I Faithful Steward.

N all Marshland there was not a more respected or more respectable man than David Delves, steward

and manager in general of the wealthy Sir Fred

erick Layton's estate. The baronet had no liking for this portion of his property; but once a year, in deference to the established custom of his ancestors, he spent a few weeks there during the shooting season, and gave a hearty welcome to the best families in the county. But he was always very glad when the formality was over, and could leave all to David Delves about dealing with troublesome tenants getting in arrears, making improvements, and so forth. The steward's tact, integrity, and business habits left him very little to think about, so far as the Marshland estate was concerned; but being one of the most kindly-disposed landlords in the world, when Sir Frederick received a larger half-yearly instalment than usual he was more surprised than pleased. He never expected to reap wheat of thistles; he knew that the land was swampy and unproductive, and that poor people were very often laid low by fever, and that it was as much as ever they could do to keep body and soul together. Therefore, when the rents came in, in due course, he would say to Delves, "You must not be hard upon them, sir; you must not indeed they must live, you know. Who is behind this time ?"

"No one, Sir Frederick."

"That's right-that's right; but in case any one should be, you know-because the best of men have imperfect memories, Delves-take this fifty-pound note, and make the most of it. Square it up with the poor people, and don't tell me anything about it."

This conversation used to take place periodically in the baronet's country house, which was erected in the healthiest spot in Marshland; and here it was, amid art treasures that had cost thousands of pounds, and surrounded by every

luxury and comfort, that David Delves occupied what was known as the "oak" room, when London and parliament had greater attractions for Sir Frederick than the most brilliant county assemblies. With such a master, and vested with such authority, David, had he been a dishonest man, might have made what the world calls " a good thing" of his position. He might have deceived his benevolent master to any extent; he might have raised rents, and oppressed tenants in a variety of disagreeable ways; but from the time when he was a poor farm boy himself, and when he lost father and mother in little more than a week, he resolved, in the strength of God, to do the most and best for his class; and though nearly thirty years had glided away since those two dark days in the churchyard, though he was well-dressed, well-housed, and best of all (through his own painstaking) well-educated, he never forgot that resolve. Sir Frederick never knew—at least, not for some years-the sacrifices which his faithful steward made to get in the rentals from Marshland. I was with him on two occasions in the "oak" room when his integrity and benevolence claimed my highest admiration. On the first occasion, a ruddy young farmer entered the room, and, after blushing a good deal, said he wanted to take a small farm on the estate which was vacant; what could he have it for?

"I suppose you are going to get married, and settle in. life?" said David, smiling.

Yes he was; he had as good a girl for his wife as ever knitted a pair of stockings; she could milk, she could sing, she could make puddings, she always went to church, and last Sunday was the third time of asking." David looked at the youth-for he was little more-with kindly sympathy beaming in his eyes.

"What money have you got ?" he asked, presently.

So much; he had been very saving, and so had Sarah been; he knew farming very well, and would be sure to get on; of that there was no doubt.

"Now look here, Evan; I know you very well; and if I

nadn't a conscience within me I should let you this farm at once; but if I did let it you it would bring you and your Sarah to beggary in less than two years-take my word for that. You have not the means to make the land yield half the rent; it is about the worst farm on the estate. Give up all thought about it, my lad, and don't marry until you see a better prospect of a livelihood before you than that which the farm you want to take presents."

On the second occasion a poor careworn woman, with a child in her arms, came into the room. She was in great distress, and was weeping bitterly.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Rowlands ?" said David, soothingly. Here, take this chair by the fire, and let me see whether I haven't a cake for baby." The chair was placed, and the cake was found in less time than it takes to tell; but the kindness with which the poor woman was received only caused her tears to flow more copiously.

"Now, what's amiss? let me hear all about it. Is Rowlands any better? How are the children getting on, and how are you ?"

"We have all been very bad, sir; our cow died—my poor husband and the boys were all taken with typhus."

me.

