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Mapa. plataa, charta. etc.. mey be Aimed at different reduction ratioa. Thoae too large to be entirely included in one expoeure are filmed beginning in the upper left hend comer, left to right and top to bottom, aa many framee aa required. The following diagrama illuatrate ttie method: Lee cartee, planchaa. tableaux, etc., peuvent ttre filmte i dee taux da rMuction diff(ftrents. Loraque le document eet trap grand pour ttra reproduit en un seul cliche, ii eat fllmA i partir de Tangle 8up4rieur gauche, de gauche A droite. et de haut en baa, an pranant la nombre d'Imagee n^ceaaaira. Lea diagrammea auivanta llluatrent la m^thoda. 12 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 I If i y\.i f '> '/'V MY OWN ST OR Y^ ' -»-♦•♦ -4- A OA^]SrA.DIA.lSr CHRISTMAS TALE. By GRODENK. " J TORONTO: A. S* IRVING, Wholesale Agent for the Dominion. 1861). ,/7 //^ /t-u'c^^^ ^^: _Z^. i Entered according to Act of the Pai'liament of Canada, in the year One Thousand Eiglit Hundred and Sixty-nine, by Johk Ross Robbrtso.v, and Jamb.s B. Cook, m the Office of the Minister of Agriculture. ■• \ ■ »1w TO THE READER. The story that I toll in the following pages ia one of Canadian every day life. It contains nothing sensational— nothin^r excitinw— but IS true to the letter. If it instructs or amuses I shall be satisfied. I am aware that in publishing this story I shall encounter much ci-iticism, and perhaps some rebuke; for the Canadian who enters on the field of literature has many obstacles to overcome. All I ask is "nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice." I am willing to face public judgment, in the hope that my small effort may be successful, and may help to induce other Canadians to follow in my footsteps, and assist in building up a literature of our own, more healthy in its tone, and less injurious to the young readers of our country than the great bulk of the novels annually imported from other lands. Toronto, December, 1801). Thk Authoe. ">^ pi C N T E N T 8 CHAPTER _ /.--First Ai.i.oam..co on any Stage ''^"? ''• — t^liiuigcH and TruublcH ... L III.— (ifn.— Mescrs. Hardy and Adam.s [". 4/, II Xlir.—Sinswick Cottage JT, .! ^X'~''^" *^''^ Friend'in 11 New (Jharacter.'.'.' a^ <| XV.— Our Dinner Party t^. u XVr.— Re-appearanconf Mr. Meeker... '..".".■.■.' .'■".' r^ XVII.-Tho iJachelors' Hall ^7 XVIII.—Sunshino and Shadow.... ri II XTX.— Becau,so Ho was Wild '..'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'. 04 ^^^■■"•^'u'^ Donlo vey'8 Defence, and what canio' of " it" ".'.".' 07 XXII.. -Florence Jarvis .. Li II xxiii.-Love ;,■;.•:.■;;;; i,^ XXIV.— Richard Donlevev, iii.b. oi XXV .-Gasher's Grief...;.... ^1 II xxvi.-EUen Montcriotf ::;:: ^* '• v^^Tf!-""^'''' ^i'"* "/ *'^° ^^""•■'« ''^ •^•'^'"by &Jubb .■.■.■::.■::.■;;: »6 -^-^\.Hi- — Gn.s. C.ardcner no u '^^'' '~S'^* "' •"" ^^^'^ "^yorU once' nVore '.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'. qa ^^X--Mary Meeker makes a Change on < < x^Vv^^f •"?.'"', ^"h^ «l'.""ldcr i,t Dorley House 102 " XXmCsebl " ^'''""^^^''-<-'''^«*">g tlie Die .'.'.■.■.■.■.".■■.',■.■.■.■.■ 105 II xVxiv;-ALmg the Euckies ::::;::: ;?? " XXXV.-The Interview ;" u ^^JJ^Vr—'^^''' Donievey Reunion.:.':;.':::::;.:: Jn " XXXVII.-The Sleighing Party "A I xxxviii.-Tho Advice of Love :::::: }?? .! XXXIX.-mat Ellen Moncrieff's Note's'aid::. ;:;:;;; 126 ^^^■"P''^ ^*^^ "^ Gaslier's Nurse 1 oq XL).— Revelations ;i^ it Arrrr t x i los •« V r Ttt •— ]^'^«t -^rPearance of Richard AVinstanley 105 AL/lll. — Death ,'„ XLIV.-Florence Explains. ..:::::: S XLV.-Conclusiun . jff 144 ■f PRINTEU IIY llOBKr.TSON & ("OOK, r>AU.V TlU.KdHAPH PUBLlSIUNIi H')U.^I',, BAY STKI;KT, TOHOXTO, ONI'. } t MY OWN STORY. (ilAI'TKll I. VIRNT AITKARA.MV. oX ANY STAi^K. "A loiiiarkiibly fine (;!iilf nil work. ".Just like all tlio l)alii(:« tvcr 1 hoc; though ho nniy bo nnoitniinon liandsonio Monio day when ho'n bigyer,"' s.iid a young man in hoino-fliiun. Dear reader, thefio exiirossions wcro made use of many years ago. 1 was jire- Bent at the time, but my mental facultie.s were linrdly Hutllciently deveIo[)ed to nn- dorstand their imimrt, or appreciate the compliments they contained. Jn the nords of the head of the chapter, it was the occasion of "mytirst a[ipcari',nce im any stage," I was the "rtno child," the "pretty baby," and the "dai ling littlo duck." I was very young at the time, ((uito a youth I might Ha^', inasiuuch as my hour.s had not nu)ubercd as many us mv years now do. All unconseiouB of Hie remarks that were being made on my jierBonal appear- ance, I hay in the nur.^e'n arm?, v.rapped up very comfortably, I. have no (htulit, and performing a series of gymmi.sticii, a.s Polly Ann has often informed me, (juite remarkable in one of my tender hours, and youthftd ajjpearance. My lungs were in gfK)d order, even at that early day, and in the most intelligible manner I coidd conceive I attempted to make myself heard and understood. That 1 was heard, nas under- stood admits of many doubts. My voca- hularly was exceedingly limited, but, thougli my gestures were numerous, and 1 believe very ajipropriate, my rcinuirks wore only faintly appreciated. This J have always regretted, because, lieing a polite, though bashful individual, I feel convinced that, at the time referred to, 1 was en- deavoring by use of the very limited means at my disposal, to thank the company, from the Doctor down, for the Hatte" ing notice they took of me, and the kind re- marks tliey were pleased to pasH upon my appearance. Since then, however, I havo thanked them all many tim(>8, and perlmpn that will nuike ni) fur my ai>paront want of politeness at tlio jieriod mentioned. As I said, this occurred very many years ago, the exact tinm I need not specify. My countrj-, like myself, was in its infancy. The grand old forests, which now are nearly gone, then bordered all oiu" lakes and rivers. The hunter set Ids traps, and trailed tho wood*, where now the peaceful farm houso stands. The red man, "native and to tho manor born," was gazing in mute astonishment at tho , incoming shoals of his pale face brethren, before whom ho was slowly retiring to I other wilds. C'lusteni of rude cottages ' hero and fhcro dottod tho land, whero ; now nourishing towns and busy cities are. Steamboats had Tiot ploughed our waters; '• loc(miotives had not rattled over our country ; the hum of machinery had not t disturbed tho uid)roken fiolitndo of een- I turies ; great marts of trade had not ' sprung up ; nor liad education found tho I hold in the land which now it happily hold.'^. (,'ivilization was only coming in, or at Iciist had made but little headway in ; tho tlien "far west," where 1 first saw tho I light of day. It was murching on, how- ! ever, over the lake nnd over tho river ; : over tho moor-land and over tho forest, ■ and before it were retiring, slowly, sullenly I and silently, the red man of the native I wihls, and all tlu! barbaric customs which ! for centuries had been his. Onward it was moving, ever westwaixl — westward — I westward — over every ol)staclo, tlirough every opposition, across every barrier. 1 Nothing could stop it; nothing eoulil stay lit; nothing could ched; it. "(Jod said, I Lf( tlu'ir be Jiijht, and fhrrc i'V(.» llijhi." \ In tho western part of (ianada, wiiere j is now a splendid country, rich in .agri- 1 cultiiro and manufactiu'es, I was born. I My father was, or rather had been, an j olticcr in the British army. For one ! oecui)ying that position he was poor, being ; the younger son of a large family, and I having little more than his i)ay to live on. ' He succeeded in di.stingui8hing himself, however, somewhat, in Indip, and when on the shady side of forty gained Ixis MY OWN STORY. majoiity. IlcturniiiK homo uliortly after- wanU with hia rrgiimmt, lio iiiiinied, retirfd .)ri half i>ay, (iiul having received a grant of land froiii tho Hovoniineiit in tlio tlioii wiltU of WoHtern (Canada, hii K'ft hotiio and friends, crosHed tlio Atlantic, and took iiit liis roHideiice in tho " vast wildornusH, as it indeed wiw. A few other half-i>ay oflicorH, with thoir faniilien, accompanied him, an :i1ho n number of mcchanicrt and farm lahorerH, and thun they established a little cne. My mother, as well as I can remember I lior, WAK good, kind, h>ving and confiding, I hioking up to her husband and tnisting I in him with that rolianco aiul conlidonco I very froipiently founy 111! —my fatlior took ])rido in me ; my di.:>ir mother doivtod on mo ; Polly Ann wor.shippod nio ; whilo tin- youn.!,' mun in homt'.s]iiin did, and ho shall bless you. Honor thy mother. He loyal to thy kin({ and country. My so doinij thou sh.'ilt win tho favor of thy Heavenly Father, and tho lovo and respect of men. Kiss nio a;][ain, my darling boy. There, there, good-byo, <«od bless you, (iod blosii you." These wore the last words I over hoard from my poor father's lips. I was car- ried from tho room, sobhing and cryin({ bitterly. Polly, tho dear girl, tried to comfort me, but hor ellbrts were very weak. The big tears rolled down hor honest cheeks oven wliile sho was kissing mo and telling mo that I should not weep. Next morning I had no father. In tho following three days the house was dismal and i|uiet, and miserable. 1 can remem- ber wliat a mysterious fooling of awe the unusual stillness had upon me. I know that I had sustained a heavy loss, but I I was not old enough to feel its full weight, ami the most of what grief I did experi- ence was lightened by the wonder I felt at the strangeness of the circumstances by which 1 was surrounded. Then came the funeral, with its long procession of mourning friends ; tho tlreadful looking hearse, with its bhvck, nodding plumes ; the clergyman, with his I robes, looking so much like a ghost as ho { movcfore ten o'clock the happy party was dispersed, and I went to kiss my mother good-night, after seeing the last of my young guests away. She was seated in the drawing-room ahnio, and the moment I appro.iched her she clasped mo in her arms with more fervednoss than usual, and kissed me warmly. It brought 'oack to my mind tliat sad day when at the bed side of my dving father, she had embraced me thus; and now. as then, f felt her warm tears on my cheek as I pressed my lips to hers. "My darling, d.irling boy," she ex- claimed, as she strained me to her breast in a long, loving embrace. As her tears touched my cheek, I drew back my head and looking up at her said, "Mamma, are you very happy to night?" "Yes, darling," she answered, looking astonished at my question. "I am ever happy with j'ou, but especially so to-night, for this the anniversary of the day on which (r was locked I kicked against it furiously, and the whole house resounded with tho noise I made. 1 had given vent to my feelings in this way for about ten minutes when the df)or was opened and Mr. Winstanley entered. Without speaking, he seized me firmly — drew a largo strap from his pocket, and inHictod upon me a most unmerciful beat- ing. My wild screams brought my mother and Polly to my assistance, and by them I was rescued from tlie grasp of the infuri- ated man. This was the first beating [ ever received, and as I lay in my bed that night, sick and sore, I made up my mind tliat it was tho last Mr. Winstanley would ever inflict upon me. A few days later I was told that my mother and Mr. Winstanley wished to see me in the library. On entering the room I found him sitting at a desk with an open letter in his hand, while m;' mother was standing at the window, looking out upon the lawn. She did not look around as I entered ; and though she was in such a position that I could not see her face, I felt sure that she was, or had recently been weeping. "Well, sir," Mr. Winstanley said, as I approached liim, "have you succeeded in recovering that amiable temper of yours yet ?" "I did not know that 1 had lost it," I answered. "Perhaps not," he said. "Youths possessing such a temper as you l\;ive sel- dom know Avlien they are in the wrong, and still more seldom acknowledge it." "Wlien I am in the wrong, sir," I boldly answered, " I am free to confess it ; but so long as I know that I am right, I shall not submit, if I can avoid it, to any punishment." " It is wonderful that you should (pialify your language in such a way," he said with a sneer. "My training of you is already producing good results, it seems." "Tlie very opposite, IMr. Winstanley, is the ti-uth," I said. " You know, .ind my mother knows, that before you assu- med authority in this house no one had reason to complain of mj' temper. I do not suppose that I am any better than other boys of my age ; but, at least, no one ever dared to chastise mo but you." "Exactly," he added "no one darod to chastise you because there was no one in rw 14 MY OWN STORY. the house who had tho courago to do ao, Tho rod was apiired luid tlio cliild Hi)uilt. In after life Master Harry Hardy, you will thank nic for what I liavo done." " Do notdeouivo yourself with any such imi>ression," I answered, " I am old en(jnyh to know right from wrontj. 1 know when I should bo punished and ■\vhcii I Buould not. When I am dcserv- iui^ of chastisement let it he inflicted \ipon me ; but when my lieart tells me that 1 am iin.ocont, I will not tamely submit to tlie cruelty of you or any one else." '•«.)!i, indeed." " And more tlian that, air," I continued, warming as I siwko, " whether I am deserving of it or not, you has'c no right nor authority to punish nie. You may usurp such authority, as you did the other day, and though 1 must submit, itiabe- caiLse of my weakness smd not because I recognize your right." '■ i'ou grow eloc^uent for one of your years," ho snecringly said. '' i am old enough to fjpoak my mind," I answered, "and to raise my voice against vhat 1 feel to bo oppres.sion aiul wrong." " Do you nioan by that, sir, that I have wronged you i" he asked in an angiy tone. " Yea, I do,"l replied boldly, for in the prssenoe of my mother, 1 felt that I had a safeguard. " In what way ?" he a.-ikcd. " In many ways, but especially in beat- ing me the other day when I did nut de- serve it." '"You did deserve it, and richly, too." ''I did not; and had I received that inuii.shment from my father, let alone from one who usurps hia position, 1 woidd Lave said that it was wrong." "Ho looked at me fiercely, a:ul for a moaiont 1 thought he was going to strike jne. If such were his intention, however, he restrained himself, and turning to my mother, said — "Perhaps this will convince you, Amelia, of the truth of my words » What do yon think can bo the temper of a boy who speaks in such language to one occupying iu;> tiosition /" ** Harry," iny mother said, very mildly, "you slioidd not speak in such a manner. Don't you know that it is very wrong "' "I do not know that it is wrong, mother," I answered, "I was beaten arid abused without cause; and, a'3 you have yourself taught me, even the poor, creep- ing worm will turn if you tread upon it." ' ' xVnd who, sir, in this house has wrong- ed you!" Mr. Winstanloy asked, in a tone of su]ipressed rage. ' ' You have, and no one knows it better than yourself," I replied. '• Take care how you trifle with mc," he said, with a threatening shake of hia hand. "Do not think you can impose on mc because your mother hapiicns to be present." " I was not so foolish," I answered with provoking calmness, "as to think that even tho i)resonco of a mother would jjrovcnt you from abusing her son." Ho sprang up (piickly, a.s if li-) were going to strike mo, but in an instant my motiier was at Ids side restraining him. "Richard, llichard," she cried, with tears in her eyos. "for God's sake— for my sake — do not lay your hand upon liim." " How am I to stand such consummate impudence," he exclaimed, "if I du not punish him as he deserves?" "Ho may deserve it, Richard," she aaid, " but spare him for mo." "Ho has been too long spared," he answered, "and that is why he has the hardihood to use such language to mc." "Ho is but a boy, my husband," she mildly said, "and does not know thj full meainng of what he saya." "Young as he is, ho has villainy enough in him for a dozen," ho said, looking iiercely towards me. " But for my sake, Richard, you must ftirgive him." "Thi'i onco I will," he rejdied doggedly, "but let him bear in mind, that if ho again provokes me, not even yiuir presence or your interference will save him from a just puni.shment." ' ' I will answer for him, that ho will not again give you cause to be aiigry witii )iim. Will you, my boy," she asked, turning to me. "I have not said anything for whicli I should be sorry," I replied, feeling tliat 1 was boing greatly imposed upon. " I have spoken nothing but tho truth, and nothing but wh.at I feel ; but for your sake, mother, I will endeavor to be a little nioro guarded in my language." "There, do you see the rebellious spirit of tho fellow/" Mr. Winstanley asked. "hi the whole province there is not an- other boy who W(mld speak in such a v>-ay." "There is not one who ever had the same reason," I said. '! Harry," my mother said, with more sternness than before, "you must not make such replies. I am responsible for your good behavior, and I aak you again to be more careful in your language." " I ask your pardon, mamma," I meekly said, "and hereafter I will try to saj' nothing that can displease you." "That's right," she answered, "and now listen to what we have to s.ay to you." Tolling me to sit down she returned to the window find seated herself with her back to Mr. Winstanloy and myself. "As you have promised to conduct your- self witli something like propriety," my step-father said after a short silence, "I will endeavor to tell you why you have i ) r i MY OWN STORY. 15 !■' your- ', "I have boon culled ti> this iiitorviow. Your mother and I h:>vo coiiiu to tho conclusion thiit it ia high time you wore sent to some place H'hero you may receive thoso inatructions wliich you do not appear to bo dosii'oua of recoiviii;^ at homo. Wore you like other l)oy:i in your temper and conduct there would bo no iiecesaity for sending you away for this purpose for a year or two yet; but as you will not improve your mind hero, you must t,'o where you will be compelled to do so. Wo have, therefore, decided to send you to the Grammar School, r.t G ." Ho i)au,Hed for a moment, and during tho silence 1 could j)lainly hear the half- aujjpressed sobs of uiy i)oor mother, as she sat at tlie v/iudow with her faco turned away from us. ''At that iiialit\ition," ho continued, "You will have every (jpportunity of im- proving your mind, and of iitting your.'ielf for your po.sition iu life. But let me tell you ouoe for all, tliat while you are there you will have to show less of that vicious temper of yours, if you would avoid a soro back and i)rcsorve a proper standing among your fellows. This i;) all I have to say to you on the subject now. All the necessary preparations for your departure will be made at once, and on ]NI(inday morning next, you will start for ." Without furtlicr remark he arose and loft the room. The moment wo wore alono my mother arose from her seat at the window, and coming to me where I sat nhe clapped me in her arms and kissed me affectionately, while the warm tears fol- lowed each other in silence down her pale cheeks. Then siio talked to nie, long and oarnoatly, indearand kindly terms — speak- ing onl}' as a mother can speak. Her sweet words, and gentle voice alt'ected me deeply, and it was no wonder that my tears were iuingle 1 with her own. She was no party, she said, to sending me away from home. Mr. Winstanle}' desired it, and she could not object, though she had made every effort to induce liim to allow mc to remain in the old house as before. She cheered me, however, with tho consolation that though absent from her, and my homo, I would be improving my mind and prepar- ing myself for wliatever position iu life I might l)c called upon to till. And, then, when the holidays came round — those days so dear to the heart of every school-boy — 1 would come home and be ever so Inippy with her and my old playmates. And thus wo sat, my mother and I, and had a long, long talk. It was pain- ful to think of leaving her from whom I had never been i)artcd, even for a day. Though years liave passed since then, I still remember how sincere wera tho tears I shed, and how very, very sid was my heart. CHAPTER IV. MY DAT.S AT SCHOOL. In those days the town of was one of tho largest and moat important places in tho province. It had long boon settled, ccmtainod considerable wealth, a thrifty population, and prided itself upon its social grades. C , however, wa.