gold was at last coming from its hiding-place, in order to see the light of day. Fred's gold rings and gold-headed cane, indeed, had the effect of confirming all who saw them in the great wealth of his father. It was not every one who could afford to purchase such things for their sons, and there was no doubt old Mr. Sherbourne could buy many, many thousand gold rings, and many, many thousand gold-headed canes, for his son, if he thought proper. He possessed untold

wealth.

With many of my youthful companions, after Fred Sherbourne began thus to display his gentlemanship, he became the object of envy. Often have I heard them wish that their parents were able to purchase such things for them, and that they had been born under such a lucky planet. On these occasions I never failed to show them the foolishness of their wishes, and to assure them that they had it in their power to be equally as happy as Fred Sherbourne. "For my own part," I would say, "he is rather the object of my pity than my envy. If he should have the money he expects is in store for him, I much question whether he will not squander a large portion of it away; and if he should not have it, depend upon it, he will feel grievously disappointed. In either case I pity him."

Time discloses all things. One morning, as I was walking down the village, the heavy tolling of the bell fell on my ears, and on inquiring who it was for, I was informed it was for old Mr. Sherbourne, My informant remarked that how

ever wealthy he might have been, he could not arrest the arm of death. He added, "I dare say we shall now see some fine doings. Master Frederick will no doubt leave his cottage and take a fine mansion. The old gentleman's money will no doubt come forth from its hiding-place." I simply remarked in reply, that "Time discloses all things."

It was a few days after the death of old Mr. Sherbourne that time disclosed the fact of his not being so rich as he was reported to be. On calling upon my old companion Fred to condole with him on the loss of his parent, I perceived that there was sorrow on his brow for something more than for the loss of his parent. Indeed, when I uttered a few sentences of condolence on his loss, he scarcely seemed to notice them. No, no; that was not all that he sorrowed for. He probably felt the death of his parent, but he soon disclosed the secret that he had other cause for grief. Having expressed my hope that his expectations had been realised, Fred uttered a deep sigh, and replied that as to the matter of money, he could not say that they were: he expected to have had twenty times more than was left to him. Where his father's wealth was gone to, he could not say; but he certainly was not so rich as might have been expected, and as had been been reported.

In order to soothe the sorrows of my old friend, I suggested to him, that if he was not so rich as he had expected, there could be no doubt but sufficient was left him to enable him to live in

the same style, if not in a superior style, to his deceased parent.

"That may be," Fred interrupted; "but you, and all my companions, know how I intended to live when I came into my fortune. I dare say I shall be taunted by many of them, although I feel that you will not act thus towards me. However, I may yet show that I can live as I intended. Money, you know, gets money; and my mind is made up to leave this cottage and go to London, where I may use what I have to advantage. I am my own master now, at all events, and if there is any possibility of becoming rich, I will be so in a few years. You may yet see me drive through our village in a carriage, instead of the old chaise now in the stable."

It was in vain that I endeavoured to change Fred Sherbourne's views, and to press upon him the lesson of contentment. His mind was made up; he would employ the few thousands left him in getting more, so that he might live in the style he desired. In a few weeks, indeed, all the goods and chattels of Rose Cottage were disposed of by auction, and Fred took his departure for London. As he shook me by the hand for the last time, I ventured to whisper into his ear this advice: "Whatever you embark in, Fred, be careful; if you do not act prudently, you may lose the wealth which God has bestowed upon you, instead of adding thereto."

Fred Sherbourne promised to act upon my advice. "Depend upon it," he said, "I will be careful; and you may rest assured of one day seeing me again as I wish to be seen." He pro

mised to write to let me know how he succeeded, but week after week, and month after month passed away, and nothing was heard of him. I often thought of him, and wondered that he did not write. Sometimes I concluded that he was getting so wealthy that he had forgotten his old companions, and at others I would fancy that his expectations had again been disappointed, and that therefore he was ashamed to write. My old companions, who had mostly left the vicinity in which we had been brought up together, used frequently to inquire by letter whether I had seen or heard any thing of "Frederick Sherbourne, Esquire," and whether I had had "the honour of riding with him in his carriage and four." As for themselves, they informed me that they could hear nothing of him: he was too great a man to let them discover him. At length, however, one of them, who resided in London, wrote to me thus:

"My dear Friend,

"On reading the list of bankrupts, the other day, I saw this announcement: "Sherbourne, Frederick, Leadenhall Street, merchant, to surrender October 19th, November 23. Solicitor, Mr. Harper, Old Jewry; official assignee, Mr. Grant, Coleman Street.' 'Can this be my old companion, Fred Sherbourne?' I thought to myself; and on conceiving the thought that it might be him, I immediately sallied out with the view of ascertaining. And, would you believe it? I found that it was our old companion, and that he has not only spent all his money, but is

also so much in debt that his creditors will not receive, at the most, more than the eighth part of their dues. I am sorry for our old friend, though he did sometimes despise us when he was in the expectation of his great wealth, as he used to call it. As for you, I know you will commiserate him, and seek to find out the garret to which he may have retreated. I cannot go so far as this, but if you should call upon me at any time for something to assist him, you will find both my heart and my pocket open.

"I am, my dear Friend,

"Yours faithfully,

"ARTHUR WARREN."

"And so my worst fears are realised in reference to Fred Sherbourne's riches," I ejaculated, as I laid down this letter. "He had better have been bred up to the profession his parent desired, for then he might yet possibly recover his reputation. As it is, I fear it is gone for ever: few of his old companions could relieve him to any great extent, and if they could, it would scarcely be wise. If he has run through thousands, it would not be very difficult for him to get rid of a few hundreds more. All that can be done is to assist him to some light employment, which he may be capable of undertaking; but this, I fear, will ill accord with his former notions. He may even despise such assistance."

Fred Sherbourne's pride, however, was humbled. One of his old companions, on being written to, obtained him a situation in a countinghouse, where he now labours for a livelihood,