THE PUBLISHER, —«419

this morning, Robert. A stormy morning this, and
tough work you have had of it,” he said, eyeing me
keenly,

“« My father always told me, sir, when we had work
to do, ¢o go forward and do it, minding nothing about
the weather, or anything else.—Only a few drops at a
time,” I added to myself.

“Right! right!” exclaimed the publisher, with great
spirit. ‘You have had a training that is worth some-

thing—-yes, worth more to begin life with than hundreds
of pounds, I see you can put your hand to the plough,
and not look back. The great fault of young men, now-
a-days, is, they are afraid of work. They want to live
too easy while the fact is, we cannot get anything that
is worth having—reputation, property, or any. good—-
without working, ay, striving for it. I must keep my
eye on you, young man.” og
Upon what apparently little incidents hangs the well-
~ being of men! I say apparently little, chance-like ines
dents ; aad yet they are heither little or by chance—

they are a part of the great moral woof into which our