Life in London

by Edwin Hodder

Starting Well.

Never did days drag along more heavily than those which elapsed between the interview with Mr. Compton, and the morning when George was to enter upon his new duties. Every day the office was a subject of much conversation; and neither George nor his mother ever seemed to weary in talking over his plans and purposes. George wrote a long letter to Mr. Brunton, telling him of the successful issue of his application to Mr. Compton, and thanking him in the most hearty way for all his kindness. The next day Mr. Brunton replied to George's letter as follows:—

"MY DEAR NEPHEW,

"I am delighted to hear that you have obtained an appointment, and that you seem so well satisfied with your prospects. May you find it to be for your good in every way. Remember, you are going into new scenes, and will be surrounded with many dangers and temptations to which you have hitherto been a stranger. Seek to be strong against everything that is evil; aim at the highest mark, and press towards it. Much of your future depends upon how you begin—therefore begin well; hold yourself aloof from everything with which your conscience tells you you should not be associated, and then all your bright dreams may, I hope, be fully realized.

"I shall hope to be with you for an hour or two on Sunday evening.

"You will have some unavoidable expenses to incur before entering upon your duties, and will require a little pocket-money. Accept the enclosed cheque, with the love of

"Your affectionate Uncle,
"HENRY BRUNTON."

George's eyes sparkled with delight as he read the letter; and found the enclosure to be a cheque for five pounds. This was a great treasure and relief to him, for he had thought many times about his boots, which were down at heel, and his best coat, which shone a good deal about the elbows, and showed symptoms of decay in the neighbourhood of the button-holes.

A new suit of clothes and a pair of boots were therefore purchased at once, and when Sunday morning came, and George dressed himself in them, and stood ready to accompany his mother to the house of God, she thought (although, of course, she did not say so) that she had never seen a more handsome and gentlemanly-looking youth than her son.

"Mother," said George, as they walked along, "what a treat the Sunday will always be now, after being pent up in the office all the week. I shall look forward to it with such pleasure, not only for the sake of its rest, but because I shall have a whole day with you."

"The Sabbath is, indeed, a boon," replied Mrs. Weston, "when it is made a rest-day for the soul, as well as for the body. You remember those lines I taught you, when you were quite another fellow, before you went to school, do you not?—

"'A Sunday well spent brings a week of content
And health for the toils of the morrow;
But a Sabbath profaned, whatsoe'er may be gained,
Is a certain forerunner of sorrow.'"

"Yes, mother, I remember them; and capital lines they are. Dr. Seaward once said, 'Strike the key-note of your tune incorrectly, and the whole song will be inharmonious;' so, if the Sabbath is improperly spent, the week will generally be like it."

That morning the preacher took for his text the beautiful words in Isaiah xli. 10, "Fear thou not, for I am with thee: be not dismayed, for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee—yea, I will help thee yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." These words came like the sound of heavenly music into the soul of the widow; and she prayed, with the fervency a mother alone can pray for a beloved and only son, that the time might speedily come when he would be able to appropriate these words, and realize, in the true sense of the term, God as his Father. For George, although he had from early infancy been brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and had learnt to love holiness from so constantly seeing its beauty exemplified by his parents, had not yet undergone that one great change which creates the soul anew in Christ Jesus.

Mr. Brunton arrived in the evening, just as Mrs. Weston and George were starting out to the second service, and so they all went together to the same place. The minister, an excellent man, who felt the responsibility of his office, and took every opportunity of doing good, was in the habit of giving four sermons a year especially to young men, and it so happened that on this evening one of these discourses was to be delivered. Nothing could have been more appropriate to a young man just starting out in life than his address. The text was taken from those solemn, striking words of the wise man, "My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not."

He spoke of the powerful influences continually at work to allure young travellers along life's journey into the snares and pitfalls of sin, and pointed to God's armoury, and the refuge from all the wiles of the adversary.

