“Ar’n’t you glad you ain’t a black-a-moor?”

“I should think so,” replied his sooty brother, “they’re sich ugly warmints.”

Having to deliver a letter, containing an account and a stock receipt, to one of Mr. Timmis’s clients, residing at the west end of the town; in crossing through one of the fashionable squares, I observed a flat-faced negro servant in livery, standing at the door of one of the houses.

Two chimney sweepers who happened to be passing, showed their white teeth in a contemptuous grin at the African.

“Bob,” I overheard one remark, “ar’n’t you glad you ain’t a black-a-moor?”

“I should think so,” replied his sooty brother, “they’re sich ugly warmints.  Master’s daughter, wots come from boarding school! says the sight of ‘ems’ enough to frighten one into conwulsions!”

Alas! for the prejudice of the world!  How much this ignorant remark reminded me of my patron’s unfounded hatred of all “forriners.”  It was precisely the same sentiment, differently expressed, that actuated the thoughts and opinions of both.

I must, however, do Mr. Timmis the justice to say, that he made ample amends to Monsieur Dubois for the affront he had so thoughtlessly put upon the worthy Frenchman; and did all in his power to obtain him pupils.

The consequent change in his dress and manner, his amiable conduct, and gentlemanly deportment, at last completely won upon the esteem of the boisterous broker, who swore, (for that was generally his elegant manner of expressing his sincerity) that Dubois was a ‘downright good’un;’ and were it not for his foreign accent, he should have taken him for an Englishman born—­really believing, that there was no virtue in the world but of English growth.

I had now been above twelve-months in his office, and although I had received but a moderate compensation for my services, yet the vast improvement I had made (thanks to the instruction of Monsieur Dubois,) was more valuable than gold.  My father also, though but scantily furnished with book-knowledge, had, nevertheless, the good sense to appreciate and encourage my progress; he was well aware, from observation, that ‘knowledge is power,’ and would frequently quote the old saw,

“When house, and land, and money’s spent;
Then larning is most excellent”—­

and spared all the money he could scrape together to purchase books for me.

One day Mr. Crobble came into the office with an open letter in his hand.  “Here,”—­cried he, “I’ve received a remittance at last from that, German fellow—­two good bills on the first house in the city—­but I can’t make top nor tail of his rigmarole.  Do you know any chap among your acquaintance who can read German?”

“Not I,” replied Mr. Timmis.

“Will you allow me, Mr. Crobble?” said I, stepping forward.  “This letter is written in French, not German, Sir,” I observed.

“What’s the difference to me, Master Andrew; it might as well be in wild Irish, for the matter o’ that.”