^ locally famous as a seat of learning, and therein lay its chief importance. Scluxds, in tlujse times, wero not to be foinid at every man's door, as they hapi)ily now are. Nearly every settlement, it is tnio, had its school-master, who — "Kt^nriMl ttm yDiilliful niiii'l, Anil tauglil till! yoiiii,' idea liow to shoot," in A log hut of modest dimensions and unpretentious appearance. Very little, however, was taught therein but the simple rudiments of our language. Read- ing, writing and arithmetic were tiie three great branches ; and beyond these, many of tho masters themselves would have found much difliculty in proceeding.— Hero and there a teacher was to be found ca- pable of imparting instruction in tho higher branches, and possessing oven a smatter- ing of the cIa.S3ic3 ; but such "learned men" were very scarce. There was little call for them. The people were so taken up with tho work of improving tho land, and clearing tho countrj', that they had very little time to devote to mental im- provement. As soon as a boy was strong enough to wield an axe or hold a jdough, his schooling days were over, and to all intents and purposes he liocame a man. Very freciuently the school-master was a farmer iu a small way, or a tradesman of some kind, who would work at his calling in the summer, and open school iu the winter. From such as these, and in this way, the children of tho early .settlers of Canada received their education. There wero, however, a few really good schools in the Province. Perhaps the chief of these was at C . Its head- master was a man of sound learning — a graduate of an old country University. To this man Canada is deeply indebted in many ways, but especially in the matter of education. Ho was a gentleman of refinement, polish, and sound scholastic attainments ; and yet a strict, and oven hard master, if all the stories which, even to this day are told of him, are true. Why a man of his charaotor and education took up his abode in tho Canada of those days, is a queBtii>:i I will not attempt to answer. His school was nearly as great a feature in the land as would bo a Uni- versity in the North-West Territory to-day. He had a hard struggle of it at first, but by perseverance ami industry ho prospered ; and in tho course of a few years had a large and flourishing school, 10 MY OWN STORY. compoHcd of the suns of the woiiUliier | puoiili; (if the [ii'iiviiico. One chirk, clriz/ly, iiiicoinfiirtahle Tuor- ; day moniiiig, I took my seiit in the coveri-d \ wiigon, whicli did (hity im a stage coauh, ! and Htai-ted for (! . Feehiig lliat it j was not manly to weep in the iireHunoe of \ stranv,a'rs, 1 liriished my tears away, and i tried to forget the heavy sorrow tiiat j ■wiigiiefl npou my lioart. It wast a painful etlort, however, for do wliat 1 would, tlie j sad, palo face of luy motlier woidd rise up , before me, a:id I eould almost feel her last long loving kiss on my lips ; and then ' the tears wouhl force themselves into my eyes, anil 1 would have to liido my face to C(>nceal my sorrow. Hy degrees the ■ novelty of my position wore away my i grief, and the new and strange scenes '; through which I was passing attracted my j curiosity. In looking around the coach, j I found it contained hve passengers hf-Kides mys 'If. At my side there was a man who I BCeined to lie a country sho[ikeeper. In the seat behind me there were a farmer j looking man and his wife, and on the seat in front were a gentleman and a boy about ! my own age. J-ietween the latter and j nij'self sundry masonic glances had jiasaed, | and I Avas on the point of sjieakingto him | when his father addressed me. I "Well, Master Harry," ihe .said, "how| doyoii like your ride this damp morning." ''Not very well, sir," I answered, v/on- dering who he Avas and how he had learned my name. " It certainly is not a pleasant morning for a ride," he added, as ho looked out at j the 'drizzling rain, "though it might be I worse. I met your father, or step-father I should say, as you were getting into the coach this morning, and he requested me to have an eye to you during the journey. 1 am going to G , and thus we will be together all the way, and if I can help you in any manner, it will afford me much i pleasure. " j 1 thanked hiui as be.st I could, and then } ho continued :— I "This is uiy son, Charles Courtly. He is going to .school at C ,and therefore, you and he will bo companions. Charles, '. give your hand to blaster Harry Hardy. The young gentleman extended his hand ; and I shook it shyly. | " And now that you know each other," Mr. Courtley added, " I advise you to ; become friends at once. It will reiiuire all your united efforts to carry you safely through the .school, or things are not in this respect the same here as they are in England. Charley has been at the school before and knows all about it, and in my younger days a friend of that kind Avas alAA'ays a good thing for a noAv boy. Hoav is this matter done at C , Charley ? Docs the now boy, liaA-e a hard time of it?" " Sometime."!, Bir," Charley annwered. " How did you got along duiing your first week '/" " Hadiy enough, sir, "('Inn ley answered with a laugh, " I had to light about half the boys in the school of myoAvii aL;e ; but having been fortunate enotigh to get tlio best of most of them, 1 was not aftei'AVurds interfeied Avith." "You see what is in fitore for ymi, Harry," Mr. Courtly said, turning to me, '• You must bo prepared to stainl up for your rights, or you Avill lose them all, HoAvever, judging from your Avero not his friends. He gave inc much insight into my ap- proaching school-life, and Avhile advising me on this and that point, promised to stivnd by inc in everything ; though, at the same time, he gave me to understand that I Avould have ti> tight my ng my companions. 1 did my best aciordingly, and tho result was that, though I was much cut up and bruised, ^ .;ot the best of Mcuiroo, and was ummimously deelareil Uuf victor. No.vt day, however, my turn came. Dr. IJakor having heard af the fight, and see- ing tiio a|)i)eaiance Munroo and myself cut. invcstigateil iho matter, and, arriving at tho conclusion that I was tho guilty one, punished mo severely. From that tinio I was known as " Meeker's champion," and ', was looked on with fear, if not with respect, j by the otlier boys. 1 s\ittered nnich, both I in bodj' and spirit, but 1 had, at least, the , grat'tication of no l<)ngcr seeing Mr. I iMeekor annoj'cd. Months wen' by, and I I progressed rapidly with my stiulies. Dr. i B.ikor, 1 thought, was unusually severe i with me, and it waj my opinion, as also j that of Charley Cor.rLley, who Avas ao- (piainted with my whole story, that he ; had received special instructions frf>m Mr. ' Wiustanley to treat mo hai-shly. However 1 that nuiy be, I know that 1 was more j frequently punished, and for nun-o trilling causes, than any other boy in the school. I I b(u-e it all well, however, and wpy. That ?ho married him out of pure lovo I am sure, and that she still loTca him 1 am al'so wure; and thoro- foro, his coldneas is all tho more pninf'.d to her. If sho did not love him she would not care for his iinkiudnoss." " And how dues he f;)iow his eoldnes.s," I asked. " In a Inindrod ways. lie is a biid- teniperod, ijassiiniato man, and is continu- ally finding fault with lier and every ono else. Ifo seolds her and talks crossly to her for no reason in tho wnrld ; and she, meek darling that she is, bears all in Bilence. Ho is abfient for days at a time, shooting and sporting over the coun- try with a lot of young gentlemen whose society he seems to prefer to that of his ■wife. Ho often goes away oven without telling her, and returns when ho sees tit. Ho is a cniel, bad, terrible man, anil tho result of all this -.viil be that ho will break your po(jr mother's heart."' On coming home I had intended to apealc to my mother of the cruelty jtrae- tised upon mo n.t school, Init now I changed my mind. 8he had sorrow enough at her heart alre;uly, and T folt that it would ho cruel ti> increase it by telling her of my wrongs. She bore all her sutlerings and trouble in silence, and •wliy should not / do the same? To liavo told her would have relieved me greatly, though it might not have removed the cause. 13ut why slujuld I add to her afliictionp, wiiich were already greater than she had ever before known ! Of Mr. Winstanloy I saw but little. He was absent most of tho time, but oven ■wlien at homo he kept out of my way, and I took good care not to seek his society. He was silent and dark looking, yet hand- ' Homo as oror; and notwitliatanding all hi* I unk induces I saw plairdy that my mother I loved him ns tndy and fervently a* on the day she became his wife. I found, as Polly had tohl mo, that ho H]>ent miich of ! his time in ithooting and tishing in coiu- j pany with sonio gay eompanion.-i who I liad little cIho to do; and fnunthe fhnhod j appearance of his fact), on several ncca- j sions, r formed the conclusion that with ■ them he indulged in exccHses, wliiili, up to tli.vt period, lie luid always avoided. 1 I had no fear foridni, htiwover, in this |)ar- I ticular, for lu^ was too ci'.utious and too I ungenerous a nnm to beoomo a drunl;ard. I Mou of his stamp soldiim loose themselves I in such a way. Drunkards, bail as they i are, arc made of better nntteriid. I The holidays passed slowly a^vay, and, I excepting tho leaving of my mother, I was I not sorry when they camo to a cloiio. JNIy j visit to the old homo had lu'oiight mo but little nleatnu'e, where 1 had oxpecled n)uch, anil ovon Dr. IJaker's Academy, with its ; tri>i\tdoii, toils and persecutions, was pro- feraldc to the silence and sorro'.v which hung arouml the house and all its inmates, j My Htei>-father shook my hand coldly, ! as ho bade mo good-bye; but tho i)artinray God that it is ; but I cannot light it , down. If it should turn out correct — if you shoidd never see me more, my son — ! you will not - you will not. forgot your , poor mother T' ' "Forget you, mother I and you so I good, .and kind, and loving!" t sobbed. ] "1 know you will not, davling; I know you will not I" kIio continued, kissing me j [lassionately. "Mogood, kind .and true,. i Harry, to yourself and to all men. Pay I attention to your acliotdiug, improve tho j the op])ortunities now given to yon ; for, remend)cr that u]ion yoiu'in'osentconiiuct , dependd all your future life. These boy- , hood days will soon be over, and thou i yo\i will be launched out into tho world to I bnti'et yimr way over its rough soas alone. You must prepare yourself for that, and perhap.i this will bo your last ami only opportunity of doing so. I know viin aro good and obedient, and would not now give you these instructions wero it not that something tolls mo you will never hear your mother's voice .again. If these should prove my last words to you, dar- ling, cherish them iij) in yo\ir heart, and in after life never forget the parting ) I I / MY OWN STORY. I'J Hi I 30 I. now mo rue,. V.xy tlio for, y- iU» UK', and inly i\t now nut uvur lese liir- :incl ting advice I this day garc you. fjood byo — good l>yu - my owu darlinj,', diirling noil ! (Jod liloMH you, and keen yon under His fatherly earn forever and ever." Slie kis.sod mo a;^:vin and u<^ain, witli olniuNt wdd carueHtnoHH, ami then releas- ing mu I hurried away, my lieart bursting with my lu'.vvy i,'rief. 1 h)oki;d hack, and BttW her Htandinji on tho door-Htep, lier face buried on the faitliful Polly 'h breast, and her form bowed down witli her woiglit of woe. The next nioniont I was out of night, and I Hvw my mother novornioro. Dr. liaki'r'.s academy was in all main reupects unchanged. Most of the ohl boys were there, but some were miwHing, and their places were filled l)y new ones. My former chum, Charley Courtly, arrived a day or two after me, and we again became companiouR. Dr. Haker's ])iorcing eye.s still looked down through his .spectacles at the rows of juvenilo liunianity before liim ; and the mild Mr. lyieuker still smiled goi)d-nat\ir'.'dly at liis obstreperous perse- cutors. Retnomberiug my mother's parting woi'ds, I set to work with a determination to accomplisli great thiu'^s. I studied hard, Very h:u'd, and received e\cry en- coura;;emeut and assistance from Jlr. Meeker, who wa.s firm in his friendsliip for me. Dr. Baker was still cruel and exacting ; and though very cautious in my conduct, ho occasionally caught mo trip- ping, and always punished mo severely, while others wer3 allowed to escape for much more serious ollencos. Hi.} treat- ment of me, in fact, was nothing less than persecution. He sought for opportunities to punish me, and never allowed ono, however trifling, to escape unnoticed. L bore it all without niurmurinv,', though I must say that on many occasions my spirit almost got the better of my judg- ment, and I was tempted to resist and oppose what I then and still think was cruel and undeserved. I continued to study diligently, and soon had the nat'sfacticju «f .seeing my name on tho black-board, witli the word ^'ditx" after it. Even Dr. ]5a]:er was i)roud of mo as his pujiil, and invariably brought nie forward Avhon visitors were i)resent, as one of the ornaments of his academy. It was a most singular positir)n that I occupied ; I was the best .scholar in the school, luid the hardest v/orlcor, and yet I was the most neverely piuiished, though the least deserving of it. Dr. Jjaker abused me, and was proud of me ; the boys respected mo, and were proud of me, wliile Courtly and Meeker loved nic and were proud of me. Six months passed away, and then one day a letter came from home. It was ■written by Mr. Winstanley, tho first I had over received from him, and befure opening it I felt 8\tro that it wan tho baaror of bid tidings. Nor was I mis- taken. It was a short, cold, h\irried!y written note, telling mo tliat my mother was dangerinislv ill, and retpiesting mo to come homo with all jjossible speed. Witli sad foreboding* I .<4tartcd liomo- wards. Tho jounioy was a long one, and I thought it would never eonu) to an end. After nearly four days of tedious travel, wo arrived at tlio village, and there I was sot down. It was a lovely siunmer after- noon, and as the distance to my homo wan not great, I determined to walk it, no con- ve"auco having been sent over to meet mo. Knowing every foot of the country well, I took a 8h(U't cut through tlio fields, and in a few minutes was upon our own ))roperty. Everything seemed wonder- fully calm ami still, and as I passed along oven tho birds around mo seemed to oitig subdued melody. I had passed through a grove, and was abcmt stopping out upon tho lawn, when I looked towards the house and saw Along the carriage-way a mournful pro- cession Avas moving. At its liead tho vil- liigo clergyman and after him a hearse, with its waving plumes, anision of men, solemn and mournful looi;ing, moving slowly onward in awf\il silence, which mutely told of death and grief. 1 stood tran;itixed, and gazod vacantly at tho mournful cortege. It wound its way over the lawn, through the grove, out upon tho road, and then 1 saw it no more. I was too late; too late! My mother had gone from mo forever. In my deep sorrow I fell upfm the grass and wept. With tho blue sky above mo and tho solemn old woods an)und, 1 gave vent to my grief, and mourned as one who would not bo comforteil. The shadows of tho trees had lengthened and tho whip-poor-will was waking from his day-dream.s, when 1 aroso and walked slowly towards my now desolate looking heme. There was no one in sight, and imobserved I gained tho front door and entered. E veiything was still as tlie grave, and as I moved silently ah^ng tho hall it seemed as if tho house were deserted. 1 stole up to my own room, and opening the door softly, entered. I was abou'; ad- vancing when I heard some one sobbing lieavily, and looking across the room I saw in tho dim light of the closing day, a wimian kneeling at my bod-.'sido in an at- titude of deep grief. A glance was suffi- cient to tell me who it was, and stealing slowly to her I whispered— "Polly." 8hc sprang quickly to her feet, looked at mo for a moment, through her toars, and then rushed into my arms. Wo had a long, long cry together — 20 MY OWN HT uh ii child, niui hIiu tnld nivuii. Four day« liofiiro my rutiirn, my |MMir mother liiid diid, Hho hud l»iun very, very Hick for a littlo wliilc hoforo. A littlf stniiif^i'r hiid ciniio, but, it had uidy jemiiiiicd linijj en<>ii;^li in tho worhl tu fiirn linmaiiity, iind then it died. It was lyint; «\Vfotly on Irt liri'UMt in the colKn, I'nlly said, wiiile its an-^cl H[)irit was now in Hi'uvon witli its moLliurV. Kiit! was at my mother's Kidu wlien sliti lireatlied lior last words. Tiiey wort) of me. She left mc lior Idessiny, and her last ])rayer on earth was that God would watch over and smile upon hor lioy. That wai.all. It wns n wwl, sliurt story told .sim|>ly, but touchingly, by my faith- ful oUl nur.'.o. It was lat(( when she left me, and as I wished to see no one else I remiiined alone u\ my riioni, and jtassed the most sorrow- ful night 1 had m-er known. Now, indeed, was I alone in tlio W(jrld, with the dearest ties that bound me to homo and life sev- ered and broken forever. (•n tlu^ followiui,' morninj.,' I met Mr. "VN'instanley in tho library. He seemed to feel his loss deeply, and was kinder in liis manner than I had seen liini for a length of time. Ho spoke of my motlier very tenderly, and delivered several kind mes- sages she had left for me. And tlien lie spoke of niyself and my future. " How aro you progressing at school?" he asked. " Verj' woll, sir," I answered, forget- ting for the time, all the persecution I re- ceived, though well knowing that he was the chief cause of it. "lam glad to hear it," ho said, "for without a proi)er attention to your studies now, you would bo badly jjrepared for your future position in tlio world, what- ever it may be. Dr. Baker in his letters speaks favorably of you as a scholar, and says that yoti arc making good itrogress. I trust you will continue to d<» so. You arc old enough now to appreciate tho lienefits ng as you deem necessary, sir," I answered, forgetting his former bad treatment and my own animosity, " How long woidd you advise, sir ?" "Not long," he anawered, " You must procure some now riolhoi*, and after that IS done I think you luid better nltini to your studies. A few days will sullioi>, un- less you have any purtioular dusiro to rcmaui longer." " I have not, sir," I replied, " thero il no oceasiou for delay, and under tho cir- cumstances homo dooi not seem ut all like homo to nie." "1 can appreciate your grief, my boy," lie said " and your remaining hero now, wo\ild make it all the more jioignant. In a few days, tliivt is as soon as tho prepar- ations can bo made, you will rot\irn to ." After Bomo further conversation, I thanked him for his kindness, and loft the room. In a few days all the necessary arrange- tnents were made, and my departure was fixed for tho following morning. Mr. Winstanley went out after dinnei*, and tlnis I was left to B[iend my last evening at home alone or in company with my old friends, I'olly and her lover, who was still as faithfiil as tho needle to tho pole. I decided on tho latter course. As I entered the room, Polly was seated near tho window sewing, while Mr. Huckle was imjiarting instnictions in gymnastics to a family of kittens that I had noticed before. Ho arose and made an awkward bow tome, ami when 1 extended my hand he s<|ueezod it so warndy that 1 almost cried out with pain. " Ami so you aro going to leave homo again. Master Harry," he said. "Yes," 1 replied, " my schooling must not bo neglected you know. I will soon bo too big for school, and therefore must not lose time." Mr. Huckle made some remark about my stature and pro3[iects for man's estate, and then resumed his feline instructions. "I am glad you came down this even- ing, Master Harry," Polly said in an undertone, "for I want to talk to you. Ton arc going to leave the old homo to- morrow, and God only knows when you will return. I hope it may be soon, but I'm afraid it will be longer than you or I think. 