as I've often told you before, that the sooner you
get these notions out of your head the better,
for they're misleading you, sir, if you'd allow
me the liberty of saying so. Why, do you
mean to tell me, Mr. Julius, that when I had
that long illness, and Mr. Gamlin thought it
was useless keeping me on, as I couldn't
attend to my duties, and you came forward and
insisted that I should be left in my post,—do
you mean to tell me that that was done with a
selfish motive?"

"Yes I do. You're obstinate, and
unmanageable, and pig-headed; but, in spite of all
that, you are useful to me, and you understand
me, and you may depend upon it that
that was at the bottom of any effort I may
have made to keep you in your place."

"Ah, sir, it's no use talking to you, as I well
know," replied the old boy, in a despairing tone;
"and I suppose it was with the same selfish
motive that you came to look after me so
often?"

"Why, of course it was."

"And that you brought all sorts of good
things, like fowls and jellies?"

"The same motive, beyond a doubt."

"And sherry wine?"

"Always the same, Jonathan, always the
same. I wanted you, and was anxious to see
you back at your desk, so of course I did what
I could to get your strength up."

"There, there, sir, I've done. And now,
with your leave, I'll take my departure."

"Not till you've had a glass of that same
'sherry wine,' Jonathan, which did you so much
good before."

"Not a drop, sir, not a drop. At this time
of day! why, I should be good for nothing all
the afternoon. No, sir, I'll just go back to
the office as fast as I can, and express the views
with which you've kindly favoured me. So
good morning, Mr. Julius, good morning. And
may you think better of it, sir, and come down
and pay us a visit in the City before many days
are over." And the old clerk trotted away
through the great bustling town, with a countenance
in which were depicted great cunning
and importance. For was he not the deputed
agent of the head partner in Lethwaite and
Gamlin's? Did he not actually represent the
principal in the firm? And was he not now
conveying a message from no less a person than
Mr. Julius Lethwaite to no less a person than
Mr. Morley Gamlin?

So the old boy might well wear an appearance
of astuteness and mystery, as indeed he did,
looking on the passers-by with a feeling almost
of commiseration for their lot in not being
engaged like himself in matters of so much
moment.

Meanwhile, his employer had sunk back once
more in his great leathern chair, and had fallen
into one of his accustomed reveries. "I wonder,"
he said to himself, "what can make that
old fellow so much in earnest about my affairs?
Is it gratitude for what he was talking of just
now—gratitude for the sherry and the calf's-
foot jelly—a real interest in my welfare? Ah,
I wish I could think so, but I'm afraid it won't
do. His own interest is bound up with mine;
if I prosper, he prospers; if I go down, he goes
down. It's no use trying to ignore it, that
diabolical self-interest shows itself everywhere,
and ruins everything." He sat a little while
longer occupied with similar reflections, and
then he started up suddenly and prepared to
go out.

"I'll go and pay Cornelius Vampi a visit,"
he said, as he put on his hat, "and get some
philosophy out of him."

For it must be known that Mr. Lethwaite
and Cornelius Vampi were great allies.

GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDMOTHERS.

TO my thinking, the most interesting periods
of human life are the two extremes—infancy
and old age. There is nothing on earth so pure,
so beautiful, so innocent, so kissable, as a bright-
eyed, laughing, dimpled baby; nothing except a
very old man, sans eyes, sans taste, sans teeth,
sans everything but a good conscience and a
sound heart.

I often wish that Shakespeare had not put
that speech-picture of life into the mouth of
Jacques. Jacques was a melancholy man, and
took a melancholy view of things. If he had
not been a misanthrope, a baby might have
presented itself to his mind as chuckling and crowing
in his nurse's arms, and not as muling and
puking. In like manner, he might have drawn
a pleasant picture of a green and happy old age,
instead of insisting so much upon leanness and
slippers and shrunken shanks. The seven ages, as
Jacques depicts them, may be in accordance with
a certain rule of life; but, for my part, I have met
with many beautiful exceptions, and I love to
dwell upon them. It has been my good fortune
to know many old men, who, after the toil and
strife of life, retained all the original innocence
and simplicity of their earliest childhood. I have
seen them—and I can see them now—sitting
in their easy-chairs, their gums as innocent of
teeth, and their heads as innocent of hair, as when
they lay in their mothers' laps—sitting there
biding the Lord's good time patiently and cheerfully,
while sons and daughters and grandsons
and granddaughters hovered about them, and
patted them and smoothed their pillows, and
spoke to them in those simple words which seem
as well adapted to the old man as to the child.
There is a purifying influence in old age which
we all recognise. We may know that the old
man has led a wicked life; but when old age
comes upon him, wrinkling his brow, blanching
his hair, and bowing him to the earth, it seems
as if he had been redeemed and purified by Time.
I can understand why the patriarchs prayed so
frequently and so earnestly for length of days;
prayed for life until the passions and the vanities
of human nature should have passed over like a
cloud, leaving the heart to beat its last throb on