introduced me to he curate of the parish, who, as he had a cure in London for twelve months, was supposed to know a great deal about great people.

He, worthy man, laughed outright at my simplicity in fancying that I should gain access to the Lord Chancellor without friends, without even a letter of introduction or recommendation. He gave me a great deal of advice on the humble and courteous manner in which I was to conduct myself if I did succeed in gaining the great man's presence, and what was of more value to me he gave me a note to a friend of his who had a living a few miles beyond Liverpool.

I set out again. My brother, I imagine, thought I was well provided with money, for he did not offer to supply me with any. I felt it as an unkindness, but I was too proud to ask for assistance; indeed I did not think that I should need it, as I had only spent two shillings of my store.

I crossed the Mersey, and reached the house of the clergyman to whom I had the note of introduction. He treated me kindly, gave me bed and board and a letter to a friend, a brother parson, in Birmingham. He too behaved as a brother, and furnished me with letters to others of our profession whose homes lay in my path. Thus was I passed, like a pauper as I was, from parish to parish.

But I will not weary you with the particulars of my tedious journey, my privations, my exertions, my hopes and fears. Suffice it to say that in my most desponding moments, my poor sick wife's smile of hope revived me. Often when I had sunk down exhausted with long walking and had almost resolved to give up my plans and return home again, the idea of that home and its inhabitants revived me and gave me strength to persevere.

On the 12th day, early in the morning, I arrived in London. I had but three shillings left, but then I had a silver watch, the gift of my son, the first fruits of his skill in the trade.

I took it to a silversmith in St. John-street, and begged him to lend me some money upon it. He eyed me and the watch suspiciously, but when I told him my tale briefly, he not only lent me 37., but with tears in his eyes, invited me to breakfast with him. He also furnished the means of making my appearance more respectable, as my clothes had suffered from my journeying, sometimes in the wet, at others in the dust.

Before the clocks had struck ten, I found myself trembling with exhaustion and anxiety at the door of the Lord Chancellor in square. I knocked timidly, and begged the porter to tell his lordship that I wished to speak to him.

The man stared and after a few moments hesitation asked me for my card.

My card! I had not had such a thing in my possession since I had settled down at Llyswenny.

I have not a card with me," said I; "but my name is Woodward."

"Are you known to his lordship?"

"A perfect stranger," said I.

"Have you no note-no letter of introduction ?"

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None," said I, sighing.

"I fear then," said the porter, very civilly, "that I cannot admit you. You had better write to his lordship, and if your business requires an interview he will fix the hour for you to attend."

"I am a poor clergyman," said I. "I have walked up from Wales to solicit a favour of his lordship."

"Walked all the way from Wales? Step in. I will speak to his lordship's secretary."

I entered the hall, and while the porter was gone on his errand, I sunk exhausted on a chair. My knees trembled so I could not

stand.

In a few minutes the man returned and bade me follow him into a small parlour near the door. I found a gentleman standing there, dressed in a court suit of black. He told me to be seated, spoke kindly to me and asked me my business.

I told him as concisely as I could, and expressed a hope that his lordship would not refuse to see me.

I fancied-it might have been nought but fancy-that a tear stood in his eye. He certainly raised his handkerchief to his face, coughed several times, and turned away from me.

He left the room without replying to me, and in a short time, though it seemed an hour to me, returned and told me that Lord E would see me.

I was shown into a large room furnished with well-stored bookshelves, library-tables, and reading-chairs. I saw a small benevolentlooking man sitting at one of the tables, almost obscured by masses of papers, and nearly hidden by the arms and back of a librarychair.

"The Lord Chancellor," said the secretary, as he left the room.

The moment had arrived that was to decide my fate. I had got up a set speech by heart and tried to utter it. I could not speak. I essayed to do so but a giddiness came over me, my ideas were confused, my tongue refused its office, and I felt as if I was dying.

I have no recollection of what passed until on opening my eyes and gazing round me I found his lordship and his secretary standing at my side, and a servant bathing my temples with cold water.

I apologized as well as I could for giving so much trouble. His lordship begged me to be calm, and when the secretary and the servant had left us told me not to flutter myself but to tell him my business.

