Esther Hammond's Wedding-Day.
A few years ago, having made known to those whom it might concern that I wanted a footman, there came, among others, to offer himself for the situation, a young man, named George Hammond. He had a slight figure, and a pale, thin, handsome face, but a remarkably sad expression. Although he inspired me with interest, I felt, before I began to question him, that I should hardly like to have that melancholy countenance always under my eye.
“Where have you lived?” I asked.
“I have never been exactly in a situation,” he answered.
“Then,” said I, interrupting him, “I fear you will not suit me.”
“I meant to say,” he continued, turning paler than before, as if pained by my ready denial—“I meant to say that although I have never been in a situation, yet I know the duties of a servant, for I have been for several months under Lord Gorton's house-steward, Mr. Grindlay, and he has taught me every thing.”
“Did Lord Gorton pay you wages?”
“No; but he allowed me to wait at table, and I acted just as if I had been paid wages.”
“Mr. Grindlay is a friend of yours, then?”