nobly defended our little 'Isle of the sea;' and though he was left to suffer the pains and penalties of honest poverty, he did not forget to instil into our young minds that heart-felt love of country which inspires the soul, leads to the defence of truth, the gaining of right, and the maintaining of freedom."

HIS FIRST MISFORTUNE.

With considerable force and feeling, he thus refers to what he calls his first misfortune,—the loss of his mother. "I am told that for a few days matters went on favourably, and my parents were led to rejoice and to foster their fondest hopes. But soon their joys gave way to sorrow, for shortly mournful wailings took the place of the bright prospects. My mother became seriously ill, and died on the twenty-first day after I was born."

Who can tell the amount of sadness contained in the latter part of that brief statement? To the busy world around, this was but a casual event, yet its effects were severely felt by all concerned, especially this motherless child. The loss of a mother in youth becomes a most important circumstance in the history of the life of struggle. The loss of the father is truly painful, but the fatherless may be strengthened by that energy, which Forster describes as desertion ministering to the manly and courageous, like the ivy which he saw, when the support of the oak was withdrawn, asserted its independence, and shot out into a bold elastic stem. A father dies, and the protection of his roof is withdrawn; but that might have been a shelter to indolence. The fatherless boy is compelled to go out into the world, and as all retreat is cut off behind him, he is thrown on his own resources, and his powers, as if inspired by the spirit of his departed sire, develop rapidly into maturity, and his energies enable him to surmount difficulty and attain heights at which he himself is astonished. But the death

PRESSED INTO SERVICE.

17

of a mother takes away an important shield in the battle of life, and the motherless combatant, if weak, may at times be defeated. At all events, the ills of life are likely to fall fast around him-a -as our friend soon found.

As a matter of course, he was put under a wet nurse. But she treated him very cruelly for nearly two years. Speaking from what he had afterwards heard from those who knew him in his infancy, he says,-" Her wilful neglect and rash drugging made me a weaker child than I was when my mother died. This paved the way for numerous diseases, which followed each other in rapid succession, weakening my constitution, and stunting my growth."

PRESSED INTO SERVICE.

At the end of these two years of bad treatment, the lad and his sister were taken home to their stepmother-the sailorweaver having married again. And, under the new regime, he made such progress that when about three years of age he began to walk. But soon after this, and long before he was at all able, the poor child was pressed into service, becoming a winder even before he could reach the spokes of the wheel, the feet of which had to be cut shorter that he might be able to drive it. Here he sat working hard, the wonder of many a visitor, he being so young and so little. Not much sleep, nor much food, and less pure air; no play to cheer him, nor healthy out-door exercise to strengthen his weak limbs, he suffered much. Well might he afterwards exclaim-"Who can know a tenth of the heart-breaking sufferings which must be endured by the sons and daughters of the poor?" To this important question, he replies "None save those who have been so unfortunate as to know them by sad experience. Their misery is great even when their parents are guided by worldly prudence, supported by fortitude, and cheered by

B

Christian hope. Hard, hard is the heart that would not weep for the sorrows of the poor man's children; and cruel, cruel is the system which keeps them in poverty, hunger, and dirt." "Generally," he adds, "I had to drive the wheel from four in the morning till ten at night, the long day which my poor father had to weave to support his family. No wonder then I have not become a giant in stature.

CHAPTER II.

EARLIER STRUGGLES TO LEARN.

THE AWAKENING OF THE DESIRE TO LEARN.

IT has been said that few can read Mr Hillocks' "Life Story" without tears and smiles. There is "an air of child-like simplicity" about the "Story," but there is also a quiet humour which frequently comes out, often side by side with touching pathos. Of this we have an instance in the chapter we are about to give.

Notwithstanding what we have read, he brightens up, and tells us, that "Hope looked in, and said, 'Look up!" and then adds, "Dark as the clouds were, there was a silver lining occasionally."

To the poor, a little seems much, if it comes when most wanted. It was so in the case of our young hero. A tiny ray lit up his naturally happy face from time to time. And the first we hear of comes in the form of "a little leisure at meal times." The next took the shape of the additional favour of a run out in the gloamins with other boys and girls, both of which benefits were to him a source of great pleasure. But these breathing times were destined to give more than mere recreation. By means of this favour he formed the acquaintance of more fortunate children, who went to school, and who could read and write. The knowledge of this, and his conversations with them, soon created in him the wish to be able to do likewise. And this desire so greatly increased, that, of his own

accord, he lessened his play-time; so much so that whenever he had the opportunity he was seen among those four or five times his age, listening to others reading or discussing.

This desire to learn was strengthened by a domestic incident which we record in his own words. "One morning," he says, "the family were all concerned in the reading of a letter from America, where some of my stepmother's relatives had gone to push their fortune. Those relatives said they loved me; they also promised to send for me when I was big. The Americans seem to like big people and big things; and perhaps that accounted for the saving clause which gave me not a little trouble. At last, I became as uncharitable as to suppose they knew I never would be "big"--at least, they never sent for me. Yet the incident was not lost on me; for though I did not get to America, I got to school."

That

Seeing he could not reach the better feelings of those abroad, he applied all the eloquence he could command at home, until his desire was somewhat gratified. He says, "At last my father consented, notwithstanding the many difficulties which stood in the way-difficulties the power of which none but the poor weaver and a suffering family can know. was to me an important day, on which I received my A B C card and the twopenny fee! With the heart light as the lark at rising day, I left home that morning; and for three months I continued to work in the morning, go to school at ten, and work in the evening. I was often very tired, but I was glad. Soon I became the teacher's pet. He would pat me on the head and say, I would soon become the best scholar in his school. And then he had such a gem of a wife, who loved me as if I had been her own child-a mild woman, full of calm dignity and common sense. We all loved her, and I am glad I was able to do her the last favour she needed on earth."

This "joyous prosperity" reached the climax at the end of the third month. He says, "The master added to my joy