I told him all, my poverty, my length of service in the parish, my wife's dying state, my struggles to support my large family, my hopes and fears, the particulars of my journey, and concluded by begging of him to confer upon me the vacant living of Llyswenny.

He heard me without interrupting me, but I saw through my own tears, that the moisture from his eyes trickled down his cheek, and fell upon the papers that lay before him. I felt comfort from the sight, for I had excited his sympathy.

At length he spoke in a low melodious voice.

"I regret, dear sir, to say that the living of Llyswenny for which you ask, and to which your services, as curate, give you a claim, was given away ten days since. My friend Sir Robert applied on behalf of

a man of whom he spoke in such high terms, that I immediately gave Aug.-VOL. LXV. NO. CCLX.

2 L

him the presentation. Why did not you apply, by letter, as soon as you heard of the vacancy."

"I did not dare presume so far, my lord," I replied.

"And yet you presumed to ask for an interview, and found courage to make your request in person, without introduction, without even a letter of recommendation."

"I thought, my lord, it would be more respectful, more dutiful."

"To leave a sick, a dying wife, your home and your children, to expend your small means and exhaust your strength on a long journey, with the hope of gaining access to a person so notoriously difficult of access as a Lord Chancellor, when you might have saved all the trouble and expense by doing as hundreds do who have not half the claims you have, writing and almost demanding the vacant benefice! Well, well -I am sorry I cannot reward your modesty and your toils-Llyswenny is disposed of."

"Would your lordship ask the successful applicant, the new rector, to continue me as his curate; I will undertake it even at a smaller sum. I will struggle long and hard, do any thing rather than remove my wife from the home she loves so well. She cannot long survive, and when she is gone, I will quit the spot, wander forth and settle where Providence may be pleased to appoint my widowed lot."

"I must again regret," said Lord E--, " that I cannot interfere in the matter. But write to him yourself, state your case as simply and as plainly as you have stated it to me. You may add, that I advised you to do so. My secretary will furnish you with his address. Write to me and let me know the result of your application; and now go home again, comfort your sick wife, cherish your dear children, and trust in him who will not suffer the righteous to be forsaken, nor his seed to beg their bread."

I rose to leave him, a ruined, a broken-hearted man.

"Stay one moment," said his lordship.

I stood in the middle of the library, but my heart was in the mountains of Wales. I saw my home-now no longer my home-my wife dying, my children in despair.

I was roused from my wretched dream by his lordship. He touched my arm gently, put into my hand a small pocket Bible, tied round with a piece of office tape.

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Accept," said he, "this copy of the Book. When you get to your lodgings open it-I have marked a page in it, I trust you may find consolation from its contents-adieu! Write to me when you get home and have communicated with your rector."

I left the room and the house. I wandered I scarcely knew whither. I cared not what became of me, for the darkness of despair was on my soul. I shudder to think that I even meditated selfmurder.

"Why should I live?" said I. solation now?"

"Where am I to find hope or con

Something fell at my feet-I looked down, it was the Bible, the gift of Lord E--. I was answered.

Inspired with hope, I sought the house of the kind silversmith. I told him of my failure, and begged to be allowed to pass a solitary hour in his bed-room. My request was granted. I locked myself in

-relieved my surcharged heart in prayer and cries for help in my time of trouble.

I rose comforted and untied my present. It opened at the passage, "Come to me all ye that are heavy laden, and I will refresh you,' for a piece of paper had been inserted between the pages. The paper fell at my feet but I finished the chapter before I stooped to pick it up. When I had done so I examined it, and you may judge of my surprise, my joy, my ecstasy, when I found it was a bank-note for 501.

Need I say that I wrote to thank his lordship for his generositythat I reclaimed my watch of the kind silversmith, and would have recompensed him for his kindness had he permitted it-that I took my place in the mail and hastened home to communicate my good fortune to my loved ones? I trow not.

Well I hurried home, and tedious as my journey had been to London, the way back again appeared far more so. Every yard seemed a mile, and when at length I reached Llyswenny, I was worn out and wearied.