As the trio sat round the supper-table that evening, discussing the events of the day, George said—

"I feel very glad that this Sunday has come before I go to Mr. Compton's. I thought, when the text was given out this evening, that the minister had prepared his sermon especially for me. I have no doubt all he said was quite true; and so, being prepared, I shall be able to be on my guard against the evils which he says are common to those who make their first start in life."

When Mr. Brunton rose to leave that night, he took George aside; and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said—

"George, I am glad you have got your appointment, my boy; but I am sorry, for some reasons, that it is in Mr. Compton's office, for I have made inquiries about the clerks there, and I regret to find that they are not the set of young men I should have liked you to be with. Now, I want you to make me a promise. If ever you are placed in critical circumstances, or dangers, or difficulties (I say if, because I do not know why you should, but if you are), be sure and come to me. Tell me, as you always have done, honestly and openly, your difficulty, and you will always find in me one willing to advise and assist you. Will you promise?"

"With all my heart I will, uncle; and thank you, too, for this, and all your interests on my account."

"Good-bye, then, George. Go on and prosper; and God bless you."

Punctually at nine o'clock on Monday morning, George was at the office. Mr. Sanders, the manager (the old gentleman whom George had seen on his first visit), introduced him to the clerks by saying—

"This is Mr. George Weston, our new junior;" and George, with his face all aglow, made a general bow in return to the salutations which were given him.

"This is to be your seat," said Mr. Sanders; "and that peg is for your hat. And now, as you would, no doubt, like to begin at once, here is a document I want copied."

George was glad to have something to do; he felt all eyes were upon him, and the whispered voices of the clerks rather grated upon his ears. He took up his pen, and began to write; but he found his hand shaky, and he was so confused that, after he had written half a page, and found he had made two or three blunders, he was obliged to take a fresh sheet, and begin again.

"Take your time," said Mr. Sanders, who noticed his dilemma; "you will get on right enough by-and-bye, when you are more accustomed to the place and the work."

George felt relieved by this; and making up his mind to try and forget all around him, he set to work busily again, and in an hour or two had finished the job.

"I have done this, sir," he said, taking it to Mr. Sanders. "What shall I do next?"

"We will just examine it, and then you may take it into Mr. Compton's room. After that you can go and get your dinner, and be back again in an hour."

The document was examined, and, to the surprise of George and Mr. Sanders, not one mistake was found. "Come, this is beginning well," said the manager; "we shall soon make a clerk of you, I see."

When George went into Mr. Compton's room, and presented the papers, he was again rewarded with an encouraging commendation. "This is very well written—very well written indeed, and shows great painstaking," he said.

George felt he could have shaken hands with both principal and manager for those few words. "How cheap a kind word is," he thought, "to those who give it; but it is more precious than gold to the receiver. I like these two men; and, if I can manage it, they shall like me too."

George had not as yet exchanged a word with any of the clerks; but as he was leaving the office to go to dinner, one of them was going out at the same time, on the same errand.

"Well, Mr. Weston, you find it precious dull, don't you, cooped up in your den?"

"Do you mean the office?" said George.

"Yes; what else should I mean?"

"It seems a comfortable office enough," said George, "and not particularly dull; but I have not had sufficient experience in it to judge."

"You see, that old ogre (I beg his pardon, I mean old Sanders) takes jolly good care there shall be no flinching from work while he's there, and it makes a fellow deuced tired, pegging away all day long."

"If this is a specimen of the clerks," thought George, "Uncle Brunton was not far wrong when he said they were not a very good set."

"From what I have seen of Mr. Sanders," he said, "I think him a very nice man! and as for work, I always thought that was what clerks were engaged to do, and therefore it is their duty to do it, whether under the eye of the manager or not."

George got this sentence out with some difficulty. He felt it was an aggressive step, and did not doubt it would go the round of the office as a tale against him.

