ve Jacob--love him very much, and he
does not care for me--I am sure he does not; so, you sir, you are not
the only one--who is--very unhappy;" and Mary commenced sobbing with the
Dominie.

"Poor thing!" said the Dominie; "and thou lovest Jacob? truly is he
worthy of thy love. And, at thy early age, thou knowest what it is to
have thy love unrequited. Truly is this a vale of tears--yet let us be
thankful. Guard well thy heart, child, for Jacob may not be for thee;
nay I feel that he will not be."

"And why so, sir?" replied Mary, despondingly.

"Because, maiden--but nay, I must not tell thee; only take my warning,
Mary--fare thee well? I come not here again."

"Good-bye, sir, and pray forgive me; this will be a warning to me."

"Verily, maiden, it will be a warning to us both. God bless thee!"

I discovered by the sound that Mary had vouchsafed to the Dominie a
kiss, and heard soon afterwards his steps as he descended the stairs.
Not wishing to meet him I turned round the corner, and went down to the
river, thinking over what had passed. I felt pleased with Mary, but I
was not in love with her.

The spring was now far advanced, and the weather was delightful. The
river was beautiful, and parties of pleasure were constantly to be seen
floating up and down with the tide. The Westminster boys, the Funny
Club, and other amateurs in their fancy dresses, enlivened the scene;
while the races for prize wherries, which occasionally took place,
rendered the water one mass of life and motion. How I longed for my
apprenticeship to be over, that I might try for a prize! One of my best
customers was a young man, who was an actor at one of the theatres, who,
like the M.P., used to rehearse the whole time he was in the boat; but
he was a lively, noisy personage, full of humour, and perfectly
indifferent as to appearances. He had a quiz and a quirk for everybody
that passed in another boat, and would stand up and rant at them until
they considered him insane. We were on very intimate terms, and I was
never more pleased than when he made his appearance, as it was
invariably the signal for mirth. The first time I certainly considered
him to be a lunatic, for playhouse phraseology was quite new to me.
"Boat, sir," cried I to him as he came to the hard.

"My affairs do even drag me homeward. Go on; I'll follow thee," replied
he, leaping into the boat. "Our fortune lies in this jump."

I shoved off the wherry: "Down,