1 want to tell you, sir, that I'm going fron\ the old homo, too." ''YoM, P.dly.". " Yes, Master Harry. This is no place for n)e now. While your angel mother was alive I would not leave hor. But now that she is gone and j'ou going, the old home wants me no longer, and I ctmldn't sta}' here even if it did." There were tears in her eyes and she spoko sadly but very earnestly. " But where will you go to, Polly?" I asked. " Bill says the old woman is waiting for me," she answered, blushing slightly, "and I think I'll go to her. Ho is a good. M\ OWN flT(JUY. IT kind follow, Ktul hiM wnitcd for iiin thiiHo ntuiiy yuuFH. I lovo liiin, MiiAtor Hnrry, ttiul now thiit tliu old liomo wuiits mo no lun((or, I will liDCoinu liiH wifu." 1 could Kuy nolliiii^uK'^inNt her decision, nur hud I uny dcHii'o to do no. Sho hud donu liur duty, nnd much mom, to monnd mine, und it wivh only rii^ht now that mIic ihoiild huvo » homo uf her own. Kind und truu uh nlio was, thu mnn nho had choMoii was, I fidt sure, worthy of Iut. "Polly," I said, kisHinn her, "from my hourt I wish you every hap|iineN.'i. Oood an Kill Im, he \h not |.;ood i^nouj^h for you ; but ho will niaku you a truu and faithful hushand, und i^'ivu yuu all tho luvo uf Iuh hcjiiest, niunly heart." Wo hud a lonj; talk together, and then 1 left them. Hefore rotiriny for the ni>,'ht, tho last I would puH.s for a low^ time beneath my native roof, I gathered to- gether a few little trinkets of houio value, ttll I poHMCHMcd, and left them as a wedding present for Polly. On tho following morning I hade good- bye to my old hr. Baker on the unj\iMt punishmenti I received. Tho Moctor abused him soundly for his interference, and revenged himseff by punishing mo more soferely than ever. " Mr. Meekor," I said one evening ai» wo walked out together, an wo somotimo* did, "it is very kind of yoii to take my part, but f Would rather not have you do so, as it oidy adds to your own troubleti." " My troubles are nothing, my dtur Hardy," ho answered, with a faint snnlo, " I can bear them, and I W(/uld jiut up with nuich more, if 1 could, by so doing, lighten yours." " They will soon be lighter, Mr. Meeker I hope, for this state <.f uilairs, as you and Cotirtly say, cumiot last forever." " For your happiness, ilardy," he saiil, ''they cainiot bo lightened too soon. Such persistent, wanton and ernci |>or- socution as you are subjected to, J never bef(jre witnessed, and 1 know not how to account for it. You are the l)eHt boy, and tho leading scholar in the school, and yet yon receive more punishment than if you were worse than tiio worst." "I can account for it, Mr. Mocker," 1 said. "How?" " 1 have a step-father at home, who Ikw peniecutcd mo ever since he h:ir his instructions Dr. Baker acts in treating me a« he doe.s." '• But why should your step-father desire this cruelty;" my companion asked with no little astonishment. " Tliut is more than I can an.iw>.T. .MI 1 know is that when at home he ill-treats me, and I tirndy believe he is the instiga- tor of all the cruelty I receive here." Wo walk(;d on in silence for a few min- utes, and then Mr. Meeker said : "It is very .singular. Hardy, that man should act in such a way ; and yet, know- ing the world a.s I do, i cannot' (bnibt the truth of what yon say. JVriiaps this early persecution will, after all, be of more use to you in .shaping your after life than if you had never known anything but kindness. i^Ian in his short-sightedness never sees tho (d)jcct; Pr^jvidenee has in view, in visiting liim ,vith suflering and aflliction." He !,poko in a low, sad tone, while a shade of sorrow, mixed with resignation, spread cjver his studious face. I "thought of the persecutions' '.e liiniuell: endured, and wondered, as I often liad before, win- it was that ho boro them with such niecki.ess. "You speak like one whom experience has taught," I ventured to say. UY OWN RTORY. "Ynii iiro rij{1it, lliirdy, (ixporioiino lian taught iiiu iiinny thiiiKH, liiid umoiii){ rL>Hi|i{iiu(l to iinu'it fiitu." "I luii y>iiii>K," I «ai«l, "uikI wuiitiii({ ill yiiur wiMiliiiu; iiml tliuroforo, I niuy lie wr«>i»K ill »iiyiiiK tliut, tlumxli wii HJiutilil pructieo [rt'BiKiiiitiim, it hIi'miM not ino- voiit iiM romuviiig tliu cauHu of 'nir trouijlus i( Wll COlllll tl'> K.I." "Yen, Hurry, if wo could ilo no," hu roinatcil with u fiiint Hiiiilo, "lnit if -vv cniiiK't remove thoiuwo iiiwHtojiliiily huUV.-. HiuUt iiiivny circuiiistiuict'H it xn bettor, iw HiuiiU't Huy:«, 'T" liinr tlii'K* HIh wr Ituvo Alul, y»)t, III! you ruimvvk, it in not nlwuys right to miliiiiit to iirosoiit imin when wo tliinlt wo siui II nican« of rolitf. Nono of n», Iiowcvcr, kiiowH tho Hccrets of ouch ntli'-r'H iH'urtis" ho aiUhul Hiidly, "uiid it in, tlicrofuri', wrong to hliviiio ii niuii for 8ubniittin;j; tuincly to injustice, Hiiiijily he- cftUHO uo fuucy tliut lie couUl eunily ru- niovo it." "Yourwordu contain windoni nml in- utructioii," I Mivid, "und fmm tliom much ohlcr heiidu thun mine niiyht h.'uni iiiiiny A luBHon." "]My wliiilo life i» ono hmj,' Iuhmoii, Hiird)','' J'i> it'ldied, "liut only I mysoif liavo k'urned ii;. 1 liuvo always been u silent, refived man, living within myHulf, thoUL!h lliank (-'od, notontiroly for myHcH; and dill thcHe who censure uw. know my hiatory they would he more aiiariiijfof their blame, ancl moro tharitablo in their oiiin- ions. No doubt, you, Hardy, in common witli I fidlow him. I clid si, and found myself 1 in a .small plainly furnislied apartment. On a boil in the farther end of the room, I lay a indo, delicate looking woman, ap- , parcntly nearly sixty yearn of age. Her j long silver hair lay kKwely on the jiillow 1 around her head ; her face bore traces of Isieknois and of hiiH'ering, ami yet there I tieciiied t.i be a halo of jieacefiil resignation around her which was heavenly and j fiweot. I "?/Ic]iiier," Mr. Meeker caid, in gentle '■ tones, "this is my friend of whom 1 I spoke, IVfr. Hardy." 1 She 111 vcd her hand, which lay upon I the t]uilt, antl motioned me to api>roach; I then she Look my hand in hers, and i looked long and earnestly into my face, I as if kIic would read my thought-, therein. I After a long silence she spoke. " f am glad to meet yon, my boy," she said, in a soft, feeble Voice. "You have an lioner.t, iiLinly face, Mich as I have not looked on for many a day, and I know that it is the index to aii honcbt heart. 1 I am ;.dad, very glad to meet you ; y<»u ara I my son's friend, and you will be my friend. I I have few of tin in nH.i iiindo iiui niori* nitpiiy than I hiid l)C(i!i fur n l'»iKi l<»ii{ titnu. I wivn ijorry wlum th>i tinio fur onr tloic.rtiiru vtM ciiino. 'I'liity pri'HHO'l nm kindly to call ii!,'iiiM, und to conio with Mr. M>'oki>r whon'.'vor I could. I kI'^'Hv promiiicd that i would, (iiiil tlion Mr. Mfi^kcr and I indo thuin Kood-l>vt\ and ntartod hack to tho ncaduiiiy. il'J wan nioro happy (h.'tn I had (ivcr lict'oro noon him ; hut wu had not procuuikvl f;vr heforo hi.s happinoMs vaniiihud, and hii old ninnnur ciimu hack to liiiii. ".U(orwliiityoiihavojiiitaoun,|Hardy," I>o Maid, liri'iikinif t!io Rilonco, "I nood Bc.arcoly niicw ttio convrHiition wo liad bofom cntoriiii^ tho cott.'i^o. I prominod to toll yoii my story, hut inntoad of iloing «() I havu hIiowu it to you." " 1 Ufvoi" undiTHtood that yon had rela- tions huru," J Haid. "l''ow ])Ooplo ari) awivro of il,'' lie ro- pliod, "luiil at tho ncadoiny noiin but Dr. ilakcr ami his wifo know it. Thor>jin lies thoir power over mo. Listen — but first lot mo Hiiy that all yon havo soon and all I am abc>nt to toll you aro for you alono. \ou aro my friund, and in coiitidonco I toll you my life's luHtory." I assuivil him that ho would not fnid his coiiiidouco misplacod, aurofe8sion, fn« well, for tiii.> i» tho profior field for men of that ntamp, l>ut for thosu who havo led nothing but a gontlvnian'n life, Canada ii not till) i^lacu. " I waK, howover, dotnrnnnod to do anything rather than return to Knifland. I tried difl'oront kinds of employniont, hut in all of them I miserably failod. At last, through tho intluonco of a friend, 1 pro- cured my |)roHunt po«ition in iJr. Kakor's acailomy. Tho eallin;; suited mo bettor than any t him; I h.ad yet tried, and by I de;{rooH I hocamo uttachod to it. At lirRt I Dr. Maker wa» very kind, but loarninff I something of my history his treatment of I ni'j ehangiMl, and ho bocanio tho cross and I tyrannical num ho now is. Iloforo this I change took place, howevor, I hid save<'. ' u)) MufHei(!nt money to i)ring my mot'er I and sister out from Kngland. My poor I Aiothor had alway.H boon a delicate woman, I and tho long se.i voyage aluto.st proved j too much for her. She arrived horo sick j and helpless; and from that time to tha I present she has boon tho snil'ering, though j uncomplaining invalid yon saw her to-day. I For nearly a year she has been boilriddcn ; ' and what sho has lindnred no tongue can I toll. This, in a few words, i.s tho story of I my life. My niotho;* and sister are entirely I dependent ui)on mo for support, aJid un- ] dor ]irosont circnmstancos it is all that I I can do to keep the wolf from my df)or. I Ur. Maker well knows tho painful circnra- I stances by M'hich I am surrounded, and acts accordingly. Ho vents hia spleen I upon n»o, because he knows I cirniot lonve I him. I cm find no other situation here, ' and I d.-'.ro not tlirow up tho one I have I on tho mcro chanco «if ]>rocuring another : some jdaoo else. Ho appears to take I pleasure in persecuting nie, and is ovon so , cruel, as you aro aware, as to insirit on my sleeping at the 'rookery,' when he ' knows that I would bo haj)pior with my friend? iii our home, ]ioor and humble i though it be. H 1 could loavu him to- I morrow, gladl}' would [ do so; but I I cainiot. 1 must endure it all with moak- I noss ami resignation, knowing that in His ' own good time (rod will give mo relief. It is a heavy burden, grievous to boar, ; anil tho world in its ignorance evils mo ; weak fir enduring it. ihit hard as it is, Harry, I will boar it ; and wore it ten tiino.'i as hard [ wonkl not murmur, re- inemV)ering that in tli.at little cottage yonder aro a kinil and loving sister, and a gentle, Buffering, uncomplaining mother, (loponding upon mo for their daily bread. And now, my young friend, you know my story. Am f wrong, or am I right, in enduring Dr. IJakor's cruelty and abuse?" "Mr. Mocker," I said, deeply atTccted 34 MY OWN STOllY. by luH ii.'iinful ntory,. "you ivvo riylit — nobly, c;eucri)iisly right." "I ktiow ynn would say *>>, Hurry, when you knew all," hu roplieil, with a, faint siriilo. "1 ti)Kl you luy life was one lont,' le.tHou. It teaclies perse vernnuo and resiyniitioii. Learn it ariylit and you will bo boneiitted." As he spoke we entered the play-around, and there our conversation ceased. CHAPTER Vir. XEWS FROM KOMK AND THE nrHT'I.T. A few days aubsc(iuent to the occur- rences narrated in the last cU'vptcr, I re- ceived a letter from Polly. Mr. Winstan- ley seldom wrote to uie, and even when h« did condescend to do so, his notes were short, cold and formal. Polly's letter-- plaiii, hojiest epistle that it was — was most welcome, and from it I derived plea- sure second only to that of seeing the kind creature herself. It ran in this wise : Skbly, July — , IS — . " My Dear Master Harry : "I have been thinking of writing to you for a long time, but something has always Btojiped me. Since you left homo last, I have not heard a word from you. I have several times asked Mr. Winstanley, but he is such a singular gentleman, as you know, that ho would not satisfy me, even in such a way as that. 1 am Pt>lly Buckle now. Bill and 1 were married jus' '^fter you left. The old woman, ho sairl, had everything ready, and was waiting for me. And, true enough, 1 foiuid her at the door to welcome me when 1 got to the cottage. Bill is a good, kind husbaiul, and loves ino better than ever after all his years of courting. A long courtship it was, surely. Master Harry iJefore you were born it commenced. The day you were first given into my arms to uui'se, I3ill was there. Ho and I were younger tliou, Master Harry. Long years have gone by since, and we have all seen a world oi sorrow ; but, iiill, big, rough fellow that ho is, loves me as well as ho did that day. "\Ve are very happy in our cottagi? and in tholiitlo room overhead. Master Harry, is a bed which is kept ready for you, should you ever come to Scbly. You may never sleep in it, but while this cottage is ours it will ahvays bo known as Master Harry '.s room, and in it no one else shall ever sleep. Our cottage is poor and humblt;, Mastt:r Harry, and not the place for such as you; but your old nur.se is in it, and the greatest honor she prays for is, tiiat sonu; day be- fore .she dies, you, the darling baby that she mirsed, may come to her in her homo, and sleep beneath its roof. Bill lovosyou iu his rough silent way, and would dio to serve you." " I never go the old house now; all its charms are gone. I lo.)k at it somotimoa a.i 1 i)ass along tl;c road, and thiidc of the ]iap[iy days I spent there years ago, when you were in my arms a prattling i)oy, and youi' angel mother was alive. Ah! those were pleasant times, si;-, i am happy, very hajij)y, with Dill, now, but it is not thu kind of haj)pinesa I kmnv then. I think about those old times very, very often, and sometimes I dream that wo are all together once more, living as we >ised to live, without a single care to troub'o us. "It is a dreary place now, is that old home. i\Ir. Winstanley ha;i closed it up and gone back to his own pla;o. None of the servants v/ould stay with him after I left, and I do not woiuler at it, for every tiling was changed for the bad. I do not know much about hiu), but Bill tolls mo that he spends most of his time in sport- ing, though his angel wife is cmly a fow months dead. She was too g(K)d for him. Master Harry, and though she loved him with all her heart, it was a sad day for you and her when she became his v/ife. Perhaps I should not say this to you, sir, but I can't help it, and you know how true it is. "Don't forget your old nur.se. Master Harry; and remember that no matter what happens, while she lives there is an open door and a hearty welcome for you at Sebly. "(iod bless you, my darling boy, will ever bo the i)rayor of "Polly Ay>f i^n'Kr.n." Accompanying this atl'ectionato letter, which brought tears to my eyes as 1 read it, was a short, and hardly so woil-con- structod note from Mr. Buckle, iu which he assured me of las undying regard, and saidthattho "old woman" and Polly were ready for mc and ahvays would bo. X l)ost-script informed me that he still con- tinned his feline instructions, tliou^h tho school had been removed to his own cot- tage. The last generation, he saiii, ilis- played remarkable intelligence, ami pro- mised to surjiass all jirevious ones, in an educational point of viev,'. Another gen- eration, he added, was expected shortly. J read these letters over and over again, and was Sio taken up with their contents that I entirely forgot my lessons ; which, as it hai)pcued, were on that occasion unusually diliicult. JSofore tho opening of school on tho following morni:ng, 1 looked hastily over them ; but limling that 1 could not get them up 1 closed my books, and determined to rely uiion Dr. Baker's generosity for once. I'uring the day. as each chwM was called up, I stated simi)ly that I was unprepared, having negloctod mv lessons on tho previous evening for letters from hr)me. xS'othing ffiw said to me by way of rebuke ; and as now; all its it smnotimoa think of tho ■s ii^'o, when iny boy, ;md /ill ! tlioso h|iiil.y, Viuy t ia not tlm ill. 1 think vury often, ; wo iU'i! uU i we nsuJ to tronb'e ns. •, irt tlrit old cloaeil it up i!u. None of him ivit''v I it, for uvory (1. J (li> not i;i!l tells mo nie in sport- I only i\ fow ood for him, lu loved him sail (lay for me hifl wife, s to yon, sir, II know how nrse. Master t no matter ;3 there is an ome for you iig boy, will BrjoKLR." ite letter, OS as 1 read weil-con- in which ri'LCiU'd, and 1 l-'olivwere Id bo. A stili con- til' >ii;]h tho s own cot- said, dis- , and pro- mos, in an )ther ,u;en- d shortly, vor .'igaiii, • contents IH ; which, occa'don opening iiorui'n'.r, I it linding closed my • nimn ])r. 'uriii'^ the 1, L stated .1, having pi'(!vioU3 JSotliing ; and as MY OWN STORY. as Ji*. the school wag about to close I was flatter- tering myself on niy escape from pnni.ih- nient, when I heard my name called, and looking up, saw Dr. Baker's eyes peering at me through his spectacles, while a ma- lignant smile sat upon his thin, sharp lips. "Hardy!" he repeated, and I stood up. "Come here," he added ; "you ought to kv ow by this time that when I call you I expect to be obeyed." "I stood up, sir, the moment I heard you," I said, advancing to tho platform slowly, iny heart trembling, for I knew that something terrible was in store for me. Seeing, however, the eyes of the entire school upon me, 1 attempted to shake ofi" all feeling of fear, and face the ■ matter out as boldly as possible. | " Hardy," he said, as I took my position I on the platform, "it is an unfortunate! fact that you receive more punishment ; than any other boy in tho school." < " No one has reason to know that bet- 1 ter than myself, sir," I said, my voice trembling slightly as I spoke. "Very true," ho continued, with a! peculiar smile ; "and why is it that 1 am 80 often called upon to chastise you i" "You ought to know that, sir, better than I," I answered, growhig bolder each moment. "No, sir, 1 ought not," he sharply replied ; ' ' you ought to know it, sir, and if you had one particle of shame yon ■would not speak in such a way of your own disgrace. " "If 1 were tre.Tted .as tho other boys ore I would very seldom bo punished," I said. "What do you mean?" he asked, turning around and looking fiercely at 1110. "I mean thi.s, Dr. Baker," I answered, in a bold way, for I knew that I was in for it now, a;id might as well be brave aa cowardly: "yon punish me for offences which are unnoticed in others, and you seem to t;ike delight in tinding me doing the slightest wrong, in order that you may cliastise me." He grew purple with rage, and advan- cing t') within a couple of feet of me, he said in a h.oarse voice: " I-'o yo'i ilare to cli.argeme, hero in the presence of my scliool, with partiality or favoiu'itiani.'' " Ye.s : I do," I jinswered, looking him straight in tlie f.aoe. "Every boy in tho school knows tliat 1 am jiicked upon and abused by you, and that I am punished almost every day in tho week without any just cause." A faint murmur of api>lau3c ran through the room, but it was (juelled in a moment by one look of the now enraged principal. "Hard}'," ho said, turning a:?ain tome, and speaking in a tone terrible in its calmness, ' ' I called you up hero for punish- ment, because you last night neglected to prepare your studies." " I offered you a good and valid excuse," I answered, "and such an one as would have been accepted from any other boy in the school. But even had my excuse been a bad one, you might have jiardoned me, as this ia the first time you have had to find fault with me in this respect." "I shall take precious good care," he said with a sneer, "that it shall be the last also." "In offering you my excuse this morn- ing," I replied, "I promised that I would neglect my studies no more, under any circumstances." " I don't think you will," he said, "for I intend giving you that which will make vou remember this day as lon<' as vou live. He returned to his desk, took out a heavy raw-hide, and then appro.aching me, continued : " When I called you up a few minutes ago, I intended punishing you very lightly for your neglect of your lessons, but I have changed my mind. You have shown a rebellious, wicked, vicious spirit, and liavo spoken to me in such a way as no pupil of mine ever did before. In the hearing of the whole school you have used language which admits of no excuse, and which cidls on tho severest punish- ment I can iiiHict. Hero in the presence of your companions, where the outrage has been ccdiimitted, that punishment shall be given. ( )rt' with your jacket now, without further del.iy, and prejiare your- self." He folded his arms and looked fiercely at me, but instead of obeying him I stood still and returned his gaze. "Do you hear me ?" he repeated, " Off with your jacket." " Dr. Baker," 1 3:iid, in as calm a tone of voice as I could command, "you have no right to punish me, and 1, therefore, shall nut remove mv jacket." He glared at me for a monient like a demon. My boldness so astonished him that fora moment he could not speak. It w.as tho fu'.'it time in the history of the school that a pupil had dared to disobey such a fomiiiand, and he could now hard- ly believe his ears. " What's that you say," he cried, "do I you ilaro to dinobey me ?" ; " " Ye.