had known what kind of people these were, she would never
have placed me with them. But I will try to please them, and
try to be content; and I do pray every day that I may not be
tempted to lie and swear like those with whom I am obliged to
live. There is a good old man, a tailor, who lives next door
to us. He is going to M----, and will give you this letter;
so good-bye, dear George, and do not forget your friend,

William Raymond.

He sealed the letter and sent it by the tailor, and he felt
somewhat happier, for he had some faint hope that his kind friend,
the baker, would interfere in his behalf. He had not, however,
magnified the misery of his condition; for not only did he feel
keenly the want of such comforts as he had enjoyed in his humble
home, but his life was rendered miserable by the injustice and
severity with which he was treated. His master was a man of
violent temper, who, finding he possessed little aptitude for
shoemaking, tried to make him love it, first by flogging, and
afterwards by half-starvation; following in the last-named measure
the advice of his miserly help-mate, who believed it the best way
of developing genius. In vain did William try by gentleness and
zeal to soften their harshness; he had no one to interfere in his
behalf, and he was made boy of all work, and scolded and blamed
from morning till night. None loved him, and while he pined for
the loss of the affection he once enjoyed, he found no one to
love. No one treated him kindly, and gladness became a stranger to
his heart.

In the midst of Sabbath privileges, he was in danger of becoming a