working classes, is shunned by the higher ones, and is, therefore, almost destitute of companions !—a common butt for the unsympathising vulgar to sneer at!

"A dedicated beggar to the air,

"Who, with disease of all shunned poverty,

"Walks like contempt alone!"

I never see a person belonging to this unfortunate class, with his clean person and polite address, without a feeling of melancholy, which I can only alleviate by hoping that he is more lucky than the generality of his fellows, better remunerated for his hard toilings, and more respected, because less dependent, than they.

How many of them could have raised themselves by study! Both the persons I have named could have done so,for they were gifted with good abilities. Indeed, Mr. Agar was a wit, could write comic dramas, paint creditably, and tell anecdotes which "set the table in a roar." Considering the difficult circumstances which surrounded him,

"A merrier man,

"Within the limit of becoming mirth,

"I never spent an hour's talk withal;"

but notwithstanding all that, never having studied his profession, he was less to be envied than any poor, uneducated, farmers' labourer, whose humble means are ample for his humbler appetites. Compared with such as he,

"Oh God! methinks it were a happy life,

"To be no better than a homely swain;"

For, of a truth, (quoting Shakspeare's description of a humble rustic-quite applicable to our own times, if, for

"homely curds," we substitute "bread and bacon," and modernize the leathern drink bottle into a tin can: sic tempora mutantur!)

"The shepherd's homely curds,

"His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
"His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,

"All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
"Is far beyond

the hollow gentilities and unceasing humiliations which attend upon the career of a Copying Clerk.

I have something else to say upon this point; and, when I have said it, I am sure you will think me fully justified in warning you so strongly as I have done against neglecting professional study. As a Copying Clerk, forced to maintain a genteel appearance upon a miserably-inadequate stipend (for no one will engage him if he neglects this—almost every referee of a candidate for a clerk's situation being asked, "Is Mr. So-and-so respectable in his dress?"), a man is more exposed to temptations than others are. These assail him through his every pecuniary difficulty. If his cerebral organization (to speak phrenologically) be so harmonious as to enable him successfully to resist them, everlasting glory be to him for that same! He is a strong man—a natural hero-a true member of God's nobility— "For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;

'And, as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,

"So honour peereth in the meanest habit."

But alas! all are not so, as witness the following fearful tale, which I find in my note-book of last year. Oh! for a pen of fire that I might write the story in flaming letters,

which would burn it into the memory of every young reader who is in danger of permanently settling down into the rank of a Copying Clerk!

See that tall, well-proportioned, neatly attired, person just entering, for the first time, the little country town ofHis gait is gentlemanly, his features passably pleasing, and, below his hat, there hang long locks of fair bright hair. That is Mr. String, the young man who has just been engaged, by letter, as the second clerk in the office of Mr. Jamieson, a respectable attorney of the place, at a weekly stipend of one guinea," to be increased according to merits." He can't be above 22; but he is, nevertheless, married, and has a child, who, with his wife, he has left behind him, in the crowded desert of London, to await his getting settled in this new place, when they are to join him again.

He is installed at his new master's desk, and writeswrites-writes there, from nine till eight, day by day, for nearly a week. Upon that desk there now lies a letter, directed in a female's hand. The handwriting is that of an educated woman. He recognizes it, and eagerly breaks the seal. What flushes his pale cheek now? His wife is in want of money, to save her and the little child from hungering to death, and he has none to send-not a shilling! Will his master advance him some? Did he know the case, perhaps he might; but he's too proud to own such abject poverty to one in whose service he has not been five short days. But something must be done, or wife and child will starve or be degraded. He has a coat, worth

thirty shillings, and he gets a messenger to pawn it for six, and sends his wife the money. "It's all I have !"

He has now been in his new place one week, during which, for want of lodgings, he has lived on credit at an Hotel. On that same desk there lies another letter from his wife. "We are miserably off. For heaven's sake come up to us, or let us come down to you!" How his cheeks burn as he shuts up the dismal manuscript and hurriedly hides it in his pocket! With a palpitating heart, he goes to his master, and, in words which almost choke him as he utters them, says he has occasion for money and would feel obliged by the advance of a sovereign. "I am sorry to hear it, for it shakes my confidence in a young man to find he has been improvident. I have no objection to pay you every week, nay every day, if you like; but I pay my man-servant once a fortnight, and I think a clerk ought to make shift as well as he. However, there's half a sovereign for you." How that speech humbles him! To be brought in comparison with a man-servant!

The evening of the eighth day has come, and closing time is past. He has shut up his pad and papers in his desk, and is about to leave for the night. By strange accident, at this particular juncture a man enters the office with a little bill, which he has come to settle on behalf of one of Mr. Jamieson's clients-three pounds, twelve shillings, and six-pence. Mr. String takes the money; writes a receipt for it at the foot of the account; puts it into his pocket; and, telling a junior clerk to make a memorandum of the payment in the office diary, quietly departs from the office. "Would it were mine!"

Halt, young man! In God's name halt! Leave that money in thy master's desk! The sum is light, but so art thou; and on thy head is pressing dizzily a heavy load of want. For thy salvation's sake beware! The smallest increase to thy burden may, perchance, topple thee over into that fearful pit which yawns at thy unconscious feet, waiting to engulph thee in social death, and to vomit forth, from thy fallen carcase, a black vapour whereby thy poor young wife and helpless child shall be smitten as with pestilence; -shall be diseased and rendered loathsome always, for life! Ah me!

The night is here, and towards the Railway station is he hurriedly walking-the money in his pocket still.

"Some strange commotion

"Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts;
"Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,
"Then lays his finger on his temple straight;

"Springs out into fast gait; then stops again,

"Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts

"His eye against the moon : in most strange postures
"Doth he set himself."

"You

The train is not yet due, and he enters a wayside Inn, kept by a client of his master, to await it's coming. look cold," says the landlord. "Oh, not at all—I'm well wrapped up." "Shall I lend you a top-coat till you come back ?" 66 No, thank you, I shall be warm enough, and don't go far." Why then does he tremble?

The train is in. chance acquaintance.

"Where are you off to ?" asks a
σε Το
on business, for Mr.

Jamieson." What means he by that lie?