^, I do," I replied, "Did I feel that I were deserving of punishment I would ; submit witliout a murmur. But I have I borne with your cruelty too long already, 1 and will d) sn no more." I w.as a .stout, atroug boy for my age ff MY OWN STORY. and though I did not feel that I was a iimtcli for Dr. Bakur, I made up T.y mind to oll'ur all tho resiatance in ni;» jinver, rather than submit to what I knew I did not deserve. If I wore beaten it would only bo because he was the stronger. With this determination 1 nerved myself up for a desperate struggle. "ly uil'ectcd at liis kiiuluese. "There is no reason why you sliould leave here ; and even did you do so, you have a cheer- ful home and kind friends to go to." "1 cannot liear tliis jtarting from you," lie continued ; "but I have not the heart to persuade you to remain, for under the circumstances I would do as you are doing. And yet, my dear friend, tliink well before yoxi take this step. Kemember all the consequences, all the trouble and sorrow that may result to yourself and others." " I have thought of these things already, " I answered ; " 1 have long contemplated leaving this place, where I have experi- enced nothing but cruelty since the day I first entered it. The time has now come ; for, even did I wish it, I could no longe» remain. Good bye ! my dear friend, and hereafter, when you hear me badly spoken of, as I shall be, say that to you at least I was true and sincere. " He drew something from his pocket and I)laccd it in my hand. ''Harry," he said, "you cannot have much to carry you on your way. Let me loan you this— it is all I have, and I only regret that it is not more. Naj', — nay ; but j'ou must take it if you would have me lielieve you the friend you say." ■ I refused no longer. "And now, my friend," I said, while mj' voice trembled, "goodbj^e! When I find for myself shelter, I will write you ; and believe me, that no matter what may be the result of this rash move of mine, Oharley Courtly will ever lind a place in my heart." I embraced him as if he had been my brt)ther, and then Inirriedly left the spot. CHAPTER Vin. OIT IX THK WORLD ALONR. WiTu my little bundle in my hand, a heavy heart and a light pocket, 1 ti'udged iilong, bound I know not where. Instead of taking the road I kept to the fields, in order the better to avoid being traced, sho\iUl Dr. IJaker think it worth hibwliilo to follow nie. {•■■. It v.'as a Avarm and pleasant evening, and tlio>i;_fh 1 luimed along at a rapid pace tile excict'iuent under which 1 labored drove oil fatigue; and when the sun went down beliind the western hills, and night sjjrtiid her mantle over tlie earth, L had pli'.eed several miles between me and the academy. The moon rose bright and clear, and the night was so pleasant that I de- termined lo (•ontinue my journey so long iui 1 did not feel tired, f)r until some suit- able place in which to pass the night ofi'ered itself. Full of this determijiation I hurried onward, passing over fields, thr6ugh strips of woods, crossing fences and streams, and taking good cure. all the time to avoid the public highway and the farndiouses. It nuist have been between ten and eleven o'clock as nearly as I could judge, when I began to grow tired. Know- ing not how long a journey I had before me, nor how many days I would have to rely upon my strength to carry me on, I came to the wise conclusion not to exhaust myself at the start. Though accustomed to much exercise, I had never before at- tempted a long journey on foot; but 1 felt confident that, l)y being careful not to over exert myself at the start, I would get safely over it. The moment, therefore, that I began to grow tired I looked around for some place in which to pass the nigh t. There were several farm houses visible, but 1 was afraid to approach them to ask for shelter, and at any rate the weather w;v3 so mild that I know I could safely pass tlio night in open air. I was debating in my mind whether it would be better to lie down at the root of some friendly tree or to creep into the middle of a wheat field, when I caught sight of a barn a short dis- tance to the right, and at once made ".jp my mind to try my chances there. A short walk across a couple of fielJ.s brought me to the barn. Its doors were f.-vstened, and thougli I carelully searched on all sides ior some hole through which to creej) in, I could find none. There wore a couple of open sheds near by, how- ever, and into one of these I went. It was occupied by three or four sleepy looking cows, who paid no attention to me, a few lively sheep, who sprang; uji and scampered away as I ap2)roached, and half-a-dozen pigs, who gave mo a friendly grunt cf welcome as I entered. In a rack across one end of the shed was a (luantity und myself was then, and still is a thriving place in tho State of New York. Here I determined to seek for employment. I had a good education, was a strong, healthy boy, and had every confidence in being able to do for myself, could I once get a start in any business, I cared not what. I had cast myself upon the world of my own free will ; I had my own fortune to make, and whether that fortune should be good or bad, depended entirely upon what use I might put myself to in the future. That I should do something to support myself was absolutely necessary, as my stock of ready money amounted to but a few dollars, and when that was gone I would be left penniless. While it last- ed, therefore, and while I could present a respectable appearance, was the time for me to seek employment. Putting up at a cheap hotel, I at once, and with a brave heart, proceeded to look for something to do. For two days I wandered over the town. I entered stores and shops, and offices, and with all the boldness I could assume asked if they wanted a boy. Some answered me crossly, others carelessly, and a few kindly; but from all I received the same answer in substance, and that was that they "did not want a boy." I never waited for a second answer, nor pleaded poverty as an excuse for my look- ing for work, but silently turned away, and applied elsewhere. It was always the same, and after two days diligent enquiry I was about giving up in despair, when Providence threw me in the way of em- ployment, which, humble though it was, I gladly embraced. At the time of which I am now speak- ing a large trade was done in buying cattle in the northern and western portions of the Stateof New York, and driving them to the large cities, where they were sold and slaughtered. This it must be remem- bered, was before the great prairies of the far west were settled, and before Canada became a cattle expt)rting coimtiy. At the hotel at which I was stopping, were several of these drovers, one of whom had a large herd of cattle on hand, with which ho was about starting to Boston. Hearing him inquire for persons to assist him in driving his cattle, 1 applied to him for work, fooling that anything, however huniblo, was better than idlono.is. Ha seemed surprised that a lad of my appear- ance should seek such an occupation. "You dim't look like a boy as know nnich about work," he said, eyeing me closely. •'I have never v.-orkod in my life," I answered, "but I fool th.it it i.s time to begin." " What would your people say to it i" ho asked. i MY OWN STORY. i " I have no friends to consult," I re- plied, " I have no one to please but my- self. I ni'idi do somethinj;; to eani a liv- ing, and BO long as it is honest, I care not what it may be." "Well, driving cattle's honest enough," ho said, with a laugh, "though it aint the most respectable business in the world. But we don't much mind the matter of respectability in this country of ours, so long as the darned thing pays. Now, you look like as if you had been well brought up ; but if, as you say you are poor and want work, why como along. You may M well drive cattle as do anjiihing else." He was a rough, off-hand, though good- natured Yankee, and engaged me on the spot, agreeing to give a small sum per day, while 1, on my part, agreed to remain with him until the cattle were delivered in Boston market. On the following day, in company with my emi)loyer and throe others, I started for Boston behind a large drove of cattle. Of the vast net-work of railways which now spreads over the continent, only a few links had then been formed. Some of these ran into Boston, and by the shortest practicable route wo drove our herd to a town through which a rdilway ran, and there shipped the cattle for the city. We were nearly three weeks, however, in reaching the railway town, and even after that nearly another week elapsed before we arrived in Boston. Once there, my employer succeeded in disposing of his stock without much delay; I was paid oil', and with a few dollars in my pocket, I once more found myself cast upon the world. In a great city like Boston, I felt sure I would experience little difficulty in pro- curing empl(.>yment. I was very hopeful, and Ijuilt up bright castles in the air, as I thought about the future and of what I might become. Ahxs, for all my expecta- tions. I sought employment everywhere and at everytliing, but without success. Day after day I tnidged around the city and each night returned to my lodging, sorro-ivful and dejected. By degrees my little stock of money melted away. Then I pawned the few valuables I possessed; and at last, one dark, stormy night, I was turned upon the street because I could no longer pay for my lodgings and my food. How bitter were my feelings that night as I wandered throuj.h the almost deserted streete. How my conscience charged me with rashness and folly in running away as I had done, and how I wished I were back at school again, even were Dr. Baker's cruelties ten times increased. I thought of my dear old home, and in my heart I longed for it. I thought of that little room of mine ever waiting to receive me, and of Polly's outstretched arms, which would never clasp me more. I thought of the village church upon the hill at Sebly, where I learned to form my infant lips in prayer. I thought of the grassy mounds behind it, beneath which my father and my mother slept, and in my heart of hearts I wished that I were sleeping there too. O, that night — that dreary, bitter night ! Surely ii was punish- ment enough for all the wrongs I had committed. After wandering around for nearly an hour, I sought shelter from the storm in a porch, the door of which I found open. Crouching down in a corner, I sat there with my head upon my knees, shiveriag with cold, dripping with rain, and weep- ing as I had never wept before. I had not been there long when some one else came in. Trembling with cold and fear I looked up, and by the flickering light of the gas lamp I saw that the new comer was a lad of about my own age. His whole appearance told mo at once that ha was an arab of the street. His clothes were old and much too large for him. He wore a shoe on one foot and a long boot on the other ; while his head was covered with a cap evidently a cast- off contribution from some fashionable gent. Though dripping with wet, and shivering like myself, he did not appear to mind it much, but stood in the porch, knocking his feet together, and humming the air of a popular song of the time. "Hallo, youngster," ho exclaimed, as his eyes fell \ipon me. "What are you doing here ? " "The same as you," I answered. "Shel- tering myself from the storm." "Where do you live?" "Nowhere." "Phew," ho exclaimed, with a long whistle. "Live on the streets, eh'/" "Yes " "No home at all!" "No; I'm a stranger here." "What do you do?" "Nothing." "Phew," he exclaimed again, "do nothing, and live nowhere's — that's wag- rancy." "Do yer know what a wagrant is!" "Yes?" "Do yer know what they do with 'em!"' "No." "When they catch 'eni they sends 'em off to quad." "Where's quad!" I asked. "Oh, my eye, my eye, what a igrant chap yer must be ! not know where ([uad is. Why quad's limbo, an' limbo's the prison. Now do yer know f " "Yes." "If they catches you, off to quad they 30 MY OWN STORY. walks you, an' there tlioy keeps you juBt as lout; lis they likes. Aint thut nicot" "1 irnt and weather-beaten, but tile features were regular and expres- sive of nuich intelligence. His eyes were blue and bright, and beamed with good- nature. He was a rough looking boy in appearance; but I saw at a glance that circumstances and not nature had made him so. We looked at each other in silenca for a few moments, and as I read something of the workings of his mind, I was not sorry that I had so singularly met him. "Poor boy I — poor boy!" ho said, pla- cing his hand upon my shoulder, •while at the same moment a shade of Siidness, mixed with pity, spread over his face ; "it's easy to see that you ain't used to this sort of thing. You ain't Ijoen a ■wagrant all your days — that's sartain !" "Indeed I have not," I answered. " Where did you come from 1" "Canada." ' ■ Canada ! Where's that i" "3Iany hundred miles from this ; jiway to the north." ' ' G'rackey ! what a long distance. What made you leave there 1" "I ran away because I waa cruelly treated." "Have you no friends at all in Bos- ting r "No ; nor any place else. I have no friends in the world. They are all dead." "Poor boy!— poor boy! I'm sony for you ;" and he patted me on tho shoulder in a friendly way. Then looking earnestly into my face, ho coutinued, " I know how to feel for you, 'cause I ain't got no home, nor friends neither. Pro got use to it now though, for it's an old thing with me ; an' I manages to jiush along one way or another, an' make tho world give mo a livin', such as it is. But witli you it nnist be hard lines, 'cause you're a stranger, an' don't know how to pick up a livin' as we city boys do. What's yor name I" "Harry Hardy." ' ' Mine's Gasher. It ain't my right one, I spose, but it's what the other chaps calls me, an' tho cmly one I answers to. I'm glad I como in this stoop to-night ; for if 1 hadn't 1 wouldn't have met you. This ain't no place for you to .sleep, Harry ; you'd die hero 'fore mornin'. I want yer to come with mo. I ain't got much of a place to take yer to, but it's better'n this. I know what it is to sleep in a stoop on such a night. Come along, an' I'll give yer a roof over-head anyway, an' tho best half of a shake-down, such as it is." I was deeply affected by his kind ofter, and the rough delicacy with which it was made ; but 1 hesitated for a moment as to whether I should accept it or not. "Don't hold back," he continued, put- ting his arm through mine, and loading mo from the porch. "I wouldn't make the ofl'er if 1 didn't mean it. Gasher ain't one of that sort. I just turned in tliere to get out of the wet for a minit. It ain't rainin' so hard now, an' I guess a little duckin' won't spoil neither of us, anyhow. So come along, an' I'll soon lodge you in 'Mother Cutter's College.'" Without further hesitation I accompa- nied him, and Jis we hurried down the damp and slippery street, I attempted to thank him for his great kindness. "Get (Hit!" he cried, interrupting mo. " Wo wagrants don't know nothin' about thanks. I know yor moan it all well, old feller ; but thanks is one on 'em things we don't give nor ax fur nuthin'. Ycni'll find that (3ut arter a while. Don't say no more about it, but como along. It's gittin' mighty late, I can tell yer, an' there's another big shower over there that'll be spoilin' our good clothes purty soon if we don't hurry up." CHAPTER IX. MOTHER CUTTEK's COLI.EOK. OF THK \MIEEL. I ill A TURX OF After passing through several of those winding streets fc:>r which Boston is pecu- liar, Ga,sher and I entered upon a long. MY OWN STORY. 81 I Ji narrow, poorly lighted thornnghfaro, one I end of which wiis noar old Faiiuoil Hall, and tho other lost in alloy ways and tuni- | bled down tunonients. Tliis was Ann Btroet, a famous or rather infamous local- ity at the time of which I speak. It still, I believe, retains all its bad features, thougli its name has been changed. We proceeded along this for three or fo\ir hundred yards, and then turned into a large, ricketty looking building. "This," my companion remarked, "is Mother (Jutter's College. It aint the nicest place in l»osting, not by no means; but it comes handy tt) fellers like mo who aint got no bettor home to live in." We passed through a dark passage and entered a large, dirty room, tho only light in which was that given out by a flickering fire on tho hearth. There were four or Hvo urchins of about my own age seated on tho Hoor, and as we entered they gi'eotcd (Jasher with a shout of wel- couK', which told mo at (jnce that he was no stranger there, nor was wanting in popularity. They looked at mo with much wonder and curiosity. '•Where's Mother Cutter/" Gasher asked, as we approached tho group, "Gone to roost," one of the lads replied. " She's growin' mighty keerful of her- self," Gasher said ; and then .after a pause he asked, "Is there many fellers here to-night.' " House full," was the short answer. " Aint there no shaked-downs left i" " Nai'V one ; we fellers come in jest too laH^an' the soft side oi Mother Cutters' floor is all the bed we'll get this night, though I guess its jest about as good as a shakedown anvw.ay." Gasher looked annoyed and disap- jiointed, and turning to me he said — " I'm sorry, wo was to late. Yon hear what these chaps says. There aint n<:) oeds left. We're under cover though, an' that's better'n the open street. If yer can't stand the lloor jest say so an' I'll jerk some of the fellers out an' give j'ou their bed in less than no time." I assured him that the floor would answer (juite well, and retpiested him not to disturb any of his companions on my accoinit. He then stirred up tho fire, put on another log of wood, and giving me the vi'armest corner, we sat down with the others. As I looked around me I remembered the old saying, hero literally exemplified, that " poverty brings us strange bed-fel- lows." The boys among whom I found myself were dirty, miserably clad, vicious looking fellows; and T was not many min- utes in their company until I found that their morals were as bad as their appear- ■ince. Wicked as I know T was, I folt myself an angol in com|)arison with them. Their language was tilled with oaths and low expressions, and they seemed to vio with each other in their blasphemy. I w;is pained and shocked, and wished my- self on tho street again, which, though cold .