My wife bade me be comforted. She felt assured, she said, that all would yet be well, that she should die in the house she loved so dearly.

I wrote to the new rector, told him my simple story, and begged him to appoint me his curate if it were but for one year. I received a civil answer from him, but a notice to quit in three months, as he meant to come into residence himself.

Those three months sufficed however. Consumption did its work rapidly. My wife died in the home of her married life-the parsonage of Llyswenny.

I wrote to the Chancellor in obedience to his lordship's command, and sought about me to find a vacant curacy whither I might remove with my family. My search proved vain, and I was about to accept a small lodging in a cottage belonging to my friend and former pupil, when a letter arrived sealed with an official stamp.

I opened it in fear and trembling, for I was a poor, nervous, shattered creature. It ran thus:

"Dear Sir,

"I am happy to tell you that the Lord Chancellor has appointed you to the vacant vicarage of Clearstream in the county of Hants, value 2301. per annum, with a house. You will find the necessary papers at the Presentation-office in the Temple, and I wish you joy of your preferment.

"I am, dear Sir,

Yours faithfully,

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"Clerk of the Presentations."

This sudden step from poverty and want, to what appeared to me unbounded, inexhaustible riches proved too much for me. I was so ill that I could not even write to thank my kind patron for his bounty. Joy, however, seldom kills us. I recovered, sold my little stock, and with my three youngest children, and my sister, who kindly superin

tends my household, removed to this spot, where I have been, and am as happy as a mortal can be in this our world below.

I need hardly tell you that as long as Lord E-lived his name was never forgotten in my prayers.”

"I wish I was a Lord Chancellor," said I to myself, when the vicar had ended his tale. "I envy every man who has it in his power to make another happy. How soundly Lord E- must have slept that night when he bestowed 501. on this worthy man; and yet the world called him parsimonious-stingy. Bah!"

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Having got rid of this bit of spleen, I turned to examine my pipesomething had "put my pipe out." Water extinguishes fire, and I believe my eyes had been doing Niobe" at the vicar's joys and woes. I did not relight it, but went home and fell asleep after I had offered up a prayer for the welfare of the good and single-minded vicar of Clearstream. I really believe I left my grog unfinished; but my kind. friend the professor says, he has strong doubts about that part of my story. Does he judge of me by himself?

AN UNDERTAKER

Is an Illwiller to the Human Race. He is by Profession an Enemy to his Species, and can no more look kindly at his Fellows than the Sheriff's Officer; for why, his Profit begins with an Arrest for the Debt of Nature. As the Bailiff looks on a failing Man so doth he, and with the same Hope, namely, to take the Body.

Hence hath he little Sympathy with his Kind, small Pity for the Poor, and least of all for the Widow and the Orphan, whom he regards, Planter like, but as so many Blacks on his Estate. If he have any Community of Feeling, it is with the Sexton, who has likewise a Per Centage on the Bills of Mortality, and never sees a Picture of Health but he longs to ingrave it. Both have the same quick Ear for a Churchyard Cough, and both the same Relish for the same Music, to wit, the Toll of Saint Sepulchre. Moreover, both go constantly in black-howbeit 'tis no Mourning Suit but a Livery-for he grieves no more for the Defunct than the Bird of the same Plumage, that is the Undertaker to a dead Horse.

As a Neighbour he is to be shunned. To live opposite to him is to fall under the Evil Eye. Like the Witch that forespeaks other Cattle, he would rot you as soon as look at you, if it could be done at a Glance; but that Magic being out of Date, he contents himself with choosing the very Spot on the House Front that shall serve for a Hatchment. Thenceforward he watches your going out and your coming in: your rising up and your lying down, and all your Domestic Imports of Drink and Victual, so that the veriest She Gossip in the Parish is not more familiar with your Modes and Means of Living, nor knows so certainly whether the Visiter, that calls daily in his Chariot is a mere Friend or a Physician. Also he knows your Age to a Year, and your Height to an Inch, for he hath measured you with his Eye for a Coffin, and your Ponderosity to a Pound, for he hath an Interest in the Dead Weight,