eir
large transactions.

In three months these operations had increased so enormously, and the
profits were so considerable, that Mr. Crobble not only advanced my
salary, but consented to engage the assistance of two junior clerks. I
was now a man of some consideration. I was the senior clerk of the
establishment, although the youngest of the three.

In two years I found myself at the head of six clerks, and had as much
business as I could possibly manage.

My star was in the ascendant. I had not only more money than I required
for my expenses, but was enabled to maintain my poor old father, who
daily became more and more infirm.

I rented a small cottage at the rural village of Hackney, but my labour
occupied me early and late, and it was only on a Sunday I could really
enjoy my home.

Three years after quitting the office of Mr. Timmis, I had the
inexpressible pleasure of employing him to purchase stock for his errand
boy! I was proud as a king.

"I said that boy would turn out well," said the good-natured Mr. Wallis;
"he always had a good principle."

"And now bids fair," said Mr. Timmis, "to have both principal and
interest."

Mr. Crobble having lately had a large property left him in Hertfordshire,
rarely came to the office above once a-quarter, to settle accounts.

"A good dividend--a very good dividend!" said he, upon receipt of the
last quarter's profits. "But, Mr. Mullins, I cannot forget that this
business is your child."

"And I'm happy to say a thriving one," I replied.

"Are you satisfied--perfectly satisfied?" demanded he.

"Beyond my wishes, sir."

"I am not," said he shortly.

"No, sir?" exclaimed I, with surprise.

"No, Sir!" repeated he. "Those who sow should reap. I've no
children--I'm an idle fellow-a drone, sir--and won't consent to consume
all the honey. Don't speak, sir--read that!" and he pulled a parchment
from his pocket.

It was a deed of partnership between Cornelius Crobble, of Lodge,
Hertfordshire, Esquire, and the poor cobbler's son,

ANDREW MULLINS.

A RIGMAROLE.--PART I.

"De omnibus rebus."

The evening is calm--the sun has just sunk below the tiles of the house,
which serenely bounds the view from the quiet attic where I wield the
anserine plume for the delectation of the pensive public--all nature,
etc.--the sky is deep blue, tinged with mellowest red, like a learned
lady delicately rouged, and ready for a literary soiree--the sweet-voiced