^nd uncharitable, was infinitely butter than the den of wickedness in which I was. I look uneasily around me, and tried not to hear what was being said ; but I could not close my ears nor carry my attention away. Gashor saw my uneasiness and divining at once the cause he said — "I wish you fellers would shut up. If yer want to talk go some whero'u else. I'm mighty tireil and want to go to sleep; but Deaf .Jack coidd'nt sleep in this noise." They evidently feared him for some good reason, as they waited for no second com- plaint; but settling themselves into as com- fortalile positions as possible, soon dropped ofi' to sleep. In a few minutes tho heavy breathing of them all told me that I was the f)nly one awake in the ivparhnent. I sat gazing in the fire, debating in my mind whether I should steal out again to tho street:), or remain Avliere I was for the night. As I thought the matter over a heavy drowsiness crept upon me, and I soon lost myself in sleep. It was broad day light when I a\rokc. Gasher and another lad were sitting near mo, but tho rest were gone, and the noiso i over-head shov,-ed that the other inmates i of the house were awake and stirring. i "Well, old feller, hi>w did yer make it 1 go !" Gasher asked, as SDon as ho .saw that I was awake. "Pretty well, tliank you," I answered, as I ar.ise and stretched myself. I felt ! .stifl'and sore and dirty; but ho had boon j so kind to lue that I coulil not tell him so. ' "It was'nt a ver}- soft place for a ! snooze," ho said, v.'ith a laugh, "but it was the best I could do for you, an' when a feller does that lie can't do no more. Come and have a wash, an' a little cur- ryiii' up, and then we'll see v.hat's the elianccs for a mornin' snack." I bathed my face and head in some water in an old tin basin in one corner of tho room, and drioood-byeold felkr, un' don't forget the Cununon i'.t dark." Before I could reply ho shot ui> a dark alley, and was out of sight in a few mo- ments. Tiie kind, generous fellow, rough and luicultivated as he was, was to(j noble to wait for thanks, though at that moment .1 could have clasped him in my arms, as if he had been my brother. I spent the dav in WMidoring around tlie city in search of employment, but without success. Towards evening, with a heavy lieart, I sauntered into the Com- mon, there to meet my friend, for such indeed had he proved himself. It was a pleasant, beautiful afternoon, and the warm sun having dried up the rain of the j)revious night, the old Connnon j looked bright and clieerful. There were many peraons sauntering through it, en- I joying tliemsclves (piietly after the labours i of the day, and in my lieart 1 envied them I their happiness. ! Attracted b\' the merry sh(juts of a ; group of boys at j'lay, I a,pjiroached them and looked on, tliinking .'sadly of my own j happy days at school ; for happy, indeed, they seemed in comparison with my pres- ent forlorn and outcast condition. Leanins; against a tree 1 watched them, thougli tJicy took no notice of me ; and as I looked upon their smiling faces, and heard their ringing laughter and shouts of glee, my heart swelled as if it v.-ould burst. A few short weeks ago I had been like tlmse boys, happy, cheerful and contented, and riow I was a wanderer, a vagrant, without home, friends or kindred — cast upon the Cold charity of the world ; alone in the midst of strangers. Oh 1 how my heart ached, and how I again regretted my mad folly. I had been Btandinj^thusfor nearly half aa hour, I suppose, when u poor blind man canio along, led by a faithful do;;, that guided his steps into plaoew of safe- ty. After panning a few minutes and fueling around him with his stick, ho sat down on the grass a few yards dintant from mo. As soon as the boys saw him they gave up their innocent sports, and gathering around him, l>egan to annoy him with heartless jests. They shouted around him and teased him in many ways, and finally one of them cut tlie cord with which the dog was tied, and by their wild shouts frightened the faithful animal away. The poor old man bore all their annoyan- ces with meekness. Once or twice ho uttered a mild word of complaint, and by a sorrowful smile seemed to b(!g of them to leave him alone ; but they heeded him not. He rebuked them in no sterner way, but when he felt that his faithful guide and companion was gone, big tears tilled into his sightless eyes, and stealing silently down his wrinkled cheeks, were lost in his long, grey beard. When 1 saw these unite evidences of the aflHcted man's sorrow, I could restrain my feelings no longer — Walking quietly up to the group of boys, 1 said very calmly,— " Boys do you see that this old man is blind '{ If you do not resjiect him in his .alHction, respect at least his grey hairs. Look at what you have done. Ho has uttered no rebuke, \ised no harsh word ; but do you see those tears on his cheeks which your heartless conduct has brought there? IShame on you to treat one so heavily afilictod, in this cruel manner." Host of them stole guiltly away as if thoroughly ashamed of tliemselves ; but some few of the larger ones remained, and wanted to know what right I had to intcrfero with them. "1 have this right," I auswercMl, " that this old man is blind and helpless, iind it is my duty to guard him from your cruelty." " And do you intend to say that you can stop us i" one of them .asked. " I intend to say that I can try," I an- swered, growing more angry every mo- ment. " I give you due notico that I will thr.iah the lirst one of you who annoys this old man again. If I caimot do it, I will call Some of those gentlemen to my assist- ance, .and teach you that you cannot in- dulge in such crueltv as this with impu- nity." They laughed .at .and jeered me, but I 8to'>d it all calmly, and as they did not resume their annoyances 1 had no occa- sion to c.an-y n)y threat into execution. In a few miiuitiis they departed, and I was left alone with the
e ti% greatly bluRBed as I am aftlicted." " I would liko to catch yo\ir di(g for you," I H.iid, " lie in a Hhort dintance oil'. l)o you think ho would let iiio aiiproach himV' " Thank you, thank you." ho answered, " ii you speak to him kindly he will follow you to me." "Then remain hero for a few moments," I said, " and I will bring him to you." A few kind wurds satislied the faithful little animal, and, iM.sured ihut I w.ho a friend, he tmttod after me, until we were near his master, when ho sprang jnyously forward and licked his hands, and harked 118 if to tell him of his return. "Heaven will l)le88 you for this my boy," the blind man said, as I tied the dog's tord and assisted him to rise. " An old m.'in's blessing is all I can give, and from my heart I Moss yon Goil does not forget those who help tlu' 'or and afflict- ed, and for this act you sliall ho remem- bered. God bless you ! God bless j'ou!" And, guided by his faithful dog, he moved fllowly aw.'iy, muttering prayers for my }uii>piness and prosperity. As 1 was standing looking after him, a brisk, active little old gentleman advanced towards me, and, stretching out his hand, said abruptly — " Young man, what is your name ?" " Harry Hardy, sir," I replied, looking timidly at tlio gentleman. " Well, Master Harrj' Hardy," ho con- tiniied, "I want to shake your hand," and suiting the action to the word he took my hand and shook it warmly. " I have been looking on," he added, "at all that has occurred. You are a good boy. You acted nobly in befriending that poor blind man, and I could not go away with- out telling you so. The jiarents -who reared you should bo proud of their son, as I have no doubt they are. Where do they live ? " Instead <:>f answering the question, I looked JVhB. On the following morning I was up early, and with the assistance of Gasher succeeded in brushing up my clothes and cleaning myself, so as to present some- thing like a respectable appearance. My nu)rning meal was made at a bakery, and consistetl of a few cakes, provided, as before, by my staunch young friend of the street. He seemed as proud of me, and as interested in my welfare as if he had known me from inf.ancy, and as we parted he wished mo every success, in his own 84 MY OWN STOUY. rough way, to lio Hiiro, but none the losft honuHtly and Hincurcly. Ijoii^' hufiiro tht) »[>iinr I had found tlio liDUni) of Juiiihy tt Julih. It waa IV Inrjfi! whuluwilo ilry Koodn oHtaliliiih- niont, on Wiuiliinifton Htreut, and from itn external aiipu.iraiiuo I was convinwMl that Oanhor had not huon mistaken in Haying that Mr. J,'ind)y waa ono of tlio yreut niur- chantH iif M.mton. Slmrtly aftiT ton o'chick T oponod tho door, anil with a trond)lint{ heart entunid. " Is Mr. Jand)y in /" I askod of a young man who wan vury hunily ongagod in tying up Homo pat 'h. " YoH,' wan lio ri'ply. "Aro you tho youm< man who was to call on }iim tliis morning / " " Ye«," [ answered, ''last evening ho reipiested mo to call hero this nior"ing hotween ten and eleven o'clock." "All right, eoiiu) this way. Mr. .l.'vnihy left Word that I was to take you in im soon ns yi'ii v.'ime," Haying \irhich ho led mo along the store, and opening a d'lor loading intr) a private otlico at the further end, announced my arrival. "Mr. Jamby," ho said, "hero';j tho yoting man you o.fpected." "Tlio young man! oh, yes, crtainly, I remember. Allow him to come in. .\nd how is my noble young friend of the Com- mon)" ho asked, advancing to meet me and shaking my hand warmly. 1 assured liim that I was ([uito well, and then ho ofleredme a seat, and after telling the young man not to disturl) him mitil he had coiioliided his conferenuo with me, ho sat down and looked earnestly at nio for a few moments in silence. "I boJieve you told me that your name is Hardy!" he said, breaking the silence. "Yea, sir," I ansivered. "Well, Master Hardy, nnich as I was prepossessed in your favor last evening, I must sa}' that I like you still ))etter this morning, after tho good look I have had at you. I bolievo you are an lujiiest, good- hearted, bravo l)oy, though misfortune or sometliiiig else has cast you upon the world in a singular way. What 1 brought you hero for this morning, and what 1 intend doing for you, I need not now state. Bo- fore 1 make any proposition I wish to hear your story — tho whole of it — remember, from tho earliest moment of your exist- ence to the present. JJo as brief as you can, but at the same time omit no impor- tant facts, incidents or adventures. Tell me who and what you are, where and liow you were reared, who were your parenfs, under what circumstancea you wei'o edu- cated, iind in fact all of your life's hi.st(U'y. I have a deep interest in knowing it, for it seems to me most extraordinary that a lad of your appearance and evident wortli Hhoiilil bo living in nuch u neglected, uso h'HH way. Tell mo everything freely and fearloHsly, with the eontident asHuranco that I am your friend. And will undeuvor to prove myself such." Thus proHHod I related niy Htory. I told him everything that I deemed of the I and of my mother, and of my early, haj)py davB in tho nlil houio at Sobly, Of doar old I'olly, and her love for mo. Of my mother's unhappy step in contracting a second marriage, and of the trouble and sorrow which followed. Of my stepfathor'a cruelty. Of my being sent to school, and of the ncrsocutions I was there subjected to. Of Mr. Meeker's kindness, ('harloy Courtly's friendship, and Dr. Hiker » harshnoss. Of my e8cai)e from school and the causes which led thereto. (){ how I roacheil Jloston. Of my adventures by tho way, and of all that happened to nio there. I freely and fearlessly told him everything, feeling confident that it was only right that I should do so. Tho narration was a long one, but ho listened to me with groat attention tliroiigli- out ; occasionally loi)king up as if to read tho truth of my statements in my face ; though gonerally with his head bowed forward and his eyes tixed vacantly on tho tloor. After I had tinishcd ho looked earnestly at me for a few moments, and then lean- ing back in his chair he said — "And tliis is all ( This is your wholo story, from tirst to last /" "It is indeed, sir. I have no djsiro to conceal even tho most trilling part, nor have I done so. Yt)U asked mo to tell you everything, and I have oboyod you." " I feel sure that you have, Hardy," ho answered ; " I rcijiiro no further jiroof than your own words. Your manner of telling tho story of your life was honest and straightforward, and therein lies tho most Convincing proof of its truth." Ho hesitated for a moment, and then draw- ing his chair closer to his desk, ho re- sumed, " Tliis narrative of yours, my young friend, is a singular and a sail one. That you have sull'ered mncli, and that you have been greatly wronged, I must ad- mit; but, at the same time, I feel it my duty to tell you that your action in run- ning away from school was hasty and im- proper." "Ijkiiow I was, sir," it meekly remarked, " and liad 1 then known as much as 1 now know, I would not have taken that fool- ish step." " Do you feel inclined to return then, ask pardon for your titlence, and resume your studies 1" he asked. " Return to school and ask Dr. Baker's pardon I " I exclaimed. *i Ikn OWN STOUY. ' "Yt'i," ho wvitl, " ftiul proniuo to do bettor ill fiitiiro." " Mr. .iHiiiliy," I Httid in as calm a tmio n> I ciiiilil aMHniiii), " 1 liavc (luHorud imicli BJucu 1 left that Nchnol, hut 1 woiiKl on- thiro toll tiiiK'H as nmoli, nyo, ovon doath itsoif, rathor than rotiiin ti> tho iiorsecii tioim, and astk thu pardon of Dr. Haiior and my stoii-fatlior. " lint HiiiipoHing thoy woro to forgive yon," 111! arynod. " I can Hiiiiposo nothiny, sir," I con- tinued, " I dooi)ly, Hincoroly rogrot hav- ing run away ; hiit now tliat I havo d<>no BO I will ahido by tho connuhorn or unforgiv- ing. I havu no spirit of rosuntmont to- wards Dr. Kakor, nor JMr. Winstanloy ; but I would rather dio in tho atroets of IJo.Hton, than hnmiliato mynolf so miicha.s to rt-turn and aak thoir foryivonoss. Did you, sir, know all I havo ondured, you would not blanio nio for my lirniiioss on this ])oint." "Nor do I, my lino follow," ho said kindly, "1 only say, -m you yourself ad- mit, that you did wrong in tho lirst phvce. It is a ]>ainfiil and unfoi-tunato position to be placed in. And yet, when 1 was your age, 1 am sure I would havo done tho Bamo under similar circumstances. I know you aro not, and never could bo, a ■wilfully bad boy. You have too honest a face for tliat, and your protection of the poor old blind man yesterday, shows that ycjur heart is iif the riglit place. However, we will let all that i)a38. I will not say aiiother word against you for your hasty conduct in running away from school. I am glad that I met you. A boy of j'our ago, cast upon the streets of a largo city, without a helper or a protector, nmst BiMjuer or later fall into vicious habits, and become a bad man. Tliat you aro innocent and uncontaminated as yet, I honestly believe ; and am willing to assist in saving you from the conseiiuencea of sucli a life. Aro you willing to work for your living /" " Oil, sir," I exclaimed, " only give nio a chance, and see how faithfully and how hard I will toil." " We will uot ask you to do anything very hard," he replied, " you have only to be faithful and dilligent in the dis- charge of your duties, and you will be encouraged and helped on in the world." "I will not promise much sir," I said, "all I can say is that I will endeavour to do my best, and to prove myself woi-thy of your kindness and confidence." "That's right; those words please me greatly," ho replied, with an approving smile. " I do not like to have one pro- mise too much, especially before he knows what ho will bo called ui>on to perform. Youi work, for tho pronent, at lo;uit will bo light and easily done, and an you ad- vance and improve, I givo you my word that you will not bo forgotten, provided always, that you dhow yourself worthy of encouragement, which I havo ovory conti- deiico yoii will." At that moment I could have gone down on my knees and thanked him, so grateful did i feel for his noble kimlnesa. Mr. .Iiibb, tho junior member of tho firm, a very tall and vjry thin man, wa.i then called in, and I was introduced tf Munnr*. Jiiiitby 4& .lllllll. At liint Mr. Jnlili tlioujjht ho wmilil put n>o ill tlio ntHco fur tlui imriHUo of luiirii- in(( tliu art of IxMikkucpiiig ; l)ut liu chiiiii^od liiNiiiiiiil iind i>Ihci'(1 iiu> in oiio of the (U'lwirtnicntM wlioni I wuuld rei-uive n kny in»)th«»r «lioil. Ho in I'^norunt and riin;{)i, Imt I am Hiiru lio ik honuit. iviul )iaN a uiMitl lioart. Hi* |ircaont iikxIu of living II Olio of iiiicuaiity, not of choico. Liko iiiyiolf, liu in alomi in thu \vorl(l, with iiuiiu to hul|) litiii. ilu long* to earn hia iiviiiit hoiiuatly and honourulilv, Ijut can Kut nothiiiif to do. Might I ivak you, air, to iiau your intliiunuo in his hohiilft Ho in willing to work at anything, no innt- tur what, ho long nn it ia iturinaiiunt, and and will givu him food and ulothing. Ho in unodnciitcd, hut ouuld ho procure work lio might hoard with nio aiul I could in- ■tnict itiid impiovo iiim. Hu di Viho wan lil«ijicitli«r? IIuil hu ilNtiirT llud Ik a lirotliiir?" Were ((uoationa frequently askod, but never answered. In a meaauru I was in a similar cy round, and step by step, very 8h)wly at tirst, Init none the less surely. We never lost an .advance- ment once gained. As opportunities oc- curred wo were promoted, and with each promotion came increased omoluments, and additional resjjonsihilities, of which Ave did all in our power to prove ourselves worthy, it was o\ir pride and our en- deavour to do our duties faithfully and well, and to show our employers that wo dec])ly felt their noble conduct, .and that we sought constantly to serve their inter- ests tirst, in preference to f)ur or two beneath me. We Avcre in the receipt of good salaries and had CA'ery comfort Ave could desire ; in addition to Avliich we had tho con.tidence and esteem of the tirni, and the goiid Avill of those Avith Avhoui in our early business days ATc ;iss"ciated. One evening as Ave Avere about closing the labors of tho day Mr. Jamby met me in the oiiice. "I was just on the louk out for you, Mr. Hardy,'" he said, "Are yon and Mr. Adams engaged for to-morroAV evening?" "No sir," I replied. "(That's foi-tiuiate. I Avish to talk to you for an hour or two, and though I gener- ally leave b\isincss in the office, on this occasion I Avill out-step the nde. 15e kind enough to dine Avith mo at homo to-mor- roAV afternoon and bring Adams Avith you. No ceremony, romcniber, but a quiet cosy family dinner, and over our Avine wo Avill have a friendly chat. Mr. Jubb Avill be there, .and thus avo will haA-o a nice little party of four." I thanked him, .and jn'omised to bo present, and then Avith a cordial good-bye ho left me. Tho folloAving evening found us at BIr. J.amby's. Tho dinner party consisted of Mr. Jamby's family, Sir. .Jubb and our- selves, .and everything passed olf most pleasantly. Mrs. J.amby Av.as a kind old lady, plain in manner, .and in every Avay a suitable partner for her Avortliy husband. Their family consisted^of tAvo daughters, good, intelligent girls, refined and culti- v.ated, .and m.aking up in Avit and accom- plishments Avhat they Avanted in beauty. It must not be supposed from this that the}' Avero plain in appearance; on the contr.ary, they Avere bright, rosy-cheeked, good looking girls, though not Avliat tlie Avorld Avould call handsimie. They Avero in a Avord fair lo(jking, rather than beautiful. IJinner over, the ladies left us, and tho Avine made its appearance. Gasher and I never exceeded a couide of glasses, .and our host Avell know our custom in this respect. After the decanter had circu- lated he said : "NoAV to business. As you .are all aAvare, it is sehlom indeed I introduce, or allow any one else to introduce, business topics .at this table ; but on this occasion I must make an exception. We came hero for business and pleasure cond^ined, and having enjoyed a little of the latter, lotus take up the former. First, hoAvover, Ave must remember tho ladies. Adams, my boj', you are undoubtedly the ladies' man of the party, I nnist ,ask you to attend to them. They Avould never forgive me were I to keep you hei-e any longer. You Avill find tliem in the drawing room. Give them our compliments and say avo Avill join them shortly. Do not think from tills, my dear fclloAV, that Ave are banish- ing you for ,anj- secret piu'pose. Our conference Avill not last long, and you Avill knoAV all about it .as soon as it is over. Run aAv.ay now, .and do the best you can Avith the trio Auitil avo join you." "A most pleas.ant duty, indeed," said Gasher, ri.sing .and smiling good-lumior- edly, "and rest assured I Avill perform itfjiithfully." I "I have no doubt you Avill," Mr. J.amby I MY OWN STORY. 