"A friend in need is a friend indeed."--_Old Proverb_.


I have often thought that the biggest bit of good luck (and I was
lucky), which befell me on my outset into the world, was that the man I
sat next to in the railway carriage was not a rogue. I travelled third
class to Liverpool for more than one reason--it was the cheapest way,
besides which I did not wish to meet any family friends--and the man I
speak of was a third-class passenger, and he went to Liverpool too.

At the time I was puzzled to think how he came to guess that I was
running away, that I had money with me, and that I had never been to
Liverpool before; but I can well imagine now how my ignorance and
anxiety must have betrayed themselves at every station I mistook for the
end of my journey, and with every question which I put, as I flattered
myself, in the careless tones of common conversation, I really wonder I
had not thought beforehand about my clothes, which fitted very badly on
the character I assumed, and the company I chose; but it was not perhaps
to be expected that I should know then, as I know now, how conspicuous
all over me must have been the absence of those outward signs of
hardship and poverty, which they who know poverty and hardship know so
well.

I wish _I_ had known them, because then I should have given the man some
of my money when we parted, instead of feeling too delicate to do so. I
can remember his face too well not to know now how much he must have
needed it, and how heroic a virtue honesty must have been in him.

It did not seem to strike him as at all strange or unnatural that a lad
of my age should be seeking his own fortune, but I feel sure that he