GEORGE HARNESS.

GEORGE HARNESS was coachman to my grandfather, and, in almost every respect, an excellent young man. But he was fresh from the country, and new to the temptations of London life, and unluckily became the dupe of an artful woman, who only encouraged his attentions for the sake of what she could obtain from him in the way of presents and money. Having spent all his earnings, he was tempted by her to rob his master of a few pounds, and disappeared with them for fear of detection. My grandfather did not discover he had been robbed till George's mysterious absence awoke suspicion. As soon as he ascertained his loss, he put the case into the hands of a Bow-street officer, who, in a day or two, brought George back looking more dead than alive.

During the short time that had passed, George had been thoroughly miserable. His principles and habits were so good that he had no real taste for the pleasures of sin. Instead, therefore, of hastening to the woman who had led him astray, to spend with her his ill-gotten money in rioting and drunkenness, he seemed all at once to gain a real knowledge of her character and to hate the thought of her. The officer found him with nearly all the money upon him, he having only spent seventeen shillings, or thereabouts, in pastry and driving about in hackney-coaches.

My grandfather was a man of singularly sweet and humane disposition. He may have remembered the words of St. Paul,-" Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual restore such an one in

the spirit of meekness;" and how St. Paul had affectionately persuaded his friend Philemon to forgive his servant Onesimus, who had run away from him seemingly in his debt. At any rate my grandfather spoke as gently to poor penitent George as St. Paul would have had Philemon speak to Onesimus, pointed out to him his fault, but did not overwhelm him with reproaches which he plainly saw would be too much for his breaking heart; and, after advising and consoling him, bade him return to his work, and be assured that no more reference should be made to the past.

George deeply felt his master's goodness; but his soul was so oppressed by the sense of his guilt that he could feel no peace; and, after a time, he earnestly begged leave to seek a new situation, where nothing should remind him of what had occurred. This was granted of course. He went into another family, where his conduct was exemplary, and rose by degrees, till at length he became one of the King's coachmen. He married happily, had a promising family, retired late in life on his pension, and occasionally entertained his former master in his neat little cottage, when that gentleman happened to visit the neighbourhood of Windsor.

CATHERINE MELDRUM.

ONE hot summer, a good many years ago, when I was about ten years old, and we youngsters were recovering from hooping-cough and measles, the doctor prescribed change of air for us, and my father and mother took a little cottage at Dulwich.

A very little cottage it was! and very hot at night, when the door and windows were shut up. However, we were very happy, and got quite well during the six months we spent in it. The Dulwich picture-gallery was in those days open to all, but known to very few; and my mother would sometimes take us, children, baby, nursemaid, and all, into the gallery, which consisted of three large rooms lighted by sky-lights and filled with beautiful pictures, where, perhaps, we would spend the whole morning, sitting down or walking quietly about, without a single creature being there except ourselves and the keeper.

It was about this time that Catherine Meldrum came to live with us as nursery-maid. She was an orphan girl, eighteen years of age, and quite friendless. I think she had no relations except her younger brother, an apprentice, to whom she was very generous and kind. She had small features, a dark complexion, very dark eyes and hair, a neat figure, and was pleasing rather than pretty. At first, she always had the air of being frightened, and perhaps really was so, at the idea of not giving satisfaction. However, she got over this in time, and became a very nice servant.

Her little property consisted of a very poor stock of clothes, her mother's wedding-ring, her mother's bed

furniture (which was as good as new), a gay, glazed chintz with a red ground and her mother's large folio Bible, handsomely bound, which was carefully covered with green baize. This Bible was full of pictures; and it was our delight to look at them with Kitty on Sunday afternoons, and to read with her the passages which explained them. Often have I hung over the pages of that Bible with her, each of us pointing out our favourite passages in the Proverbs. She was very fond of the book of Job; and I remember her saying, "When my father used to say to my brother and me, 'Well, children, what chapter shall I read you?' I used to cry hastily, 'Oh, a chapter of the book of Job, please!'" These Bible readings of ours generally took place at the deep window seat of a window overlooking the river Thames; for we had returned from Dulwich then, to our own house. Many a beautiful sunset did we watch from that window as the sun sank behind the Cremorne willows that dipped their long branches in the water.

She felt, in a very short time, that her mistress was her true friend, and when she received her quarter's wages, she asked her advice about laying it out. Now, Kitty's wages were but eight pounds a year; but as this was more than she had ever had before, two pounds seemed to her a large sum to spend all at once. My mother asked her what she most wanted; she said she particularly wished to give her brother a pair of shoes. So, the money for them was laid aside, and with the rest she bought calico and prints enough to make up for herself. Having thus begun with a good stock of under-clothes, gowns, and aprons, she was able, the following quarter, when winter was coming on, to buy herself a neat purple cloth pelisse, which cost her eighteen shillings, and a pretty black beaver bonnet, lined with pink.

We went on very happily together for several years.

When she was two or three and twenty, Kitty unfortunately began to think a good deal of a young man who lived behind our house, so that her fellow-servants laughed at her about it, and spread the report that she was in love. This, of itself, was unpleasant enough, but it led to what was a good deal worse.

Gossip is the mother of mischief. Probably these servants talked about Kitty's passing fancy, for it was nothing more, to others of their acquaintance, who mentioned it to their mistresses. Certain it is, that it became talked of in the neighbourhood long before it reached the ears of my mother. Unfortunately, the object of Kitty's attachment was a young man of very bad character, though she did not know it, and belonged to a bad family.

One night, our house was broken open and robbed. The thieves took out a panel of the back door with a centre-bit, through which they must have stretched their hands to the fastenings. They stole some plate, a watch and seals, an amethyst brooch, and even feasted on cold beef and wine and walnut pickle. This alarmed us very much the next morning, and caused much excitement in the neighbourhood.

A policeman, or rather a Bow-street officer, was sent for, who, on seeing a walking-stick the robbers. had left behind them, observed, "A short man must have used this." He then pointed out to us that the thieves had come over three garden walls, by a regular series of steps, made of benches, flower-stands, flower-pots, &c., for the express purpose of attacking our house, which they must, therefore, have had some reason for selecting from the rest of the row, and that, probably, this was because they had a friend amongst our servants. He asked my mother if she suspected any of them. She replied, "Not in the least!

Soon afterwards, however, she learned from some of those visitors who are always busied in their neigh