39 I replicil, "and I nm suro the ladies will thank \m heartily fur having di'iven you iiway from this cabal. And now," ho added, as the door closed after (iasher, " draw your chairs closer, gentlemen, away with the wine for the present, and listen." ".Something wonderful coming from the senior," Mr. JuUb remarked with a laugh, " He never banishes the wine on such occasions without good reason." | "You'll hear it all in good time, my derv fellow," Mr. Jamby replied. "And now, in the first place, tell me what you think of thi.'i boy here !" and he nodded towards me. "What I think of him?" Mr. Jubb exclaimed. "Yes, your candid, honest opinion, (;penly expressed hero before himself." "Well, this is a curious beginning, certainly," Mr. Jubb laughingly said, ' ' you kr,ow Mr. Jamby that I could hard- ly convey in words the respect 1 have for and the confidence I have in our young friend. 1 have always considered it one of the most happy and fortunate events in the history of our house, tliat chance meeting on the Common which led to the engagement of Mr. Hardy." "I know you have, Jubb," Mr. Jamby answered, " and I only asked you the (juestion now, in order that you might express your feelings openly and in the presonco of Hardy himself." "I assure you, my kind friends," I ventured to remark, "it required no such test to convince nie of your {friendship. Your actions have long ago spoken louder thiin words ever could." "Silence, sir," said Mr. Jamby, with an air of mock severity, " How dai-e you speak in the pr jsenco of your employ- ers without permission? ]\Ir. Jubb," he continued iu the same tone, "between ourselves, the conduct of this young man is becoming overbearing in the extreme " "Now, thai; you mentioned it," Mr. Jubb remarked, "I nni.st say that I have long noticed it myself. He grows more arrogant and inibearable every day. It's ontragv;ous." "The very word, IMr. Jubb; 'out- rageous,' is the word. But we'll stop him, sir. We'll show him that he cannot as- sume these airs with impunity. We'll punish him to the utmost limit of the law. 1 have given the (piestion iiuich thought, and after mature deliberation have tome to the conclusion that he mxist 'oe severely punished, Mr. Jubb, and that punishment is banishment." "Most righteous judge," Mr. Jubb ex- claimed. ' ' Yes, sir," Mr. Jamby continued, "ban- ishment is the sentence of the court. Nothing else will suftico. Such men must not be allowed to infest our country. Their conduct wo\ild have a bad inHuenco upon the rising generation. Wo must nuike an example of him for the warning of all others. What think you, Mr. Jubb /" "Think!" that worthy gentleman re- plied, "why that yo\i arc a very Daniel come to judgment; a greater than Solomon is here. But in the next place, most worthy judge, how is the sentence of the court to be carried out I" "A very proper (piesti(jn, Mr. Jubb, very proper. Listen while I proceed to answer it. There is a place up north called Canada. The culprit, here, has, 1 believe, been there already, and knows well the severity of the climate, the miserable kind of people who live there, and all its other pecidiarities. Everything considered, I do not think we could punish him more severely than to send him to that far oil" land." "I agree with you fully," Jlr. Jubb said, "but in what way is ho to sutler when he goes there ! " "Mr. Jubb, in order to answer that question properly, allow nie to tell a short story. " Once upon a time there were two very wicked old men — in fact, I might say frightfully demoralized old men — and they lived in a place called Boston. In that place they had a largo house, in which they kept numy persons, young and old, and made them work very hard. In another place, called Canada, they had another house, not so large, in which they also kept several men, and made them work very hard, too, for they were worse task- masters than the Egv'ptiaiis of old. One daj' their chief ])risoner in the house in Canada died, and it became their duty to hll his place. Fer this pur[ioKe these tw^o fearfully wicked old men had a long con- ference, and after much scheming, they came to the conclusion that they v.ould send to Canada the very worst j'oung man they had in the Boston prison, feeling assured that, on account of his many bad (pialities, and cruel disposition, he would make a fit guardian of the prison in Canada. So one of these dreadfully wick- ed old men gave a (piiet little dinner- party, and after thev had eaten of the good things, he called the young man — as 1 call you now, Mr. Hardy — and said to him, ' Will you accept this position in Canada V What do you think the young man answered?" "He said he was almost overcome with his kind ofl'er. He could hardly speak his thanks, and while accepting of the noble olfer hoped and trusted that Cod would ever enable hiiu to show how thankful he was to his generous benefactors." 40 MY OWN ST(mY. "And so tho young man freely nccept- ed," Mr. Jubb aaid with a smile. "My dear, kind friends, "I said, "of all tho generous acts you have done mo this is the greatest. I have long wished to return to my native land, but aa I found that I could not do so witiiout leaving your employment I banished the desire. Now, however, you have given mo the means of going there, and may heaven reward you for it." There was silence in tho room for a few minutes, and then Mr. Janiby said ; "I am delighted. Hardy, to hoar that this proposition of ours meets Avith your favor. At first Mr. Jubb and I were afraid tho change might not bo agreeable to you. By accepting o\ir offer you can- not conceive how greatly you have pleased us. Come, Jubb, till up old boy, and let us drink success to Hardy in his now field of operations." Gasher was then called in and informed of everything. The dear fellow seemed grieved when he heard tliat I was going to leave him, but his mind was relieved and his heart made glad when told by Mr. Jamby that he could accompany me if he wished. He jumped at the offer gladly, and it was then and there arranged that we should start for our new held of labors as soon as all tho necessary preparations could be made. CHAPTER XII. MESSUS. HAUDY AND ADAM3. In tho course of a couplr of wooks » in the enjoyment of a good ami lucrative trade ; but we Wore not aatisliud with that. We were determined to increase and extend it, and with tliat purjinse in view, we set to work en.'rL'etieally .".inl miinfr.ll.v. The training we had receivisil in t!u>. liouse of * luoirlrr til av.iiil all iiiiMiJi.lerst:iiidiii;{, 1 may us Wfil liiM'i- st.-.le, tli.it tli<.ii:;ii •,]>•■ pirsniH :\h<\ plaees iiieiiti"!!';! luri'jn :in. liniwii friitn lii'i', Uii^ iiaiin's have ill I'Vi'iy iiijiiincr hi'.n rhaiiiji '1. Tli;> :c:is.iii i'.n- tlii» will Iw 111 iiiii-o iini.aicut. wii.-ii it ii i-uiiiL'iiiliiri.'il that iimny iif the pci-suhs iuirojin-oii in inii- .story aii^ still iu the land iifthi; liviuL,', 'I'hat this will comik iinilur tbt! eV'M iit'aMiii.! (,|t'i ■11 1 h.ivi: t.v.'iy riMsoii to li'Jl>tf aud ht'li'jv,.', -Tin; .Vlthur. I h 4 MY OWN STORY. 41 iriet- were no and the Id we sole , into days" juiity ill )or, ■ it the ido ; We lid it, t to The so of iiav us liave >!' tliis M lliut still uniliT / h Jamby and Jnbb, made ua botli yood busint!i?3 men, and after having worked faithfully for thciii for several yearu, it •was not likely tliat wo wonld now neglect interests in which our own welfare was closely bound up v.ith theirs. Economy, we knew was a source of wealth, and we made up unr minds to practice it. Wo had never been i^\.travagant men. We liad lived well and respectably, but our hard earnings had never been squandered in viseless follies or Avorso vices. Hutl such been the case, we would not have made the advancement we did in the house of Messrs. .Iand>y it Jubb. A couple of v.'ceks after we had taken posscE-.'.ion of our new esLablisIimeut, we received a lengthy letter from j\Ir. Jamby. I was fidl of g hear that you have arrived at J.Jayford in srifetj-, and also that you are so far Avell pleased with y()ur nevr' ditties. Contentment, as some pliiloso- pher truly remarks, is the grand source of happiness. Without it you wonld be miserable even had von the wealth of Cn esus at your comuia'ad, and all th lie comforts of tlie wmld around you. In addition toHhe few words of advice 1 gave you at parting, I do not know that I can or need r;ay anytliiiig now. You are ujen of Sound conniion jjjiisvI, ;uid g'ond busi- ness experience ; and if diligence, perse- verence and onergy are the parents of ]iros2ierity, yon will and must .succeed. Tha.t I have the utmost confidence in you you well know. Were it otherwise, you Avould not be occupyin;; the imsitiou iu wliieli you have been placed, and of which you are in every way dc3.;rvii)g. Old JambA'j the v.-orld says, is a slirowd, sharp man of trade, who made himself what he is, and wouhl bo the lai-t man in the world to repose contideiicoand trii.st in any one, unless he were fidly eo!iviuced that he Avas right iu s < doing. In you, niy dear toys, ). need not repeat, tliat I haA-e that conlidence — full ,and complete— yo\u' pros- perity I desire, and your v.-olfave in is my happiness to promote, ed me Avitli a son ■aay, leared and od-.icat' AS'ondered a( that I. loor as my own children? Yoii wero boy.s, friendless and alone wh»u I mot j-ou. Since that time I have tried to traat you as if you wero my children, and had I indeed been your father I Avould not have been prouder of you, nor mora intei'esteil in your happiness than I now mn. CJrati- tude, as time will teach you, ia a virtue rare ; and hapj)y am I, in my old age, to tind rtiat from you 1 have experieiieed so much of it. Pardon mo for referring to these things, and belioYO me tliat I Avould not do so were they not near to my heart. "Be as attontivo to buBinaas in the future as you have been in tlio jiatt, and your succoBS in life is certain. Be dili- gent in work, regular in habits, and upright iu your Avalk throngli life. — Practice economy, but bo genurous ac- cording to yo\ir moans. Make few friends and less enemies. Pity suiiering, and relievo it when you can. Turn not a deaf ear to tlio cry of sorrow, nor iu coldness from the house of distress, jio true to all men, and just to your.selves. Encourage merit. tlespect the good opiuicm of the Avorld, and try to giiiii it by all honourable means; but remain witliout it raither tlian Avin it unfairly, for remem- ber that a elci'.r coiincieiice is better than iiian's applause. To be Avell spoken (if is a good thing, but to have a heart t;i:it does not accufio us is much bettor. Il.'ilf the Avorldjives on reputation, but seek it net at all unless you can earn it honestly. "Thujo, many persons Avould tall yon, are curiims maxims for an old im3hie;js iiu'.n to ter.ch. I myself know that tlioy are; but novertheiess 1 give them to yuvi as tlie results of a life-ti)ueof observati'Hi. "When 1 Avas your age I received a very dillerent lesson, ;iud in many points thoiight tlio very opjiosito of Avhat 1 now think. But the world has tal:en those ideas out of mo. I have Avorkedu;)on a sot of rules of my own making, and thanlc God 1 liave succeeded. When I started out in life I Avao not taught as I now teach you. — Success, I was told, Avas t;) bo my only I object, and I Avas to Avork for that, ind ' tluit alone, every means that aided it 1 being legitiviiate, }U'ovitled that they did j n(jt carry mo to the priijon. Tliis, I v/ns I taught, Avas htt:iitirs<. It may be, but it las aui>taer name iJso, and that Gi.ni has not bless- ind having, iw I may d yon, is it to be npoi; viro, ahnoEt i/iVioifs/;/.' If tlio hniie^t maxims of trade dii not form a basis upon Avliieh mm can build success, he had much better rei.iaiu forever iu poverty. Coniicleiice ma.--t be onr only guide. 1 tlunight diliereiitiy once. Let me toll yon how an incident, .simple, though painful, in itself, chiuiged my mind. "As you know, I pride my*.>if upon the fact that I am a self-made ma:i. I vras poor once— very poiir — and in humblecir- eimstauces w.is born and re.ired. V\lien 42 MT OWN STORY. a young man, my parents died, and I was left in the world with only one relation, a sister, whom I dearly loved. She was called beautiful, and I was proud of the admiration she won wherever she appeared. She made the acquaintance of a young man whom T need not name, and an at- tachment sprang up between them. At first I countenanced and encouraged it; but, by degrees, I learned that he was a roui, and as I had every reason to believe. Bought my sister's dishonor rather than her happiness. I at once took steps to- wards breaking up the affair. I ordered her to see him no more, telling her at the same time, his true character, and giving him to understand that his visits were no longer welcome. I need not dwell upon the painful matter. My sister remained firm in her attachment, and occasionally managed to see him without my know- ledge. The end of it all was that she eloped with him. For a time they lived together, and then, as I had feared would be the case, he grew tired of her and finally cruelly deserted her. Thus she was left alone in the world, entirely improvided for. She was too proud to appeal to me for assistance, and even had she don» so I wouldnotthen have helped her. How she struggled on I know not. I never asked for her, never sought her out, never sent her a dollar to help her in her distrass. After a while, I began to repent of my cruelty and severity; I enquired after her, I searched for her, I even advertised for her, but it was M of no avail. From that day to this I have never heard of her, and no doubt, she long ago died of poverty and want, while I, her brother, was sur- rounded with wealth. The remembrance of my hard-heartedness weighed heavily upon me, and I would have given all I possessed could I have recalled the past. But it was too late. My severity had done its work, and my sister was gone from me forever. Then I made up my mind to become a better man, and to try by lead- ing an honest life, and doing an occasional goud action, to in some way make up for my neglect and cruelty to her. If I have succeeded in that good resolve I thank God. I have prospered and grown rich, and out of my abundance I have tried to help others. But in the midst of all this, that poor girl is not forgotten, and to the latest moment of my life my conscience will accuse me for having left her to live upon the charity of the world, or, perhaps, to die in the midst of strangers. "Pardon me for telling you this painful incident of my life. I give it as showing the point upon which my history turned. It is a relief to talk to you of these things, and I hope that from them you may ex- tract some benefit, however small. " With every wish for your happiness and prosperity, I remain your earnest friend. "John Q. Jamby." "This is a most curious incident, cer- tainly," Gasher said, as soon as ho had finished reading the letter, " and Mr. Jamby is the last man in the world in whose history 1 would expect to find it." " From remarks I h^vo occasionally heard him make," T replied, "I have long been of the opinion that there was some secret in his life. He often seemed absent-minded, and no doubt, in such moments, the recollection of this old trouble was upon him." "Dear, kind old man," Gasher said affectionately, "Who that knows his good- ness and his generosity could for a moment suppose that he had ever been so cruel and unforgiving ]" "He gives us some good advice here, in his kind way," 1 said after a pause, "and we, Gasher, must show our appre- ciation thereof by following it out to the very letter. Let us do all in our power to prove ourselves worthy of the interest he has ever manifested in our welfare, since the time when, as poor helpless boys, he took us under his care." " Economy must be our practice," Gasher replied, "and speaking of that reminds me, that it is about time we left the hotel and procured quarters in some comfortable private house, where we could be as happy and as much at home as we were in dear old Boston." " I have been thinking of that," I answered, "beside the expense, I must say that I have not felt comfortable in that hotel, with its bustle, anij noise, and constant commotion. I think the best thing we can do is to advertise for such a place as we want." " Just the thing," Gasher said, "here goes for it at once," and taking up a pen he wrote : " Wantbd — By two young gentlemen, comfortable, well furnished rooms with board, in a respectable locality, not more than twenty minutes walk of the post office. Address, Box 819." "I think that will do," Gasher said, after reading the production over a couple of times, "now for a series of answers from the unprotected matrons of Bay- ford." The advertisement was sent off, and on the following morning it appeared in the columns of the Bayford Chronicle. I .1 VTf II! MY OWN STORY. 43 CHAPTER XIII. 8IN8W1CK COTTAGE. / Ab Gasher had anticipated, we received I ' numerous answers to our advertisement. (They came from all quarters of the city, and from all sorts of people, and we felt satisiied that, from among such an array, I we could have no difficulty in suiting our- ' solves. One of the answers struck us as being so peculiar, that wc determined to give it the first chance. It was worded in tiiis way : "Mrs. Sinswick, of Sinswick Cottage, presents her compliments to Box 819, and trusts that lion 819 will do her the pleas- ure of calling at Sinswick Cottage, No. 47 Oakwood Avenue, where, she feels con- vinced. Box 819 will ever afterwards remain, in order that it may enjoy the comforts of a homo, such as it appears to desire. Sinswick Cottage speaks for itself, as Box 819 will admit, when it does Sinswick Cottage the honor of a visit." The production was such a peculiar one that Box 819 made up its mind to visit Sinswick Cottage forthwith, if for .no other purpose than to satisfy its curiosity. Accordmgly at an early hour that even- ing, Gasher and I found ourselves in front of No. 47, Oakwood Avenue. The building was not a pretentious one, being simply a two story brick, with green shutters on the windows and a porch over the door. It looked cosy and com- fortable, however, and was in a pleasant quarter of the town. Being favorably impressed with the exterior, we determined to examine.further, and for that purpose advanced to the door and pulled the bell. It was answered by a good looking, neatly dressed, rosy cheeked girl. "Does Mrs. Sinswick live here?" I asked. " Yeth, thir," she replied, with an in- teresting lisp, that came very sweetly from | her pretty lips. "This then, is Sinswick Cottage," I continued. "Ycth thir," she repeated, " pleath walk in." We obeyed, and were she'mi into a nicely furnished sitting room, where the rosy-cheeked girl loft us, and in a few ni(v find mo," she uddiul, with a sijh. " I am the first of my family who ever had to take in boarders fur a living. My i/ajia was a wealthy Irish iirentluman — a gciiniiio UcCoiirecy — and must lie uii- ea.sy in liin grave when he seen his daughter enga'/ed in such a way. However, ^;cn- tlemen, [ should not trouble you with these thin,r,'s; when you .-^eo the weak- minded SiiLSwick yon will imderetand everything." "Then there waMr. Sinswick," Gaslier remarko'l. "Unfortunately for me, there is," the lady ivplied. ' ' 1 need not r.iy more about Idni. Ho speaks for himself." As tiioSweak-minded Kiiiuwick was not present to sjieak for himself, and ob we liad no de.sire to hear more about him from his better-half, we took our de- I)ai'ture. "On en;^uivy, wo Ictinied that Mrs. Sinv.vick kept a most respectable house. !SIr. !