full hour, neither speaking a word. As we took our departure I remarked," May we, my dear Charles, live as he lived, and die as he died, and then we shall meet him again in heaven!"

The heart of Charles was almost too full to speak; but he pressed my hand with emotion, and exclaimed, "God grant that I may so live

and die!"

CHAP. II.

MY COUSIN JOHN.-MY RECEPTION AT UNCLE JOHN'S.-SNOW-BALLING MOTHER MARPET'S DOOR. MOTHER MARPET'S REVENGE.

COUSIN

JOHN'S WAYWARDNESS.REMONSTRANCE FRUITLESS. UNCLE JOHN'S GRIEF AT HIS CONDUCT. — UNCLE JOHN'S PREDICTION CONCERNING MYSELF. HIS DEATH, AND ITS EFFECTS UPON COUSIN JOHN. — RUPTURED FRIENDSHIP.—OUR LAST MEETING, AND THOUGHTS ON FRIENDSHIP. CONCLUDING REMARKS.

"On his journey youth doth start,
Strong of limb and stout of heart,
And he thinketh life must be

An unbroken jubilee.

He doth find full proof of this
In the summer's frolic bliss,

And from roughest winter weather
Strong conviction he doth gather;
And the world with ample store
Of its fair false smiling lore
Doth convince him more and more.
So he singeth- Oh that thou,
Merry life, wouldst last for ever!
Oh that strength was given me now
To enchain Time's rushing river,
Bind it fast from shore to shore,

For evermore, for evermore!""-WESTWOOD.

AMONG the various companions of my youth, perhaps no one was dearer to me than Cousin John. Not that our dispositions were in unison, or that our pursuits harmonized; on the contrary, our dispositions were wholly dissimilar, and our pursuits were at variance; but then he was my Cousin John, and with all his faults I loved him still.

From our earliest infancy, it was the custom of the parents of myself and Cousin John to cause us to meet at least three or four times in the year;

and very pleasant days have I spent at Uncle John's. In my earliest years, indeed, no treat was looked upon by me as equal to that of a visit to his hospitable roof: "Coachy" never drove his horses fast enough as I travelled thither, although he would sometimes make them go at the top of their speed.

I fancy I see Uncle John now before me. It was his custom to sit at his ease half the day long in a great arm-chair, twirling his thumbs round each other, and talking to whoever might be in his parlour. A specimen of his good old English manners may be seen in the way he usually addressed me when I went to pay him a visit. "Well, Ned, my boy," he would say, "I am glad to see thee again. I have many nephews and nieces, but none are so welcome as thou art. Cousin John will be glad to see thee again; perhaps more glad than I am. And how long art thou going to stop, my boy? But I will not ask thee; stop as long as thou likest, and when thou returnest come back as soon as thou pleasest. Thou art always welcome to my table."

Being once again seated in Uncle John's parlour, it was not long before Cousin John and myself engaged in amusements to wile away our hours. Or, if it was summer, we would leave the presence of Uncle John in order to gambol about the lawn free from all care of offending the gravity of age. But though I used to enter into any games proposed or adopted with great delight, yet I was myself generally under the restraint of Cousin John. I dared not do as I pleased altogegether, lest I should offend him. The fact is,

cousin John being an only son, was a spoiled boy, and whether in the presence of his parents, or out of it, he would have his own way. At school, and by many of my youthful companions, I was looked up to as a species of mentor; but with Cousin John I was obliged to take a subordinate part. He must play at what he pleased, when he pleased, and how long he pleased; I was but a cipher. At this, however, I never complained: "it is not worth while," I sometimes thought, "to contradict him, it will only cause both him and myself unhappiness." I recollect on one occasion Charles Murphy was visiting me at the same time as Cousin John, and I shall never forget the look of curiosity with which he eyed myself and cousin as the latter was playing off his hectorship upon me; it seemed to him quite a wonder that " a philosopher" should succumb to a self-willed boy. He took the first opportunity, indeed, of drawing me aside to express his surprise that I should submit so readily to one whom he was pleased to say was so far inferior to myself.

"All this may be true, my dear Charles," I replied, "and I may do wrong in always giving way to Cousin John. At the same time, let me assure you that my compliance with his wishes has been a source of mutual happiness. Often should we have quarrelled, had I been in the habit of contradicting him, or of urging my wishes in contradiction to his own. There is an anecdote which relates that two gentlemen were riding together, one of whom, who was very choleric, happened to be on a very high-mettled horse. The horse

grew a little troublesome, at which the rider became very angry, and whipped and spurred him with great fury. The horse, almost as wrongheaded as his master, returned his treatment with kicking and plunging. The companion, concerned for the danger, and ashamed at the folly of his friend, said to him, coolly, 'Be quiet, and show yourself the wiser creature of the two.' Depend upon it, Charles, it is our wisdom to give way to our companions and friends, otherwise we might continually be in trouble. By contradicting Cousin John I should soon lash him into fury. I have seen others do this, and I am careful to avoid making him sin. Besides, I sometimes think that, by my uniformly giving way to him, he will one day be convinced that he should sometimes give way to me. But howsoever this may be, I am sure that nothing would be gained by contradicting him. No, no; I should not have been friends with Cousin John so long, and we should not have loved each other so well, if I had not submitted to his will."

"All this may be very well," rejoined Charles; "but I do not see why a superior in sense should give way to an inferior."

66

Hush, Charles," I replied hastily, "if you do see such a scene before you now, it will not be the last your eyes will witness as you pass through life. It is not sense or intellect that makes the man in the estimation of the world, but money."

But although I usually submitted to Cousin John, it was only in that which was lawful and proper. He was of a frolicsome nature, and had I listened to him he would have often drawn me