as
in a large building adjoining the Stock Exchange, as full as a dove-cot,
with gentlemen of the same feather.

"O!" said he, eyeing my parent, "and you're this chap's father, are you?
What are you?"

"A boot and shoe-maker, sir; and my Andrew is an honest lad."

"For the matter o' that, there's little he can prig here;" replied my
elegant and intended master. "But his tongs--eh--old fellow--can't you
rig him out a little?"

My father pleaded poverty; and at last he bargained to advance a guinea,
and deduct it out of my weekly-wages of two and sixpence, and no board.
My father was glad to make any terms, and the affair was consequently
soon arranged. I was quickly fitted out, and the next morning attended
his orders.

I had, however, little else to do than wait in his office, and run to the
Stock Exchange, to summon him when a customer dropped in. I had much
leisure, which I trust was not wholly thrown away, for I practised
writing on the back of the stock-receipts, of which a quantity hung up in
the office, and read all the books I could lay my hands on; although, I
must confess, the chief portion of my knowledge of the world has been
derived from observation.

"The proper study of mankind is man."

Although quick in temper, and rude in speech and manners, Timmis was
kind; and, if he had a failing, it was the ambition of being a patron;
and he was certainly not one of those who do a good deed, and

"Blush to find it fame."

He not only employed my father to make his boots, but recommended him to
all his friends as a "good-fit," and procured the old man some excellent
customers. Among his acquaintance, for he had few friends, was Tom
Wallis, a fat, facetious man, about forty, with whom he was always
lunching and cracking his jokes. One day, when the stocks were "shut"
and business was slack, they started together on a sporting excursion
towards the romantic region of Hornsey-wood, on which occasion I had the
honour of carrying a well-filled basket of provisions, and the inward
satisfaction of making a good dinner from the remnants.

They killed nothing but time, yet they were exceedingly merry, especially
during the discussion of the provisions. Their laughter, indeed, was
enough to scare all the birds in the neighbourhood.

"Jim, if you wanted to correct those sheep yonder," said Tom, "what sort
of tool would you use?"

"An ewe-twig, of course," replied my master.

"No; that's devilish good," sa