therefore I have found some eminently suited (to my mind), in which you will take up your abode to-morrow. But I want to impress on you that they are no common lodgings, but are such as any gentleman might occupy, and the gentlewoman (ladies were called gentlewomen in those days) with whom you will reside has, as a special favour to me, allowed you to go there. Her husband was wellknown to me, being a merchant like myself, but through many and great misfortunes, under which his mind gave way, he became quite poor, so that at his death his widow would have been penniless, had it not been for the house in which she resides, which had been left to her by her father, and a small, a very small annuity coming in from the same source. He, her father I mean, once filled the high office of Lord Mayor to this great city. I tell you all this, that you may treat Mrs. Pilcher with very great respect, both on account of the position she once held, and also in consideration of the sorrows and troubles she has gone through. The latter, to my mind, have a stronger claim on your sympathy than the former. However, let that pass. Now, do you fully understand what I have been saying to you?'

'Quite, sir,' James answered, 'and I will endeavour to behave in such a way that you shall have no cause to complain of me.'

'Now, about your salary,' went on Mr. Harvey. 'You will, of course, have the same that Oldham had ; but I shall deduct so much a-week with which

to

pay for your lodgings, so you see that you'll not really have very much more money to spend than you have now. I am acting as I think the best for your welfare, so you must trust me, eh; do you hear?'

'I can trust you, sir, fully and entirely,' was the answer, spoken in a choked voice; 'where should I have been now, sir, if it hadn't been for you?'

'My boy!' said the old gentleman gravely, laying his hand on the lad's shoulder, 'you must not give all the credit to me; it is God whom you must

thank, for it is He who has led you hitherto, and will continue to do so, if you put your trust in Him. You believe that, don't you?'

'Yes, sir,' was the reply, as the speaker raised his eyes to the other's face, 'I could never doubt that ; my mother always said, that if I did my duty and kept God's commandments, He would never leave me nor forsake me.'

"Yes! yes!' said the merchant musingly; 'and He is faithful that promised.' Then, laying his hand on the youth's shoulders, he added, "There will, no doubt, be temptations in your future path; pit-falls and snares, perchance, which now you little dream of; but I am not afraid for you, my boy; oh, no! I am not afraid. A mother's prayers; a mother's teachings-I feel the blessedness of such even about me now, though more than fifty years have passed since that dear voice fell on my ear-will not be in vain.'

Mr. Harvey again fell into a reverie, which James did not like to disturb; but thinking that it might be right, perhaps, to go, he rose quietly from his seat, and went to the door, turning round when he reached it to see if Mr. Harvey was noticing him. But, no, he still sat in the same position, gazing into the fire; so, just saying, 'Good-night, sir,' in a low voice, he opened the door gently and went out. But he had not got many steps down the long passage before he heard his name called loudly once or twice by his master, and turning round he met him coming bustling towards him.

'What do you mean, sir?' he exclaimed in a severe tone, leaving my house in such a stealthy manner; come back at once, sir, and stay until I tell you to go away-do you hear, sir?' fairly pushing James back again into the room.

'I am very sorry, sir,' our hero answered penitently;' I thought you meant me to leave then; I said Good-night when I went out; but-'

'Oh!' interrupted Mr. Harvey, 'you did that, did you? Come, that's better; but I'm very angry still!' he continued, looking at the lad gravely, and shaking his head several times, 'very angry indeed, and don't know that I shall very easily forgive you ;' then rising quickly from his seat, he went outside the door and shouted, 'Johnson! Johnson! come here! I want you!'

Scarcely a minute elapsed before that worthy made her appearance, whom James remembered quite well. Mrs. Johnson was a stout, buxom-looking woman, of about sixty years of age, thirty of

which had been spent in the service of her present master, who held her in great estimation, both on account of the way in which she managed his household affairs, and also on account of the sterling goodness of heart which was so strong a point in her character. She had bright dark eyes-the brightness of which was perceptible even through her spectacles—a quick, sometimes sharp way of speaking, and her movements in and about the house were as swift and nimble as those of a girl.

'I want you, Johnson,' said her master, 'to order some supper to be brought in here-yes, here,' he added, as he detected a sort of surprised look on the housekeeper's face-' and let it be set out at once!'

'Very well, sir,' replied Mrs. Johnson, 'I will see about it directly,' glancing peculiarly at our hero as she spoke.

'Do you know this youth?' asked her master, noticing the expression of her countenance. 'Well, sir, I do and I don't.' Then going nearer to James, and peering at him over her spectacles, she exclaimed, 'Well! I do declare! if it isn't that poor ragged boy that came here nigh upon two years ago!'

'You are right, Johnson !' replied her master, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 'You're a very discerning woman, Johnson,-a very discerning woman, indeed! There have been many changes since then; this young man-for I know he considers himself a man now-is a clerk in the firm of Linkins and Harvey, of whom you may have heard ma'am, eh !'

'Wonders will never cease!' was Mrs. Johnson's answer. 'Now, who would have thought that; it astonishes me quite-it does, indeed!'

'You remember me?' she added turning to James.

'Yes, ma'am,' he replied with a pleasant smile, 'I recollect you quite well; it was you who were so kind to me that day I came.'

'La! bless the lad!' she cried as she went out of the room to do her master's bidding, ‘he's a grateful lad, and no mistake; but who'd have thought it !' Though whether Mrs. Johnson meant that who'd have thought that our hero could be grateful or was alluding to the change in his circumstances, must be left to my readers to determine.

