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life. No answer was returned by Cousin John, and his restlessness still increased; he was evidently uneasy at something, but at what I was ignorant. I had not, however, to remain in ignorance long. It was one of Cousin John's boon companions with him, and he expressed a desire, as old friends had thus accidentally met, to adjourn to an adjoining tavern, where old friendships might be renewed, “according to the ancient and good old English custom,” over the convivial glass. Cousin John's face blushed crimson as he spoke, while mine lengthened in point of gravity to twice its usual dimensions. I saw into what company I had fallen, and hesitated for a moment whether I should bid my Cousin John adieu without saying another word, or whether I should administer reproof to them both. At length, I thought it might be the last time I might have an opportunity of doing him good, and therefore I resolved to reprove them, without at the same time giving offence. obliged to your friend, Cousin John," I remarked,

“ for the invitation he has given me; but you know it is not my custom to spend my hours at the tavern. Friendship does not consist in drinking one another's health, or in convivial mirth. I grant that the maxims and the practices of the world are in favour of your friend's views ; but, my dear Cousin, we should not be swayed by the usages of the multitude. The mere companion, indeed, is not a friend. A conformity of taste for pleasures may exist without any thing like true friendship. Nay, the table companion who, while he holds his glass,

- I am

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seems to glow with such cordial friendship, may even, after all, if trusted with your secrets, deceive and ruin you. This has happened in many circles from time immemorial, and if you should experience such treatment, you may perhaps complain that you have been betrayed by a friend. Others have done so before you ; but know this, Cousin John, if ever you should thus be betrayed, it will not be by a true friend, but only by a man that has frequently ate and drank with you, and joined in the same diversions. No; friendship does not depend upon the appetite or the passions. If any form an intimacy merely for what they can gain by it, this is not friendship : it must be free from any such selfish view, and only design mutual benefit as each may require. The ancients had an excellent emblem whereby they used to express a true and sincere friendship. They pictured it in the shape of a young man, very fair, bareheaded, and but meanly dressed. On the outside of his garment was written vivere et mori, “to live and to die,' and on his forehead æstate et hyeme, 'in summer and winter.'

His breast was so open that his heart might be seen, and with his finger he pointed to his heart, where was written prope longe, far and near.

Now, any person of common sense may easily perceive how well this emblematical figure points out the real nature of friendship. It must exist in the inmost recesses of the heart to be sincere. And such a friendship, Cousin John, is that which I formed for you in early life, and such a friendship for you I still entertain, although you choose companions 66 who

rather than friends, although you prefer strangers to your own kindred. It is painful to me to see you in the company of those who seek your friendship for their own gain. The first necessary property in friendship is, that it should be wholly disinterested.

* The man that hails you Tom or Jack,
And proves by thumps upon your back,

How he esteems your merit;
Is such a friend that one had need,
Be very much his friend indeed

To pardon or to bear it.'"- COWPER, “Why, Jack,” said my cousin's companion, às I ceased, with an air of ineffable scorn, have you got here? Some Methodist parson or another, I dare say!” It was evident that I should have had no small degree of abuse heaped on my head had not my Cousin John, blushing still deeper than before, wished me “good morning,” and led him away. As they paced down the street, arm in arm, I watched my Cousin with anxious gaze, and the memory of the past rushed into my mind. I thought of those days when we used to meet in guileless friendship, happy in each other's company.

« But he is lost to me now,” I said to myself; “the applauses of boisterous and hollow-hearted companions suit his taste better than the plain-speaking of sincere friendship. I fear, indeed, that Uncle John's money

prove his ruin. Had he been compelled to work for his bread he might have been virtuous, and being virtuous he would have been happy. It has been well said, that

will

• When vice and virtue shall woo
'Tis hard to say which way 't will go.'

- WITHER.

Whatever hopes I might have entertained of Cousin John's reformation, they have now vanished. Vice has evidently triumphed: may he see his error before it is too late!

It is now many years ago since I thus met with Cousin John; but I have occasionally heard of him, and he is still the same gay and thoughtless being as he was. Time flies unheeded by him, and unless his career is arrested by an Unseen Power, I fear the silver hairs of old age will fall over his brow before he thinks of the notable fact that earth is not the rest of man. Then it may

be too late for reflection! “When in the sweet and pleasant month of May

We see both leaves and blossoms on the tree, And view the meadows in their best array,

We hopeful are a joyful spring to see:
Yet oft before the following night be past

It chanceth that a vapour or a frost
Doth all those forward blossoms wholly waste,

And then their sweetness and their beauty's lost.
Such is the state of every mortal wight;

In youth our glories and our lusts we shew, We fill ourselves with ev'ry vain delight,

And will not think on that which may ensue. But let us learn to heed as well as know,

That spring doth pass; that summer steals away ; And that the flower which makes the fairest shew, Ere many weeks must wither and decay." WITHER.

CHAP. III.

A LETTER FROM MY OLD FRIEND GERVASE. RELATES THE DEATH OF

MY COMPANION WILLIAM GERVASE. WILLIAM'S CAARACTER, -CAUTION NECESSARY IN MAKING FRIENDS. - COWPER'S REMARKS ON A PUBLIC EDICATION. WILLIAM GERVASE, AN EXAMPLE OF ITS PAILURE IN PRODUCING HIGH MORAL CHARACTER. ACAANGE AT LEB COTTAGE, ALLUSION TO THE CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH LED TO THE DEATH OF WILLIAM GERVASE. MY OLD FRIEND GERVASB AS HE NOW 18.

“Leaves have their time to fall;
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath;

And stars to set; but all
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

Day is for mortal care ;
Eve for glad tidings round the joyous hearth;

Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer ;
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth.

“ The banquet hath its hour,
Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine;

There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears, but all are thine.

“ Youth and the opening rose
May look like things too glorious for decay,

And smile at thee,- but thou art not of those
That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey.

“Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath ;

And stars to set ; but all -
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death !"-HEMANS.

AND so the sun-like face of my old friend Gervase has at length a dark cloud passing over it. I have seen him smile at the caprices of fortune; I have seen him laugh at the shafts of malice aimed at his heart; yet, after all, he is not proof against sorrow. But who would not grieve for the loss of a son, of an only son, albeit, that

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