"Ugh!" said the clerk; "you've got a thing or two to learn yet, I see. You must surely be fresh and green from the country; but such notions soon die out. I don't like to be personal though, so we'll change the subject. Where are you going to dine? Most of our chaps patronize the King's Head—first-rate place; get anything you like in two twinklings of a lamb's tail. I'm going there now; will you go? By the way, I should have told you before this that my name is Williams."

"I suppose, Mr. Williams,' the King's Head is a tavern? If so, I prefer a coffee-house; but thank you, notwithstanding, for your offer."

"By George! that's a rum start. Our chaps all hate coffee-shops, with the exception of young Hardy, and he's coming round to our tastes now. You can get a good feed at the King's Head—stunning tackle in the shape of beer, and meet a decent set of fellows who know how to crack a joke at table; whereas, if you go to a coffee-shop, you have an ugly slice of meat set before you, a jorum of tea leaves and water, or some other mess, and a disagreeable set of people around. Now, which is best?"

"Your description is certainly unfavourable in the latter case; but I do not suppose all coffeehouses are alike, and therefore I shall try one to-day. Good morning."

George soon found a nice-looking quiet place where he could dine, and felt sure he had no need to go to taverns for better accommodation.

When he returned to the office, at two o'clock, Mr. Sanders was absent, and the clerks were busily engaged, not at work, but in conversation. Mr. Williams was the principal speaker, and seemed to have something very choice to communicate. George made no doubt that he was the subject of conversation, for he had caught one or two words as he entered, which warranted the supposition. He had nothing to do until Mr. Sanders returned; this was an opportunity, therefore, for Mr. Williams to make himself officious.

"Mr. Weston," he said, "allow me to do the honours of the office by introducing you, in a more definite manner than that old ——, I mean than Mr. Sanders did this morning. This gentleman is Mr. Lawson, this is Mr. Allwood, this is Mr. Malcolm, and this my young friend, Mr. Charles Hardy, who is of a serious turn of mind, and is meditating entering the ministry, or the undertaking line."

A laugh at Hardy's expense was the result of this attempt at jocularity on the part of Mr. Williams. George hardly knew how to acknowledge these introductions; but, turning to Charles Hardy, he said,—

"As Mr. Williams has so candidly mentioned your qualities, Mr. Hardy, perhaps you will favour me with a description of his."

Hardy rose from his seat, for up to this time he had been engaged in writing, and, in a tone of mock gravity, replied,

"This is Mr. Williams, who lives at the antipodes of everything that is quiet or serious, whose mission to the earth seems expressly to turn everything he touches into a laugh. He is not a 'youth to fortune and to fame unknown,' for in the archives of the King's Head his name is emblazoned in imperishable characters."

"Well said, Hardy!" said one or two at once. "Now, Williams, you are on your mettle, old boy; stand true to your colours, and transmute the sentence into a joke in self-defence."

Williams was on the point of replying when Mr. Sanders entered. In an instant all the clerks pretended to be up to their eyes in business; each had his book or papers to hand as if by magic; whether upside down or not was immaterial.

But George Weston stood where he was; he could not condescend to so mean an imposition, and he felt pleased to see that Charles Hardy, unlike the others, made no attempt to hide the fact that he had been engaged in conversation, instead of continuing at his work.

At six o'clock the day's duties were over; and George felt not a little pleased when the hour struck, and Mr. Sanders told him he could go. Hardy was leaving just at the same time, and so they went out together.

"Are you going anywhere in my direction?" said Hardy; "I live at Canonbury."

"Indeed!" replied George; "I'm glad to hear that, for I live at Islington, close by you. If you are willing, we will bear one another company, for I want to ask you one or two questions;" and taking Hardy's arm, the two strolled homewards together.