When James left Bishopsgate-street he seemed to tread on air. He could hardly believe it possible that he had ceased to be an errand boy, and was now a clerk-which post meant a good deal more to him than it does to the majority of my readers—

with fifty pounds a year. Mr. Harvey had told him on leaving that a portmanteau containing his clothes would be sent to Mrs. Pilcher's next day, which he himself had provided.

James was utterly at a loss for words in which to express his gratitude to his kind benefactor, and could only say

'Oh, sir! you are too good to me, much too good!

'Time will prove!' was the answer, 'only do your duty as in God's sight, and that will be sufficient reward for me!'

And James did mean to do his duty-God helping him-not in his own strength, which he knew was a very frail thing on which to rely, but in His who has said, 'My strength is sufficient for thee.'

When he reached his solitary room in Leadenhall-street, in which he was to sleep for the last time, he knelt down and poured out his heart's gratitude to God, who had so mercifully led him hitherto, and whom he petitioned would still continue to guide him all his life through. Then he

opened his Bible-his mother's Bible-which in consequence of having once belonged to her possessed a twofold reverence in his eyes, and read therefrom a few verses of the Psalms which served to quiet the restlessness of spirit under which he was labouring, which restlessness was perhaps not to be wondered at when we take into consideration the surprises the hours of the day had brought him. Then, once more kneeling down and committing himself to God in his usual nightly prayers, he laid himself down on the bed. But it was some time before he closed his eyes in sleep. His mind would somehow keep dwelling on his mother. He saw her just as she used to look, and could even seem to feel her hand on his head as when he knelt at her feet to say his prayers, as he had been used to do when he was quite a little lad. Then his thoughts flew to her death-bed, where she lay waiting for the final summons in a calmness born of faith; heard her say in a faint voice, 'James! you see what a blessed thing it is to die; it is rest and joy for me. But to be able to die happy one must have served God in

one's life, my child. See that you remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw nigh, when you shall say, 'I have no pleasure in them.'' How the words did ring in his ears to-night. Over and over again he seemed listening to them. He lingered over them fondly and lovingly, as we love to dwell on the last words of those who are now blest inhabitants of that city where no inhabitant can say, 'I am sick.' At last he fell asleep, and only awoke next morning when the porter came into his room and asked whether he meant getting up that day or the next.

(To be continued.)

Annie.-Oh, dear, yes; I shall be so glad. I don't know anybody here; and it will be so nice to have one to tell one's secrets to. And, then, you will perhaps help me with my lessons, won't you? Margery. I will do anything to help you. Do you play on the piano?

Annie.-A little; but I am awfully behind in music. Mamma says I am further back in music than in anything else; and I think she's right.

Margery. Well, well, come and try your hand here, and then we shall see.

And so Annie took Margery's place at the piano, and performed a simple piece. From this time the cousins got on famously together, and Annie rapidly improved in music and in other things.

The Cousins.

ANNIE had just arrived at Western Abbey, and felt strange. Her cousin Margery had been there for some months, and had got accustomed to the place. She had heard of her cousin's coming, but had not yet met or spoken to her. Indeed, she had only

arrived within the last few hours. Their first meeting was in the music-room, where Margery had been practising. Mrs. Crowther, the matron, had taken Annie up to join her cousin, and then left them together. When she had left, the following conversation took place between the cousins:

Margery. Oh, Annie, I'm so glad you've come. I've been expecting you, and longing to see you for such a time.

'The Preacher's Pot.'

FIRST of all, 'the preacher's pot' is not a very large pot, it holds no more than a pint. Nor is it a very pretty pot,-it is mostly white, with a small flower running round the outside near the top.

Then again, this pot is an old one. How old, I cannot say exactly, but I am told it is at least sixty years old. Perhaps some of you have never seen a pot so old as this. But what of the age of the pot? you ask. Well, this, its being old indicates not only respect to those to whom it formerly belonged, but also care in the use of it. Many hundreds of pots are broken before they have seen many years, or even months; but this has seen over sixty years.

Margery. Oh, thank you, your mamma is very kind. How nice it is you have come to this school. Annie. Do you like it, Margery? Everything looks cold in it.

Margery. Oh, Annie, don't say that. I like the school very much, and you will get to like it too. It is strange to you just now. I felt as you feel when I came, but I soon got to feel at home.

Annie. Do you like the young ladies? Margery. Some of them I like much, but I don't make companions of any. I sometimes would like to make a companion of Amy Stuart, she's such a sweet girl.

Annie. And why don't you?

Margery.-Well, I scarcely know. But now since you've come I shall have you for a companion. Are you willing?

great care.

The

By this time, I dare say, you want to know who has this pot, and where it is. Well, it is now in the possession of Jonathan Walton, of Blagill, near Alston, who has been a member of our church there for many years, and is now, and has been for some time, class leader and society steward. preacher's pot' never belonged to any one preacher, or preachers, but is so called because it has been used by the preachers who have come to Blagill ever since the place was missioned, over fifty years ago. The home of Mr. Walton's fore-elders was the home of the preachers, and as many of the old preachers liked milk, and preferred having it in a pot rather than a cup, they were accommodated with this pot, and hence it was afterwards called 'the preachers' pot,' and kept for their return visits. It may please you to know that such old and good