with the mental comfort and consolation, "How
lucky poor dear Billy is saved all this!"

Time worked its own cure, and he experienced
in his own person the truth of that well-
established maxim, "Habit becomes second nature."
He exercised his peculiar vocation by doing a
great deal of other people's work besides his
own; by cherishing solitary and forlorn-looking
spiders; assisting flies out of a persistent search
into ink-bottles; and being generally kind-
hearted to everything and everybody.

He was universally liked, though vastly
imposed upon; still, upon his gradual elevation,
in course of time, from junior of the juniors
to head of all, there was no voice but his own
that hazarded a doubt on the fitness of the
election. He was a little uncomfortable himself lest
he should have taken a place one of the others
might have coveted or better deserved.

At last assured that his abilities and position
warranted the choice, Dick resigned himself to
being entirely happy, and—as a fall essential to
a state of bliss—fell in love.

That his choice should light on one
profoundly unlike himself, was perfectly natural; a
young lady of much beauty and many wants
being exactly the being to appear angelic in
Dick s eyes. Had she been possessed of brains,
or of sufficient capacity to see into the depths
of Dick's most honest heart, she might have
ruled there, queen and wife, and her domestic
kingdom would have ennobled her in all eyes;
but, like a playful kitten, incipient cruelty lurked
in her prettiest ways. Her character may be
inferred from the answer she gave Dick when
he tendered her his all.

"Indeed, Mr. Richard, you are very good!
How you have surprised me! And do you
really think so well of me? I never thought
you really cared a bit for me. I laughed and
chatted with you, because, as we all said, Mr.
Richard Blorage was so good natured."

"Good natured to you, Ellen! Oh, Heaven,
could you read nothing more in my devotion?
Not the deepest, strongest, most enduring
love?"

"You quite amaze me, Mr. Richard! Where
have you kept these feelings so long?"

"Oh, Ellen! Do not trifle with me!"

"No! Not for worlds, Mr. Blorage! I am no
flirt. I am a frank creature, and always will be."

"I thought—I hoped—oh, Ellen! I would
not have dared to speak thus, and lay bare my
heart before you, had you not encouraged——"

"Now, Mr. Richard, don't say that, I beg!
I am sure I am above that. Besides, mamma
wishes me to marry rather high. She wishes
me to set my younger sisters a good example;
and indeed papa has said to me more than
once, that he would never suffer me to marry
a banker's clerk."

"I am to be a partner in two years."

"Two years! I may be married long
before that. Come, Mr. Richard, don't be cast
down. We can always be the best of friends."

"And my wife, Ellen?"

"Oh dear no! I really wonder you could
ever think of such a thing—so good natured,
as you are. Pray don't tease me any more."

Poor Dick's tender heart swelled and throbbed
with many tender emotions; but he really was
too good natured to let any angry or bitter
thoughts divide it. He rallied his fluttering
and bewildered senses, looked round for his
hat (an article that always seems of great
comfort to Englishmen in difficulties), looked into
it, and not finding a single word in it to help
him out, went away speechless with a single bow.
It was a bow worthy of Sir Charles Grandison,
and it was a far more natural bow than Sir Charles
Grandison ever made. There was a quiet
dignity in it, expressive of so much integrity and
worth, that it even smote the little silly substitute
for a heart which had so mocked him, with
a stab of misgiving.

Time, that never-failing plaster which heals
so many wounds, came to Dick's aid. He derived
a melancholy satisfaction from working twice
as hard as he had ever done before. He was at
that once odious office before the doors were
opened, and sat on his high stool for hours at a
stretch, regardless of cramp. From always being
a compassionate and good-natured fellow, he
became morbidly so: appearing to regard the whole
of his acquaintance as victims to unrequited
love, upon whom it was essential he should
expend a vigilant care of the most forbearing
and affectionate nature.

Not even the fast, worldly-wise opinion of
William, Bill, or Billy, could make him think he
was an ill-used man.

"She's a flirt, and no mistake. I saw through her
long ago, Dick. I always said she would jilt you."

"You wrong her, William—you deeply wrong
her. She was right in her decision. She
deserved a better fate than to be the wife of a
banker's clerk."

"Pooh, pooh! Ha, ha! Why, you have a
share in the firm already, and may call yourself
banker at once, and I hope to the Lord you will
soon get rich. It will be devilish comfortable,
Dick, always to be able to turn to you when
one wants five or ten pounds."

"Do you want a little money now, Billy? I
have no occasion to hoard money."

"The very thing I do want, my dear fellow.
I never was so hard up. I say! It's a great
comfort to me, Dick, that you didn't marry that
simpleton of a girl."

"Hush, Bill."

"Well, it's a very good thing for yourself,
then. I'll swear she was a screw."

"Forbear, Bill."

"Well, it was an uncommon good thing for
her, then."

"That is my only consolation," sighed the
good Dick, as he handed his brother a bundle
of notes, which, true to business habits, he
carefully counted over twice.

"Twenty-five pounds; thank ye, Dick."

II.

Bless us! Mr. Blorage has been a long time
walking up and down that dining-room of his.