~^inbv.iek, however, was not bo well spoken of. Ho appeared to be a nhrowd fellow after hia manner, but was some- what partial to the ilowing bowl, vrhieh occasicjiiallj^got the better i^f Jiim. Coining to the conchiriion that we should not blame the wile for the failing.s of the husband, we decided upon ;;iving Sinswick Cottage a trial, 'i'wo days later, therefore, we toiik up our residence therein. On going home to dinner the first eve- ning, v.o found a gentleman stretched on the sofa ill the bitting room. Before we liiultime to ask who he wa;', Mrs. Sinswick entered, and the gentleman arose — " Allow me to introduce yon to 5Ir. Ilai-dy and Mr. Adams." she said to him, " This is Jlr. Donlevey," she added, turn- ing to ns, "The gentleman of whom I sijoke." "Mofit I'.ai'py to meet you sirs," Mr. Donlevey said i;i a good natured way, " and I only hope you will iind Sinswick cottage as hapt)y a place as I have found it." We n tinned Ins gi"oeting, and Mrs. Sinswick left the room. " As we are caft to live together, for nobodj' knows how long," Mr. Donlevej' \ resumed, ' ' we'll soon be better acipiainted. : In the liieantiiue, however, what do you say ti a friendlj' ghis.j of v.'ine before din- ; nor just by way of introduction i" "\Vith all iiiy heart," I replied. As he proceeded to get the Avine from the side-board, I observed him more cloaelj'. He was a tall, active-looking, liandsome fellow, with a tine, manly ex- pression and bearing, and a soft, kind look in his large blue eyes, which showed at a dance that his heart was in the right l)Iacc. "Here's your Tory good health, gentle- men," he said with an air of hearty sin- ceritj", us soon as we had filled our glasses, "may our esteem for each other grow with our acquaintanee, »n;y to study." "Von linvo clioH(?a a most avduou-t in-ofL'saion," I .said, " I think tho lifo of a practising pliysici.kn uiuat ho ono of tho most kihoriouH m-kn can cngago in, and in iidditio'i to that it is tho iiio.st renpon- siblo. Tho lircs of liis fnllow.s lU'u in his keo])iiK;." "An to the fonner point," Donlovey ropliod, "I don't tliink I will mind it if I onco get thorou;.,'hly at work. On tho lattor point 1 a!ractico of my profesEion, my patients will not havo reason to hud fault with me for the length of tlieir druggista' liilh. Howevia-, tliis talk is growinj; too serious. Its not like mo at ail, as you'll perhaps iJiul rnit ))oforo \im know mo long. As you are sti'angcrs here, and just starting in lifo, as it were, on your own account, allow me the jileas- nro of drinking to your success and jiros- lierity," aiul tilling his glass lie nodded to us, aiul dr.'.nk his friendly toast. "Thank y.iu, ilr. L»onlovey," Gaslier said, " and in return allow mo to propose a. sentiniout. Fill np. Hardy. Hcre'.s to tho medical profession, and may Dr. Don- lovey cro loTig bjcomo one of its brightest ornanumts." (laslier and I drank the toast heartily, and Donlcvey bowed his acknowledge- ments. " 15y-thc-bve, Mr. Hardy, you said j"ou were a Canadian," he remarked, after a pause, "wcrj you educated in this coun- trj'i" "Partially," I answered, ni>t at all de- sirous of saying much on tlie subject. "May I ask in what part?" ho cou- tinned. ' "In an ordin.iry c >untrT-school liouso," I rojilied, "so humble that I caro not to montiou it, and even were 1 to do ho 1 i(ue.)tioii very much if you would know it." "As I hoforo rcimarkod," ho said, doh- cately turning from tho n- I lovey abruptly asked. "I \vas l)orn in a nov.ly-opened diD- trict," I .answered, "but .-.ithetimo I first knew it, it conhl hy,rdly be called back m the bush." ., "Then you havo nu*,ed i.Uich, he naid, I "bush liio is glorious. There is a charm ' abiuit it that i cannot describe. ' "1 havo alway.^ been led to suppose that it was a most monotonous existence, tja-siier r*aid. "I iirant von that therj is nmch niono- i tony about it," Donlovey answered, "but : is ii not .so more or less witli every calbngJ fs your business not the S'vr.ie from day to day/ Y>o havo monotony in cveiythnig. : 1 do no: say, rememi)er, that I wovddhke ; to spend all mv days in the \,-o(.ds, but T ■ think that occiwionally a felhjw can havo '' glorious times there. Yon feel so free, so i unrestrained, so much at liberty," he added onthu-siastically, "that you seem to 1 )e ant ither being. Tho grand ( )hl wc )0us, the unbroken solitude, the free air of heaven, the thousa;id beauties of the forest, fill you with a better and a nobler spirit, than you ould extract in a century of time from the wonders of .ill tho cities on tho earth. If I were forced to mrdco a ■ choice between the two I would sooner i take the woods for a life-time than the city." "You are enthusiastic about your native forests," Ga.dier said, with a snnle. "Perh.aps I am; and my love for their I dark solitiides and lovely .siiades has often . ])uzzled mo. I am a social fellow ; I like life, and plenty of it ; I love a jolly com- panion and a true friend, and yet I have never known Jiu.ro reul, genuine, he.art- 46 MT 0\T5 STOR-f . felt happincBH tlian when nlone in the wild old W(if)d8 I nuist Im off to tlieni aoniu of tlic'Hu diiys," ho added, an ho ehovod hack liis chair and arose, "I am growiiif,' tired of this city life, and those dreary doctor's hooks, and if I don't soon have a nin through the hush I don't know what will heconie of nie." "Under any circumstances," I said, "I hardly think you arc the sort of man to die of ennui." "Therein you are right," he replifid. " Blues nro something I know nothing about. I believe I've been in love in my time, after a fashion. I've had tailors with your toggery a' there's some one hero yo\i." On coming dow rolling around oi in company wit! and a setter — whi^.., y down i AutB to see , 1 found him ling room floor, .logs — a retriever as I afterwards learned, were his constant comimnions. " (jood morning again," he said, spring- up quickly, "I'm at my morning devotions you see. Rolling on the floor with two dogs may not lie a very dignified or proper amusement for a medical gentleman, but it's capital fun, and I don't think the dogs enjoy it more than their master. It dunning me, and all sorts of troubles put- ' gives the three of us good ajipetites, and ting in an api)earance on the most inap propriate occasions, and yet have laughed at them all. Other fellows get the blues at such times, but what's the iisc? Take the world as you find it. Tl. it's my motto. Jump in, and if you can't swim seize on the first thing that will float you, and keep your head above water the best way you can. What's the iise of going down when a little exertion will keep you up ? I liope you fellows smoke. If you do, youil find some cijutal cigars on the mantle-piece. I rather prefer my old black pipe." Fortunately, Gasher and I were smo- kers. Otherwise our newly made ac- Cuaintanco would have smoked us out of the house without mercy. As wo enjoyed our pipes, Donlevoy told some capital Btoriea, and gave us food for many a hearty laugh. He was a most amusing fellow ; splendid company, and full of .in- ecdote. Ho had a very winning manner, natural and easy — and his language and actions were ever those of the gentleman. That first evening at Sinswick Cottage was a decidedly pleasant one, and as we retired for the night we thought onrselves fortunate in having procured such agreea- ble quarters. CHAPTER XIV. AN OLD FEIEND IN A NEW CHARACTBB. Next morning I was aroused by Don- levoy, who was out on the sidewalk in front of my window, singing a negro melody in a clear, manly voice. "I thought my sweet notes would stir you up," he sho\ited, as he caught sight of me at the window. "Good morning to you ; and allow me to hope that my early serenading has not disturbed your rest." "Not at all," I replied; "I am rathor obliged to you than otherwise for having aroused me in such a pleasant way." "All right, then," he answered. "On is on the whole much better than snoozing away these delightful morning hours in bed," " Hava you been up long (" I asked. " Since daylight," he replied. "I never can sleep after the sun appears. It's a splendid sight to see him rise on such lovely mornings as this is. One such hour is worth all the rest of the day. But come, I want t(i introduce you t(j a gentleman who wab up to-day even earlier than I, though its very seldom he's able to say so much." He crossed over into the sitting-room, and I followed. A gentlemanly-looking man of about my own age was lying on the sofa, and as we entered he arose. Something in his appearance was familiar to me, and I was wondering where I had seen him before, when Donlevoy proceed- ed to introduce me. "Charley," ho said, "this is one of the new arrivals — Mr. Hardy. Mr. Hardy, my friend Mr. Courtley." The name had scarce passed his lips when I recognized in the gentleman be- fore me my dear old school-fellow. The recognition was mutual, and in that mo- ment of our joy wo so forgot our age and manliness as to rush into each other's arms. Donlevoy looked at us in .'silent aston- ishment for a few moments, and then giving a sort of Indian war-whoop, in the performance of which he was ably assisted by the two dogs, ho shouted : "Hurrah ! Just to think that you two fellows know each other. Ain't it glori- ous? I propose morning cock-tails all round. Where's the other fellow ? If ho ain't out of bed in less than a minute, he'll have the pleasure of a shower-bath before he arises. Hold on boys until I bring him down, and see if I don't make a staving eye-opener on the strength of this [re-union." And away he went like a] shot, to make war upon the sleeping Gasher. "My dear, dear old school- fellow,'' Courtley exclaimed, holding me out at • I J • » r MY OWN STOttY. 47 I L • I »' at ann's lungth, the hotter to look at me, what a pleuBure, what n happiness to meet you thus iinox|)ectodly, after ho many yearn of separation." "A liappincsB, indeed, yon may well call it, Charl'iy," I answered pressing his hand warmly, "the world has not gone unfavorably with me, but since that day when you and I parted as boys, [this is the greatest joy I have known. Thousands of times 1 have thought of you, and let me assure you, that in returning to Canada, one of my KTcatest H(jurce8 of pleasure wa« the prospect of meeting you, and reunit- ing the ties of our old school days." "And think not, my youthful chum, that you havo been forgotten all these long years," he said very earnestly, "time and again I have encpiired for you, but no one cimld tell mo of your whereabouts, and I long ago gave you up as lost, so far as I was concerned. I thought you had wandered away to some far oil' quarter of the globe, and had there made for your- self a homo among strangers, and that I would never hear of you again, much less meet you, as I now do. This, Harry, is one of the happiest moments of my life. But where havo you been ? What have you been doing ? How do I find you back here V and away he rattled with a dozen other questions, which would have taken me a week to answer. "Don't be impatient, my dear fellow," T laughingly replied. "You shall hear all in good time. You cannot expect me to stand up here the very moment I meet you and give the history of tha last ten years of my life all at once." "Pardon me, old fellow," he said, its just like me, though I'm always impatient and thoughtless." " And beside that," I continued, "re- member you've got a long story to tell also. There are ten years of your life's history hidden away from me that I must know all about." "And before breakfast on a bright morning is no time to begin," Donlevey aaid, entering the room as I spoke. "If you fellows think yon're going to spoil breakfast by your ten years' yarns, you're very much mistaken. But after all though, aint it glorious," he added, "just to think that after ten years separation you should meet in this curious way. I'd give the world to be one of yon, 'pon my honor I would, if only for the satisfaction of know- ing what the sensation and happiness of ■uch meetings are." "A good hearted fellow like you can easily imagine them," Courtley said. "Well, perhaps I can," was the reply; "and I can imagine what my conduct would be, too. By-the-by, that reminds mo of the cock-taila. Don't say no. I won't hear such a word on such an occasien. You nnist have them, and I must mix them. I'm your physician, and unhesi- tatingly prescribe cock-tails under the circumstances. Tho other follow will be down in a minute, and then we'll have one rousing good drink over your old times, and our future happiness," Contrary as it was to my custom, I could not refuse tho kind fellow. He proceeded at once to mix tho boterago, in the most scientific manner, and with all tho flourishes of an experienced bar- tender. Before he had finished, Gasher came down. He and Courtley were intro- duced to each other, and then wo all did justice to Donlevey's drinks. "You fellows don't like this sort of thing," he said, after wo had emptied our glasses, "and you are perfectly right. On general principles, these morning de- coctions aro wrong, and it will be a long time before I ask you to repeat the dose. This is a special occasion, however, and a glorious one ; and as the customs of the civilized world run, it would be nothing less than out-and-out barbarity not to havo had just one drink together after such a longsei)aration." "It's all right, my dear Dick," Courtley said. "We know your motive is good, and accordingly forgive you." "Hurrah! then; there's tho breakfast bell," Donlevey replied.. "Attack the chops instanter. I pronounce them an infallable remedy for all the evils your early drinking may produce." "Courtley was not such a man in ap- pearance as his boyhood had promised. At school he used to be a stout, robust boy, large for his ago, and I had always entertained tho opinion that he would grow up a large, powerful man. I was very much mistaken, however. He was medium-sized and lightly built, but his proportions were excellent ; and his wiry, active name indicated strength and endur- ance. He had a finely-shaped, intellectual looking head, and though his features were not regular enough to bo handsome, they beamed with a bright, intelligent look, which would attract attention more quickly than mere personal beauty, which, in man, is inappropriate in ninety-nine cases out of every hundred. Donlevey was a handsome fellow, but his fine, manly bearing, and honest, open countenance, carried away everything insipid, and won for him admiration even from those who were loth to give it. Yet, out in the world, and even in social circles, among ladies, Courtley, I felt convinced, would be tho favourite ; or, at least, would be looked upon as the more superior of the two, and as possessing more intellectual weight and ability. Donlevey was a rol- MT OWN monw II lii'UiiijT, g()d(l-ri.iliiiv(l, t.'cniiino thrii, int'i'nrcil to Rtnnd up fur a friiunl mi nU (ICC iHi.mn, Riul ti) iiuiko hiiii'tulf hiippy iimlor all ciroiiinstMiftn. \ iiiuro rlevntctl ()rarod for tlio occasion," Donlevey said, "mornijig drinks may bo bad — wo wont discuss tho question — but you can't say a Word against an after dinner glass of punch. Leave all tho preliminaries for your grand confab to me, and if you don't have a jolly tinio of it, you may say Dick Donlevey is an African." Then we separated for the day, and after * aft(.-r business was over we asscndjlod again in tb.o evening. Donlevey was as good as his word. lie had apparently spent the cutii'O day in tho pro])arations. There were pipes and cigars and tobacco enough for a regiment of soldiers, and more wines and liquors than we could make away with in a month. Ho was a solf-ajipointod master of ceremonies for the occasion, and had early in tho day issued si.eciivl orders, or rather a series of them, regarding tho dinner, 1 believe ho even desceuded into tho kilclun and ably aMintod thu cook ia luir o|ierationH. Ilo was in gloriou.i Bpirit", -M nappy i\% a kin^i '^"'l I'ej'iiod M luiu'tily in\'v tlio niectinji of Cliarlcy and my.tolt', aftrr our lou;; Heiiaration, as We iow you two fellows can lire away to I four heart's content. Come, Adams, let U.I leave them. You and J ciiii laid some I way of amu.siiig our.ielves. They want to talk o»ir old vime.'^, and under such cir- ; cumstances, I fancy oi:r i-oom vriU bo i preferable to our ompany." 1 Wo pri.ssi.d him to renuvi.i, but ho i laughing!}- declined, and taking Gasher j with him left tho room. I "What a singular m, in heir.," I said, as j soon iwt tho door had closed behind him. I "Yc«; .singular certainly," Courtloy replied. "J5ut one of the best fellowfi in tho world. I've known him for several years, and havo always foinid him tho jolly, good-natured, whole-souled fellow you see liim now. lie's everlasting sini- shine in tho house, and though I have my doubts about hi.i ever beci)ming a famous- physician, his good, lionest face and genial manner will havo a wonderful ell'ect on hia patients." "Do you tliink he will soon bo through with hi.i studies!" 1 asked. "Yes; I fancy so," Charley an.iv.ered. "He's been at them long enough, goodness knows, and might liave boon through long ago but for want of application, tlo has good natural abilities, as you may see, but cares r.ujre for a dog or a gun than for all the medical works over written. lint come, Harry, now that we are alone, and not likely to be intemiptod, let me hear your btorj-. 1 am impatient to loam everything that has (occurred, and liow it is that I find j-ou in good circumntancos and prosperous, after the singular and xinjirotected way in which you started out iu lifo." M> O^N STORY. 49 i 4 k'' My nldry w.nfi Boon tolfl. I foncoftled iiottiiiix, liiit frcply, tkt, front frioud tt> irioiid, rclatt^d cveTy tiling thak yciU, dear ruudwr, iilr«'At ({ooil luok liua lU- tunilud you, and thr.t ihidUi,'h honest toil ivnd iirikiHtiwuithy o.xorti>.na of your own, f'ou lavo w,'i)od wislioK, (.'hark-j, 1 thank you," I Huid. "and iiiiuM) yr)U thnt I tlo £.;(.'! pruutl <*( thu jiLico I havi; yi»inod. 1 do not worHliip wculih, nor rusjiuut !V luan liiJc'iUHo hu imi.shchho.i it, nnle;<.) ho h:iVo thoficj noble qualitios which it chu nuvcr purcliAHs ; liut 1 do ru.tiiuct und ofltuuni till! man who, without thu aid of friends, wurkii hiiimulf onward and uiiward in tho world, ;itid forces liis fellown, as it wcri;, to give him honor and iiosition, whutlier thty will or no. (Jast xipon tho wurhl without a luljier, I triud to do tlii;4, .•'.nd if I hikv» .succL'L-i'ed, in howcvor .iniall a de;;rLP, 1 feol chat 1 haru reason to cou- yratulato niyuolf, and to thank thoao throii{,'h wiioHu kindnoMS 1 gained my ^i\C\. This, however, my dc*r cTiarley, sounds like Hvilf-iiraisu. Forgiro me, I'm afraid it is a weakness of mine. I have told yoi' my story, let )iio have youri-!." "It is Soon told, my dear fellow," ho aaid with a smile. "My life, bo far, hau not been bo varied, nor so full of interest as yours. It is hut tlie story of hundreds axonnd us— of any ordinary man." "lint for me it posyeiiscs interest," I s.'iid ; "and I must have it in return for mine." "And so you shall, my boy," he Baid. "Here it is : "1 remained at Dr. P.aker'a ftcadcmj' only about two months after your depar- ture. You may be sure it was a dull place to ms without your comjianionshii), anil riylit glad was I when, in coinidianee with my request, my fatlier removed me from it. "I went liomo .-uid remained there a few weeks, h ading a dull, listless sort of life, of which I every day grew more I tired. | "About that time anew school, of a: higher order, was opened here in Jiayf jrd, ' and 1 was sent to it. 'Diere I remaineil for over a year, during which time, I i Hatter myself, 1 made rajtid progress in | my studies, aa was proved by the fact that i I carric'l ofTKovcral pvl7,ei«, iitid won Homo little honour and di«.iiiction, ai my friends wore pIckiHed to term it. "This ended my aidiool days. 1 hfwl atudieil with no riarlicular ohjoct in view, oxeoptinL{ that of improviTig myH<«lf gener- iklly, and tittii);^ myttolf for tho b.kttlo of life whi'.li Wik4 b«for.) me. "Then caiuo thu ipjosliou of my future oallini,'. Kdue.