This latter was, to say the least of it, a tedious operation; I suffered pain in my neck and back, but I had a fair amount of relaxation, and during the whole of that summer I was not bound down very closely to the trade, and had become somewhat acquainted with the young people of that locality, by which I was cheered. One of my acquaintances was a young man, apprenticed to William Pidgeon, named John Scarlett. That young man was a vessel of mercy, soon to be gathered home to the heavenly garner. He was my guide, philosopher, and friend. “We took sweet counsel together, and walked to the House of God” in company. He sought, and obtained, instruction from the best source, and in turn I myself received much valuable instruction from him. The first Christmas arrived. During my apprenticeship I was permitted to go to Laxfield, and see my parents. I had not forgotten the promise as to the Christmas-box, so I called on Mr. Lenny, and reminded him of what I had not forgotten at this happy season. I was invited to sit down to table with his people, and have a bowl of good firmity. While I was enjoying the comfortable meal, Mr. L. came into the room, and asked me if I thought I could ride a pony to Laxfield. I was happy to answer in the affirmative. Orders were given, the pony was brought out, and doubly glad was I to go and see my parents, and also to be furnished with a horse to ride; but I was to leave it with Mr. Alling, the gentleman who had been successful in preserving my eyesight, as before stated. I delivered up my charge, with a letter of instructions from the sender. I knew that Mr. Lenny’s eldest son was living with Mr. Alling, and most likely the pony was for his son’s use. However, I had performed my engagement safely. My short Christmas holiday soon came to an end, and, taking leave of my parents, I was now, for the first time, on foot, to measure the whole length of that dreary road that intervened between the past and the future—the past I was somewhat acquainted with, but as to the future, I wondered and pondered, and sped my way onward, sometimes with tardy steps and a heavy heart, but during the evening of that short winter’s day I arrived home. I was under a promise to write to my parents, and inform them if I was once more safe at home. The postage was high at that time, being eightpence for each letter. We had not as yet felt the benefit of Rowland Hill’s cheap postage, although we had the benefit of “Rowland Hill’s Village Dialogues”—these are good and profitable. I passed through my first winter pretty comfortable, now and then being sent out with the pony, and sometimes with the cart, which pleased me very well, as I so enjoyed a trip.