young; do you think he will be able to stand alone?"

"I've no fear of him; none whatever," he replied. "To say the truth, he
had an awful lesson before his eyes in regard to excessive drinking. Such
a lesson as he'll never forget."

"Indeed!" said I; "his father?"

Mr. Grindlay shook his head. I made no further inquiry then; but agreed to
engage George Hammond.

At first, he was so anxious to please, and so nervous lest he should not
please, that he tumbled up-stairs in his hurry to answer the bell, and
very nearly broke my best decanters. His hand so shook with agitation when
I had friends to dinner, lest he should be found deficient, that I
momentarily expected to see him drop the plates and glasses on the floor.
However, he got through this ordeal without any serious accident; and by
degrees I discovered that I had found a treasure of fidelity and good
service. He lived with me for six years, and then, to my regret, we
parted; my only consolation being that our separation was consequent on a
plan formed for his advantage.

During the first years, I knew nothing more of George's history than I had
gathered from Mr. Grindlay's significant hint at our only interview. I
concluded that in that hint the whole mystery was revealed. George's
father had been a drunkard, and his vice had probably ruined a decent
family. The appearance of George's only visitor, his sister, Esther,
confirmed this view; she looked so respectable and so dejected! She never
came but on Sunday, and then I was always glad if I could spare George to
take a walk with her. After I had learnt his value, I gave him leave to
invite her to dine, and to remain the evening with him, whenever he
pleased. He told me she worked with a milliner in Pall Mall; and I
observed that she always wore black, which I concluded she did from an
economical motive. She seemed very shy; and I never troubled her with
questions.

George had been with us upward of five years, when we were visited by an
old friend whose home was on the opposite side of the earth. He had
returned to England, partly to see his relatives, and partly to transact
some business respecting a small property he had lately inherited. During
his sojourn he frequently dined with us; and, while at table, we did not
fail to ply him with questions regarding his experiences in the colony he
inhabited. "The great difficulty of _getting along_, as we call it," he
answered, one day, "lies in the impossibility