who had it in their power materially to befriend
him; and the result was that he obtained
a situation connected with one of our most
important railways. He continued three years
in that situation. In the fourth, he was
promoted to a more responsible post on the same
railway. From this time his rise was singularly
rapid. He made money. Being in the way of
hearing of good investments, his keen sense and
excellent judgment enabled him to avail himself
of them. He bought land in the outskirts of a
great manufacturing town, built good houses on
it, and sold them at an enormous profit. With
this money, he entered into still larger speculations
(invariably judicious and safe), and in a
short time realised a considerable capital. At
thirty, Arthur Bentmore was one ot the men
in that thriving town whose word carried the
most weight with it. He remained single till
he was five-and-thirty, and then brought to
preside over his comfortable home one of the three
daughters of his own parish clergyman: a pretty,
unpretending, affectionate girl, who had been
brought up in a pious and provident household,
and was sure to make him a fond and grateful
wife. At forty-seven, he was mayor of his town,
and had two sons and three daughters,
promising and healthy.

During all these years, he and I have kept
up a constant and affectionate intercourse. He
is now a director of more than one railway, and
he comes frequently to London, sometimes alone
—brought there by business—sometimes with
his wife. On these occasions he always dines
with his old friend Gillies—whom he has made
comfortable for life—or with me. And there is
nothing delights us so much as these quiet
dinners.

"It all seems as though it were but yesterday,"
he would say, as we sat together over
our dessert, and he looked across the table at
me with those large wonderful eyes of his, that
seemed gazing far back into the past; "I often
think I am a page again, and dream it too,
sometimes. My wife says I still add up
shillings and sixpences in my sleep."

With Mr. Moreen, grown very old and infirm,
and retired from business (though he still lives
in the old shop), Arthur Bentmore has kept up
not only an acquaintance, but a steady friendship
since those early days.

Arthur had not long quitted my service, when
the upholsterer was kid up with an unusually
severe attack of bronchitis. He was always
very hippish when ili, as many such strong
giants arc. But his mind, though morbidly
sensitive from the state of his body, was full of
Arthur Bentmore, towards whom lie reproached
himself with having acted the part of a brute.
He would talk about him to me as long as my
visit lasted, and shed tears when he recurred to
the lad's early abstinence from beer. That point
touched him more than all. "Yes!" he would
exclaim, "I don't know as I ever said words I've
repented of so much since. I have repented of
'em. Bitter. They'll sound to me, when I'm
a dying—I know that. And he going on denying
of himself his little drop o'beer—a growing
chap like that, that wanted it."

In the course of this illness, he confided to
me, that although Mrs. M. had been struck
with admiration at the noble conduct of the boy,
she yet had not at all agreed with him, as to
the propriety of refusing the money. She took
a more business-like view of the transaction.
The debt was a debt, she considered, and ought
to be discharged. They had no more right to
rob their own children of the money, than they
had to deprive the lad himself of the satisfaction
to his feelings of paying it. "There wouldn't
be no merit in what he done, if he was to get
it back again," said Mrs. M.

"I don't agree with her there, sir," said Mr.
Moreen, speaking low and confidentially, as
though to differ from Mrs. M. even in the
expression of an opinion, were too dangerous a
matter to be overheard; "the merit's the same
in what he done, anyhow, it seems to me. But
Mrs. M., she's so first-rate here, you see!"
tapping his own broad forehead, "and she judges
of things more by the headpiece than she do by
the feelin's. I'm not equal to her in that—oh,
no!"

When he heard that Arthur was about to set
up a house of his own, he entered into a little
plot with me, to furnish the living rooms gratis;
and never was man more thoroughly happy than
Mr. Moreen was during the mysterious
consultations and arrangements necessary to effect this
object. I persuaded Arthur to visit me in
London, whilst he went down to the manufacturing
town in question, to superintend every
detail. He spared neither trouble nor expense.
Nothing was, nothing could be, too good for that
grand fellow! And the way in which he revelled
in Arthur's astonishment and admiration, when
on his return he discovered what had been done,
was worth going miles to see.

                        NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
          In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
                        "Pickwick," " Copperfleld," &c.
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                  A NEW WORK BY CHARLES DICKENS
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                   With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
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