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WORDS AND DEEDS!

"I CANNOT express how deeply I feel obliged to you. I shall never forget it. Now look, my good fellow, you have only to tell me what you want, and it shall be procured."

When Charles Cherry had concluded this speech, he shook most cordially by the hand the humble-looking youth to whom it was addressed; and turning to the friend who was by his side, exclaimed, with all the ardour of his nature, "Here, Richard! Why, Dick Raymond, have you no kind word to give James Hodges? But for

James, I should have been food for fishes by this time."

"Master Richard," replied the young farmer-and when he spoke his face lit up with a grateful expression that illumined his heaviness into something like beauty— "Master Richard has already done more for me than I had any right to expect."

Charles Cherry bit his lip, and his cheek flushed. "I wish I was rich, James," he said rapidly. "I wish I had a hundred pounds to give you; but, depend upon it, I shall never forget you. Whatever you want, let me know, that's all. I'll get you a situation.”

That, indeed, sir," answered James, "would be the making of me. I have no taste for farming; and if I could get any situation, I would indeed—”

The earnestness and emotion of the youth overcame him he could not finish the sentence. Charles Cherry again seized his hand, and assured him he never could do enough to repay him. He ran over the names of great men who were under obligations to his father, and who would consequently be ready to oblige him. James was

in ecstacy as Charles numbered the fine lords and ladies who would be delighted to serve him; meanwhile young Raymond stood by with a serious aspect. "I think," he said at last, "that our new friend had better, for the present, persevere in his farming; situations are difficult to obtain; and he owes a great deal to his father, which his attention alone can repay; and-" Whatever he would have added was prevented by his companion, who stopped him with an exclamation of impatience—a reminder of the great power his own father possessed, and all the situations that had been offered him for his friends at different times by half the peerage.

"But your brother has not yet got his commission," suggested the thoughtful Richard.

"That is altogether another thing," replied Charles; "but there is no use in talking to you; you are so matter of fact. Rely on my words,' James, your situation is as certain as if you held the appointment this moment in your hand."

The youth thanked him with smiles and almost tears. The gentlemen, one of whom had narrowly escaped being drowned through the bravery and strength of the young farmer, resumed their clothes, which had been carefully dried, and bidding good night to the cottagers who had sheltered them after their wetting, were accompanied to the carriage-which Raymond's father had sent-by James Hodges, who saw them drive off with all the feelings incident to a new state of existence. A sudden hope had burst upon him. He had never been, as he truly said, fond of farming, but had reconciled himself to it so as to be of great service to his family; and as his father was growing old, and he the eldest of the children, James was already of no small importance in his little circle. Richard Raymond was the son of a landed gentleman in the neighbourhood, and his friend Charles Cherry was now spending with him the Oxford vacation. They had been out shooting; and as Charles was in the act of crossing a deep and rapid stream, he had fallen in, and was instantly

borne down the current. His friend was already in the water, determined, if possible, to save him, when James Hodges, who was watering some horses at the bend of the river, dashed forward, and in a moment rescued Charles from his perilous situation. Thus one of the two gentlemen became a heavy debtor to the young farmer.

Although very dissimilar in character Raymond and Cherry were much attached to each other. Richard was thoughtful, steady, and persevering, never asserting anything until assured of its truth, and more prone to give than to promise, feeling that a promise is a debt which holds the promiser in thrall until it be discharged. Charles was gay and cheerful, and would have been generous, but unfortunately he never managed to husband his resources so as to have anything he could legally call his own to be generous with. He was quick and brilliant in conversation; and though not more than nineteen, had acquired the undefined reputation of a "capital fellow." His words were more abundant than his deeds-not that he was ever guilty of a wilful falsehood, but he was careless enough to deceive himself both as to his powers and his resources. His friend once told him he might go through the world with his eyes shut if he pleased, but that he had no right to lead others astray. Charles was displeased with him for such plain speaking as long as he could be displeased with any one; for, truth to tell, he quickly forgot and forgave, however angry he might have been at the

moment.

"What a capital manager you are, Richard," he exclaimed to his friend, as the carriage rolled towards Raymond Lodge; "you always contrive to have money." 'My allowance is less than yours though, Charles.”

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"But yours is punctually paid," was the reply. "My father is seldom punctual, though he promises he will be; and then I promise others-and so-on. I was quite ashamed of not having a guinea to give that fine fellow at once, for you had no right to give him anything; but I will certainly get him an appointment."

"I wish," observed his friend," I wish with all my heart you had not told him so it will unsettle him quite, and the chances are ten to one against your being able to keep your word. You might have endeavoured to obtain a situation for him, and if you succeeded, well and good."

"How you throw cold water over everything, Richard," interrupted his mercurial companion. "What other way had I of repaying my obligation to the poor fellow who saved my life?"

Now, Charles," said his friend, "do not get into a pet. I do not want to steep your deeds in cold water, only your words; but it is a duty not to mislead-not to promise unless you are certain you can perform."

"But I am certain," said Charles vehemently; "I tell you I am certain. Do you think my father would refuse anything to him who saved my life?"

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Anything he could obtain," observed Richard in his usual quiet voice.

"Psha! do you mean to say that my father, with all his high connexions and great friends, could not obtain a situation of one or two hundred a-year in the excise or post-office, or some of those places, if he were to ask it? Why, he could with as much ease and certainty as I draw on this glove." He proceeded to illustrate his theory by drawing on the glove; probably the leather had become damp; but from whatever cause it was, it tore right

across.

"I fear a too apt illustration," said young Raymond, laughing rather maliciously; upon which Charles Cherry flung himself into the corner of the carriage, so as to shake the springs. "Really, Raymond, you are too bad," he exclaimed. "You would check all generous feeling." "You do not mean that-you only mean that I prefer 'deeds to words." "

"I hate musty aphorisms," grumbled Charles.

"I like them; they are short cuts to highways," said Richard-and then commenced a long silence.

At last Charles said, "Do you mean that I shall be ungrateful enough to forget this poor fellow, and to break my word?"

"I mean, Charley, that you will not only remember his bravery, but do your best to reward it; but I doubt your power, and I regret that you have disturbed his mind by the introduction of a hope which may render him unfit for his daily labour."

"We shall see," answered Charles Cherry; "we shall see."

It was a bright moonlight night when the young men sprang into the hall of Raymond Lodge, where they received the congratulations of their friends and relatives, and Charles won all hearts by his glowing account of the presence of mind and bravery of the young farmer, who had risked his life for his preservation. The moon, as I have said, was in the glory of its harvest fulness-a bright beautiful moon—and many of the gay party were grouped in the windows looking out upon its beams, and admiring the effect of the mild, chastened light upon the landscape. Some five miles away from that brilliant room, James Hodges, leaning upon the gate which led to his father's farm-yard, was meditating neither on the moon, nor the landscape, nor the stacking nor ploughing, but on the promise made him that afternoon by the young Oxonian who knew so many fine people—and also of a certain Jessie Gray; for during the last five months whatever James thought of, Jessie was sure to form the foreground, the most important portion of the picture his imagination produced. Nor was this surprising, if the beauty and gentleness of Jessie Gray are taken into consideration. James thought it was a very singular thing that the only man in the parish who seemed insensible to Jessie's charms should be his own father. Everybody had a good word for Jessie except Mr. Hodges; he became afflicted with an incurable deafness whenever she was praised. He told James once that Jessie was too poor and too proud for a farmer's wife, and James