THE CLERK.

THE Clerk is the merchant in embryo. His position seems an humble and his occupation a thankless one. Drudgery, from early morning till late at night, is his hard destiny. Yet in a few years, if he can but realize it, he is to take his master's place, who, in ordinary chances of trade, will have passed off the stage of business, possibly with a fortune or a competency, but probably through the broad gates of chancery, or, it may be, to occupy the narrow house provided for all the living. One generation of merchants succeeds another as waves follow each other to the shore, break and disappear forever. Few clerks, when they take their place at the desk with all the feelings of consequence that attend the change from a school boy to a young gentleman, are at all aware that, out of every hundred merchants, there are not more than three or four who do not go through bankruptcy or die poor. They little dream, with the vision of wealth and splendor floating before their eyes, of the kind of lottery in which they are engaged, and that their chance for a prize is but about one in thirty.

It is well that they should remain in so blissful a state of ignorance, and that their hopes are not damped or their energies diminished by a full realization of the chances of failure. They may be sure that industry, integrity, activity, prudence and economy are the most certain passports to success, and that where these are present, failure can be no disgrace. It is better that the future should be tinged with the rainbow hues of hope, such as belong to the bright but fleeting season of youth, than that the dark coming of future events should cast their shadows before. Trouble, care and bitter experience come fast enough without being anticipated. It is the buoyancy and confidence of youth that lays up strength to bear the trials and disappointments of age. It is wisely ordained that youth should look only on the bright side of the future, while he presses on, eager and ambitious of distinction or of wealth. He feels, as he should, that his chance is at least as good as that of others, and if failure awaits him in after-life, he will, as years roll over him, have acquired the strength and the philosophy to bear up under his misfortunes with a manly fortitude.

The clerk who has a taste for literature and a desire for improvement, should make himself acquainted with the essays of that true child of genius, the chosen companion of Coleridge and Wordsworth, Charles Lamb. One of the blue-coat boys, a charity

scholar at Christ's Hospital, he became afterwards a clerk in the service of the East India Company, and passed his life amongst figures, price currents, journals and ledgers. His evenings were devoted to the pursuits of literature, and the Essays of Elia will be read with new and increasing delight while the language endures in which they were written. In rich and overflowing humor, a rare and genial humanity, grace and beauty of style, harmless wit, a true spirit of benevolence, and tender regard for human weakness and frailty, the essays of the clerk in the East India house are not surpassed by any similar production of modern literature. They show that the flowers of learning and of poetry can be gathered in the counting-house as well as among the "lakes." We have also a similar example even among the banks of State Street, the home and chosen seat of Mammon.

By the liberality of his employers, Charles Lamb was finally enabled to retire on a small pension, which barely sufficed for his limited wants and the comfort of a beloved sister, the victim of misfortune and the object of his tender solicitude. The visit with this sister to the theatre, when they were both but children, the description of the South Sea House, Mackery End, and Christ's Hospital, are among the most charming of his essays, and should be read by every clerk who would cultivate his taste for litera

ture, and know what has been done by one of his own calling, who never aspired to the dignity and danger which attended the superior position of his employers; who was content to remain as he began,— a clerk,—with no ambition but to shine in the quiet walks of literature and the society of genius kindred to his own.

The clerk of the present day is, in many respects, more fortunate than the clerk of the olden time. He is not called on to perform the drudgery and menial service that was once expected of him. Mercantile libraries are of modern date, as well as Saturday afternoon holidays. He is no longer an apprentice, but stays or goes as may suit his humor or his interest.

Such is the rapid growth of business in this new country, and such are its constant changes, that with us the clerk of to-day is the merchant of to-morrow. We have not seen him for a year. He has grown and almost outgrown our remembrance of him. We inquire about his employers. He informs us, with a visible air of self-satisfaction, that he has set up for himself. He is not of age, to be sure, but then he had a good chance to go into business, and thought he had better embrace it. He is doing first rate. He means, by-and-by, to enlarge his establishment, and show them how the thing can be done up in good shape. He means to go ahead and no mistake. It