"And you have had to nurse them all?" said David, kindly. "But it is not that," said Mrs. Rowlands, "that troubles

My husband has never missed his rent before, and he is nearly broken-hearted about it; he can't sleep for thinking of it; he can neither eat nor drink what I get for him; and if it hadn't been for some unknown friend that sent him something very nice yesterday" (here David looked very steadily into the fire), "I don't know whether he would have been alive to-day. Don't sell us up, Mr. Delves, and put the poor man and the children on the common."

What David did first was to blow his nose violently, then to go to his desk, and take out two pieces of paper; one was a receipt for the half-year's rent, the other was a crisp, new Bank of England note for ten pounds. "Here," he said, taking the poor woman by the hand, and looking at

her with the utmost compassion, "this will free you from present anxiety, and if you have more trouble, let me know. Not a word of thanks; good morning! I am very, very busy."

66

Busy" as he was, he sat some time before the fire in a most melancholy mood, and not a word could be got out of him. I knew afterwards that this was only one of a hundred acts of kindness that he was accustomed to perform, and that this was the reason why he never became rich, and why Sir Frederick Layton always had his rents regular to the day.

It happened that the baronet, through ill health, had to leave England for two or three years; and the management of his affairs was left to a solicitor more cunning than conscientious. This lawyer took it into his head that Marshland ought to yield a far larger rental annually than it did in David Delves' hand; and he wrote to him to that effect. David replied that he had been many years on the estate, and that, to the best of his judgment, the farmers were paying as much, if not more, than their farms were worth. This brought an angry letter in reply, and David was informed that after one month his services would be no longer required. I think this letter nearly gave Delves his deathblow, coming as it did when he was suffering under the anxiety of having lost more than a thousand pounds, which he had advanced to relieve a friend in distress. He could not possibly meet the bill to which he had, in the kindness which was his chief characteristic, put his hand. It soon became known through all Marshland that David Delves was in trouble; and men, women, and children hasted to see him. He was deeply moved by their gratitude and by their simple presents; Mrs. Rowlands' little boy brought him six new-laid eggs, and told him there would be plenty more at the end of the week. But simple, genuine, grateful kindness had no chance against the law; and in a very few days David, in the days of which we write, was imprisoned for debt. He was slowly wearing his life away under the de

gradation of his position, occasionally receiving visits from his old friends, who never came empty-handed, when Sir Frederick returned to England, and, contrary to his usual custom, went straight to Marshland. In the "oak" room he found, not his faithful steward, but the solicitor to whom he had entrusted the management of his affairs. "Where is Delves?" was his quick and first question.

"Oh, you will hear all about it, Sir Frederick, in a day or two."

"He shall hear it now, you bad, cruel man!" said a voice which made the lawyer start from his seat; and Mrs. Rowlands, with hands clasped together, fell on her knees before the baronet. "Dear Sir Frederick, dear and honoured master, Mr. Delves is in prison, all through helping poor people on. He has paid our rent for us many times when you didn't know it; and this man," pointing with a finger of scorn at the solicitor, "the moment you left the country raised our rents, and at last dismissed one of the best men that ever served a good master, and who did good, hoping for nothing again."

The baronet gave a searching look at the solicitor, and immediately rang the bell. "The best horses out immediately," he said to the attendant; "and you, sir, will be goed enough to leave my house, and get to town any way you can. I have come back well, thank God; but the news I have received to-night has been enough to strike a strong man down." The crestfallen solicitor walked out of the room; but Mrs. Rowlands was still on her knees before the baronet. "Rise up, my good woman; rise up."

66

Oh, master, you will save him if you can-I know you will."

"You shall come and see whether I can or not."

The last time I saw David Delves was in his accustomed seat in the "oak" room; his hair was speckled with grey, but on his face was the look of a man who, having passed through the furnace of affliction, had come out in every sense stronger and more beautiful. He left upon my mind