It will be recollected, when I last had occasion to speak of Mr. Oliver Cockspur, he was on horseback, and off at a Canterbury-trot to see Mr. Herbert: what passed between them I have now to describe, for Mr. Herbert told me all the particulars; and I will endeavour to do so with as much brevity as is consistent with perspicuity.

Mr. Oliver found the old gentleman in the midst of his school, patiently enduring the yells in which an ignoble abcedarian, of six years, was endeavouring to express the alphabet. The young gentleman halted as he entered, and hastily threw his eyes around. He seemed a good deal affected by the scene before him; and when he went up to address the master, his emotion rendered his voice broken and indistinct.

“Although I ought to have been prepared for this,” said he, “yet the place is much meaner than I expected; and, my God! Mr. Herbert, you reduced to the necessity of stooping to sow the sand, and wash the Ethiopians of beggary; for these poor creatures seem of no better parentage.”

“I thank you, Mr. Oliver, for this kind visit,” was the reply; “one must not examine too curiously the gifts of fortune. Their value can only be ascertained by comparison; and I should account myself ungrateful, if, in my present condition, humble as it is, I did not feel I had received promotion. Four years ago, I came here to construct a cabin for my old age; but my arms could ill perform the toil of the axeman, and my hands, by their blisters, taught me that I was too late for the task. My heart was sinking, when, in a fortunate moment, Mr. Todd proposed to me this business. Unmeet as it may seem to my past habits, I have never repined that my lot should have been cast so lowly; for it better suits my age and my infirmities, than the ineffectual endeavour to earn a morsel by hard labour. To be enabled to become what you see I am, was a golden redemption.