Now George would never have thought of walking arm in-arm with Mr. Williams, or any of the other clerks; but, from the first time he saw Hardy, and noticed his quiet, gentlemanly manners, he felt sure he should like him. Hardy, too, had evidently taken a fancy to George; and therefore both felt pleased that accident had brought them together. Accident? No, that is a wrong word; whenever a heart feels that there is another heart beating like its own, and those two hearts go out one towards the other, until they become knit together in the bonds of friendship, there is something more than accident in that.

"How long have you been in Mr. Compton's office?" said George, as they walked along,

"Nearly two years," he replied; "I went there as soon as I left school. I was then about seventeen years old; and there I have been ever since."

"Then you are my senior by two years," said George. "I left school a year ago, and this is my first situation. How do you like the office?"

"Do you mean my particular seat, the clerks, or the duties, or all combined?"

"I should like to know how you like the whole combined."

"I prefer my desk to yours, because I sit next to Mr. Malcolm, who is one of the steadiest and most respectable clerks in the office; and therefore I am not subject to so much annoyance as you will be, seated next to that empty-headed Williams, and coarse low-minded Lawson. I do not really like any of the clerks; there are none of them the sort of young men I should choose as companions. As to the duties, they are agreeable enough, and I have nothing to find fault with on that score."

"I tell you candidly," said George, "I am not prepossessed in favour of the clerks; they are far too 'fast' a set to please me; but I am very glad, for my own sake, that you are in the office, Mr. Hardy."

"Why?"

"Because, although we are almost strangers at present, I know I shall find in you some one who will be companionable. You don't seem very thick with the others; you don't join with them in that mean practice of shirking work directly Mr. Sanders's back is turned; and you don't, from what I have heard, approve of the society at the King's Head, in which the others seem to take so much delight. Now, in these points, I think, our tastes are similar."

"Ah! Mr. Weston," said Hardy, "you will find, as I have done, that amongst such a set we are obliged to allow a great many things we do not approve. But I'm very glad you have come amongst us; unity is strength, you know, and two can make a better opposition than one. Now, will you let me give you a hint?"

"Certainly," said George.

"Be on your guard with Lawson and Williams; they are two dangerous young men, and can do no end of mischief, because they are double-faced—sneaking sometimes, and bullying at others. I don't know whether you have heard that you are filling a vacancy caused by one of our clerks leaving the office in disgrace. It is not worth while my telling you the story now, but that poor chap would never have left in the way he did, had it not been for Lawson and Williams."

"Many thanks, Mr. Hardy, for your information and advice, upon which I will endeavour to act. And now, as our roads lay differently, we must say good evening."

"Adieu, then, till to-morrow," said Hardy. "By-the-bye, I pass this road in the morning, at half-past eight; if you are here we will walk to the office together."

It took George the whole of the evening to give his mother a full account of the day's proceedings; there were so many questions to ask on her part, and so many descriptions to give on his, and such a number of events occurred during the day, that it seemed as if he had at least a week's experience to narrate.

"I like Hardy, mother," said George, once or twice during the evening; "he is such a thorough open-hearted fellow, and I know we shall get along together capitally."

"I hope so, my boy," said his mother; "but be very careful how you form any other friendships."

When Mrs. Western retired to her room for the night, it was not to sleep. She felt anxious and uneasy about George; she thought of him as the loving, gentle child, the merry, light-hearted boy, and the manly, conscientious youth. Then she thought of the future. How would he stand against the evil influences surrounding him? Would his frank, ingenuous manner change, and the confidence he always reposed in her cease? Would he be led away by the gay and thoughtless young men with whom he would be associated?

Tears gathered in the widow's eyes, and many a sigh sounded in that quiet room; but Mrs. Weston had a Friend at hand, to whom she could go and pour out all her anxieties. She would cast her burden on Him, for she knew He cared for her. As she knelt before the mercy-seat, these were her prayers:—

"Lord, create in him a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within him. May he remember Thee in the days of his youth. Heavenly Father, lead him not into temptation, but deliver him from evil Guide him by Thy counsel, and lead him in the paths of righteousness, for Thy Name's sake."