-vtiouallT, I whs pro[»ivred for any ordinary pu.^ition; and tho stand- ing of my family w(ui ^ueh an to warrant me ill looking towiwrds tlio professions. My father j,'.ive mo my elioice of tho pulpit, tho army, modielno or law. Tlio pulpit, you may he sure, wiw put out of the way at oi'co, for th« Tory good retwoa th.kt my religioua feelings, unfortunately, were not very strong— though, moially, I believe 1 have Hot been worrte tlii»ii others. Tho army caught my fancy for a momoit ; but on rejection I came to tho conclusion that a soldier's life would never suit my tastcj. Medicine wascitBfcftiiido without hesitation, fi>r 1 ahvays disliked it. I'lidor these cir- cumstances, tliero waH nothing left forme but tho law, and tho law I aoocordingly embraced. " [ entevcd tho oliico of onei f our mo.H eminent j>raotitionor», served the regidar nuinbtr of yeais, rearo happy to hear it than your old school-follow," I said, sliakiiig his hand warmly. "You have boon pleased to congratulate me on my prosperity, and 1 have ample cause for returning the compliment, which I do most heartily. " "Thank you, my dear fellow; tthank you I Others have given me praise in my time, and have expressed pleasure at my success; but, though I feel grateful to them for it, tlio honest gTatiHcation you express is more cheering to me, and more highly valued, than all tho complimeat* that have ever been paid me." tm ■00 MY OWN STOUY. CHAITKR XV. OVR DIMNRIl I'AKTY. "HAVByoii follown H'>t through yott" «xcliiiiiiu(l Donluvuy, daNhiiiij into the room clodnly followod liy (iiiHliur. " Vus, yc'»;i(>inoul(»iiK,"('<)Urtloy njiliod, "yo\i riro iridnt welcoiiiu, ilnrdy mid I are y (iunher nnd niVKuif. Tliikt tliii H|>ruiul \fiM done iiin|ilt) iiiiticv to it iiiiiiiiont ni'i>(lli>H!ttiiiitatt>. DonfuTcy'N Dvoi ipnrkicd witli duli^lit itit lio buw tliu TlMuU (liHiippcar, iind tlioiigli lin iitu heartily liiiuRcIf, it ^avo liiin intiniti-ly nioru plunniiru to ntto tiio rest of iiitdiHiiliiy good app«'titi«g. Dn rill),' dinner tin) wiiio circuiatid frcilr. KvtTvIiody drank witli rvoryliody tdiii', atul in addition thereto the yoninf """' *'•'' tho ctoms eyit exuiiaud for paHRiiig our uauiil liniit of three or four ij^laascN, and aecordin^dy wo coniiiuiud to liriiik with tlie rcHt, tliougli Ntill o1)Mervin((c.'iutioii. Hy tile time dinner was over wo were all in an extremely merry condition, thouijh iio one was what nii({tit ho called "far j convey tlio iiiil)re.'iHi(ini tliat ho v/,v\ , i hmit riuMfr or kuel, and in n torriUlo Riato oi distress. Jlr. yoinur.s cxjKi.ieJ lii.i feoliiiys rugarding the "SI;^id of Atlions," and o::i)ressed jv Btron:,' de.'ilro to havd his heart rettirned by tliut hulj; iifter wliich (JiiHlior liowleil iiiournfidly Jiboiii; "A hmt) h.irreu isle," on Avhicii aor.iobody v.'ivs sniiposcd to rcsido in i\ fitiito of iicculiar frii'iidlef;siie.ss. Donlcvoy \\i\'\ just connivjr.coil to "'hiin;,' his h;\rp on ;i v.-illow tree," vvhou tha (Uior of tlie room suddenly opcncl and n, short- si::i:d, st(jut j^'entleniun witli a b;kid heivd and n very iioavy cMt cif countoniuioo en- tered. "ily ii.ii'iiy friends, good evening," ho said, Vi'ith a Jeor intended to pa.s.'i curront for a &:iii'c'. He looked rather shaky, and was evidanUy laboring under a tenijiorary attaek oi' two much puncli. "Ifoiio yo.i'll excuse ir.y ]i:v.iby cntriiuoe upon this festive scene, ur.asiked, bnt the faet of the matter ia, your :ioto.s of h'^j'jiiiieasand eiijoyineuc 'V My kl d!Miio:»il.i in \voi'e too luiicli f and so lure 1 am "All right, old buy," Di.nlovey said, stepjiing forward to i.ieet him and .siiaking his Iiaud warmly, "do'i't apologi;«>, we hail yoFiV ajuioaranco aijiong \h v.'it!i joy. Gontkiin.'n, this ia the ;--iii'iwiek, tlie head of this huuso in which it is our h,^[ipy lot no'.v to 1)0 domiciled. Make room ijierc gentleim-n for the Sinswiek." The Sia;;wiek was received \7ii;li every denionstr.itionof joy by tlia company, and ■was at oiico provided ^-vith a seat at the table. Ho immediately made an attac!: on the '.riue, doveh^ping jioculiar talent for emptying glasses hi tJ. • shortest podsiblo period of time. :v._"Hapnyto junet you, gentlemen," ho said, holding a glass in his hand and bow- ing to tuo conipany generally. "The Sinsw'ick is not what he once was at the festive hoard. He is no longer young, as you, gentlemen, are, — bu.t ho thanks fer- tunc tli:it si>mo of tliu vigor of his youtli still remains, and all the spirit. lie pn/udly meets you now, and drinks to you as a j.iass. Cicntlemen, the Sinsvriek does himself the honor of drinking your com- bined healths." He accordingly emptied his gla'-.s with great facility, and sat down with dignity and grace. Donlevoy immediately arose — "Geritlomen," ho i;aid, "wo" may bo happy yet. Wo have been happy in the past ; the future is before us, and may it always remiun there. We've had festivi- ties and ])leasures this evening, such as the hvart of man lovcth. We've (pialied the llowin;; liowl, and sought sweet ob- livion in the nectar of Hibernian gods — ■whisky punch ; and now in the mid; t of all our enjoyment a stranger aiipears — yea, gontlcmon, a strange r even tnito you, but unto me a bo.-iom friend. T 'e ilhistriou,-', the fvmous Sinswick — hor»ii of all l.'.o Sinswiek (, and gi;neral itj'ont for the aalr^ a!id purchase of v.dld lands. ' hr.vo known the Sinswici: long r.nd irc'jMi'ntly, iioiaetime.^ wliou he did'nt know lue." " So you have," said Mr. Siiis./ick. " 'j'he illustrious man says jo I have. Do you rot .'••CO til!) :l:i,»hings of that gigantic intellect in those few word-; " " Let it llasb," tho gentlemen with the cross eye remarked. " You c;Mi't keep it from tkisliijig," DoTdovey continued, "any more tlian you can keep the noon d.ry sun f;hini'i\'. I've Iniovrn this illustrious m.'ui for y;!ars. I've Lnovni him in all the relations of hu.sliand, father, friend and land agent, and i .>aj', withou fear of toi.tradiction, that in ev.ch ;verEori)ied v.'illi a dignity and an e:tse that none of us could aiisiuue. Nature's gi.-utleman there sticks iirominently out. iMr. Sins- v.'ick, how many summers hr.ve p:i.ssed over yoiir hiuiored head i" "Fifty-seven," IMr. Sinswick replied; "Fifty-seven sumuiors, gentlemen, and yet marked you not the dignity, the grace, tlio elasticity of youth? Wliat a man is he I Should ho not bo hcmored '. Of coiu'so he should, and of course ho .shall be. Fill nj) j'our goblets to the vciy brim, and drink to him who sittcth there, tho heiid of all the Sioswicks." We tilled and drank to tho illustrious {".dividual, and in sweet cho'.'us pi'o- nounced him a "jolly good fellow." JVir. Sinswick rose to rjjily : "Sir, and gentlemen," ho commenced. "What can J say/" "Nothing!" tho young man with th'i defective o[itic ventured to reply, but was immediately silenced by ii withering glance from ])oulevey. "In our mother-tongue we have ex- pressive terms," Mr. Sinswick continued, placing one himd beneath his coat tails, and tile -other in tho opening of his vest ; — "hi our niother-tongtie, 1 say, tve have expressive terms; but at the jirescnt time they nre all too weak to convey to you .any ade(iuate ide'V of v/hat my heart feels. My vocabuhuy is not limited, but in the whole range of it I cannot hnd words strong enore/h for the occasion." 1 i I i MY OWN STORY. uo I 4 ^ I i "Borrow II ilictionavy," tlio cruss-eycd geutlcimiii ojiiciil;itod. "Ortlcrl" uliuutud Doiilcvty, in iv toiio «if autliority. "?ily iVicJul makuii fhuio rcuiiivk iiliont a dictioiKiry," Mr. Siuswiuk rusumou '•Keud I May, gcutlciiiuii, tliat all tha lo.\icy tlie instincts of friond-liip and l)r.)tlierly iove--liie. !Mrs. 8ins;vicli keeps a boarding-liouse; a sad position, as slie may have taken occasion to remark, for one of the great DeC'oureeys — hie. Mins Sinswick, the solo ofi'spring of our happy imion, has a lover, a worthles.i young man named Jnmper — hie. One word about that j'oung man. You v.il! confer : n everlasting fi;,vour on me, gentlemen, by ir.incliing his head, or inflicting other bodily injury on him whenever you'Koe him in this vicinity. I, geullemen, — hie — I, your humble servant, have some valuable lands for sale in different parts of this glorious audfroe country. You're all young---perhi>i)s you'd like to invest. Three dollavis per acre, part cai^l^, balance in annual instalments, with interest.- — Splend d ehaiiee I hie. Now's ynurtiine 1'' '■ ril take ten tliousand acre.'^,"' exclaim- ed the young gentleman \rith tho jiecidiar "All ri'i'iit, sir, yor. shall 'oe accommo- dated ■ ten millions if you like. Magni- ficent o])}iortiinity to gro\v- WL-alih}'." BIr. SiuKwick \.aa proceeding in this strain wlu-n sutldenly the docn' o],ened and Mrs. Sinswick, followed by Miss Dabby yinswiek, entered. The speaker in;nie- diately subsided and a]i[jeared desirous of eoniprcissiiig himself into tiie smallest ]io:-isibh' space. In his eit'or'.s to aecom- [tlisU til's he slipi'cil oil" his cliair and dis- ajipeared beneath the table. ".Madam," Jtr. Sinswick raplied, " the family i>f which I have the hom)r of being i father, is so very dimiiuitivo as to form [ no argiii.ient in the world." "Is that my fault, you old bnite?'' the ladj'' aslced. "I i\;ally don't know, madam,'' Mr. 1 Sinswick said, "but I presume it is." : "Oh, you horrid man," the lady ex- claimed v.'ith increased vehemence, "Are I yim going to come out i" ! "At present, I tlunk not," the gentle- ; man answered. "Ma," said Jliss rM'rif,v.-ick, in a tearful Avay, "shall 1 call him in l'' "Yes, let him at the brute, it's the only I way," her mother answered. Miss Kinsiviek (opened the door, and a curley-headed young man entered. I "Sinswick," the wife said v/itli much : irony, "here's your dear friend, Mr. : Juniper, pei-haps you'll come out now .'" ; "Junii^er! Jrnnperl" Llr. Sinsv.'iek c.\.- claimed, "Is that would be despoiler of my dauglitci''B happiness present / Dare ho ] 'resume to appear at such a tiuie ■ 3Ir. Doidevey,'' he added, poking tmt his head, "will you oblige me by puncliiiig that vile young man's head I" Before he could sa.\' more the vile young man was down upon nnn, and sei/iuig him '(;entlemen,"Mrs. Si said, "ex- cuse me, l)ut I thoiight 1 lu\u lie corner of the cloth and by the coat collar, dragged him ignomin- ously from his hiding place. Mr. Sins- wick struggled violently and swore ener- geticallj', but it was useless. Mr. Juniper held him firmly in his grat'i). The moment hewas]mlled from beneath the table Mrs. Shiswick and Mi.-;s Sinswick assisted ?.[r. Jumper, and between them the head of all the Sinswicks was dragi;ed from the room, evidently verv mucli against his will. This unhappy ineident had a dampering efl'ect on the party. We remained around the table fo)' sometime longer, but enjoy- ment seemed to have vanished. Donlevey did all in his power to keep fun alive but he could not succeed. The two clerks fell asleep in their chair.'<. Mr. S.imers, the mo!;t sober one of the party, smoked his cigar in a thoughtful mood. The young man with the crooked eye s.'Uik to the floor and favored us with ;i snoring >{>\o. M MY OWN STORY. Gashor made Bovcral abortive attempts at a papular song and linally aubsidod into a dreary howl. Donlevey, even, fell asleep with his head in a plate of jolly. Courtley got out of sight I know not how, I have a faint recollection of creeping up Btaira, after the manner of a quadruped, I got into my room, and that is the last I remember of out Dinner Party. CHAPTER XVI. RE-APPEARANCE OF MR. MEEKER. Next morning I awoke with anything but pleasant sensations. My tongue was dry, my throat parched, my head ached dreadfully, and my whole systeui felt out of order and imstrung. It was the first time in my life to be intoxiciited, and up to the present moment it has been the last also. The mental and bodily suffering of that morning I have never forgotten, and never shall. I outstepped the bounds of pru- dence once, but the occasion has not since occurred which could induce me to do so again. On coming down stairs I found Miss Debby Sinswick clearing away the debris of our feast. She informed me that our guests of the previous night were gone ; that Mr. Donlevey was away with his gun and dog.^, as fresh as ever; tliat Gasher had gone to the store, and Courtley to his office. I, therefore, was the last of the party. A light breakfast satisfied my appetite, and then I pi'ocecded to business. A few days later I took occasion to npeak to Courtley about a matter that had given me much thought. "You remember Mr. Meeker I" I said. "Our old tutor at the academy I" "Yes." "Of course I remember him ; and a good, kind, generous fellow he was." "No one, Ciiarley, had better reason for speaking well of him than I. During all the persecution I received at the hands of Dr. Baker, you and he were the only friends I had. Can you tell me what has become of himf "I have not seen him for several years, Harry, but I understand that he occupies his oki position \iuder Dr. Baker." "A hard life he must have had then, during all these years, unless his superior has improved greatly in temper." "A most unlikely change, and one that has not hai)pened, if all I hear of Dr. Baker bo true. He is even said to be more tyrannical and cruel than in our time — impossible as you may considerit 1" "And poor Meeker ha" had to endure him all this time 1" ' "Necessity, Hardy, as tho old Latin proverb runs, knows no law. What can- not be cured nmst bo endured, and that I presume accounts for Meeker's present position." ' ' I have no doubt of it, Charley. Wlien at the academy, I knew more of hia afl^airs than even you, I fancy, and I am aware that ho remained there simply because he could not help it. Good and kind hearted as he was, he wanted one gi'eat requisite of success in life — energy. Ho was a student and a gentleman, well and tenderly reared, but almost as ignor- ant as a child of the proper means of working his way through the world. Perhaps hia peculiar circumstances, in a f'reat measuie, were the cause of it. After he had been reared in luxury and afHuenca l.e was cast upon the world to earn his own living, and in addition thereto, to support an aged, bed-ridden mother, and a sister. The salary ho received from Dr. Baker was barely sufficient for this j)ur- posc, and ho dare not throw it up while ho 1. ^<' ufjthing better in view. Other men would have struck out into a now channel, and probably have succeeded ; but poor Meeker lacked tho energy, and had not tho courage to do so. Thus he remained in tho clutches of Dr. Baker, and there ho will continue to remain unless some friendly hand be stretched forth to help him." "I have often thought of the poor fellow, and of his unhappy condition," Courtley said, "and have asked myself many times if something could not be done for him." " So nave I, Charley, and especially of late, since I have b,'cn in business for myself. I owe Mr. Meeker much ior all his kindness to me, and I am determined to show my gratitude in the best way I can."' " But how, my dear fellow, are your good intentions to be i^arried out / You know that he is entirely devoid of business talent, and what then can you put him at which lie would suit, and which also would suit him i" ' '' I have given the subject much thought, Charley, and think I have discovered a means of bettering his condition perman- ently. We have a vacancy for a book- keeper in our establishment just now, and I feel confident that, witli a little instruction, Mr. ]\Ieeker could be made to fill it eiiicieiitly." "1 must say that I have doubts about it," Courtley said with a dubious shake of the head. "From V hat I know of him, I have none," I imswered, "he already knows tho theory jf book keeping, having taught it for sevi ral years, and asliort experience 1 il MY OWN STORy. 66- i il would work him into the practice. Though lacking in energy, ho is, as I said before, a man of talent and education, and would make it his study to improve himself in any new calling, especially when induced to do ao by one for whom he entertained feelings of friendship, as I have abundant reasons for believing he does for me. " "1 should bo rejoiced, my dear Harry, if you could succeed," Courtley remarked, "and if you are really determined upon making the attempt, I need hardly tell you that I will give you all the aid in my power." ''Then I shall require your assistance at once," I said, glad to find that he was willing to help me. ' ' It is not likely that Mr. Meeker lias heard of my return to this country. Few persons know it, and he of all men would bo the last. What I want you to do is this: write to him at your earliest convenience, and without men- tioning my name, say that you have at your disposal a situation in the establish- ment of a friend, which you feel satisfied he in in every way fitted for, and that you olfer it for his acceptance. Say also that it will be a permanency, that the salary will be more than double that vrhich he now receives, and that by accepting of it he will confer a great favor on you." "Why my dear fellow," Courtley said, with a smile, "such an epistle would do you great injustice. It would take all the credit from you t» whom it is due and give it to me to whom it is not due." "Never mind that, you will learn all the facts in good time. For the present I wish to remain in the back ground. If lie does not accept your offer I will write myself and repeat it in my own name. W'ill you do as I wish ! " "On (juo condition." "Name it?" "That everything shall bo explained to him immediately on his acceptance, in order tliat he may know that you are his benefactor and not I." "The point is an unimportant one, Courtley, but I agree to it." " Verj' well, then, and with that under- standing I will write." Accordingly, on the following morning he wrote and in due time an answer came from Mr. Meeker. It was just such an one as we had expected. Ho was deeply thankful to Mr. Courtley, for his kind offer, but knowing so very little about the matter he did not think it would be safe to throw up liis present position until he had learned more. He W(juld be delighted to escajio from Dr. Baker'.s clutches, but he must not do so in any hasty manner, nor before he was fully convinced that it would be right for him to do so. Several other loiters passed, and after a lengthy correspondence ho partially accepted . He did not know who his friend waa until his arrival in Bayford. Courtley brought him around to the store and in- troduced him to mo, inadvertantly aa it were, omitting to mention my name. Ho looked at me very closely for a moment, and in the expression of his face I oould read that he saw in mo something that reminded him of his boy friend. " I did not catch the name distinctly," he said in a low voice. I said, "Harry Hardy!" The next moment I was clasped in hi» arms, while the poor follow fairly wept with joy. Such genuine happiness as beamed from his pale, honest, good face, I never before witnessed and do not think I ever shall again. For the first few minutes he could say nothing ; but after that he overwhelmed me with questions, and I could only satisfy his curiosity by telling him everything. He rejoiced heartily over my pn)3perity. "And now, my dear old friend," I said in conclusion, " when you know who it is that oilers you the sitiation, I trust you will no hunger hesitate about taking it." "Thanks, a thousand thanks, Hardy," he answered with warmth, as he to(jk my hand and pressed it between his own, " I am not fitted for business, as you well know ; but with you for my instructor, I may learn much. I gratefully accept your kind offer, not without fear and trembling I may safely say, and yet with a hope that I shall succeed with your generous aid." "I feel sure that you will," I answered. " Courtley can tell you that from the first that was my opinion ; and I am more cei'- tain of it now than ever. That point, therefore is settled, and you may com- mence oi^erations as soon as you like. First, however, we must have your mother and sister comfortably settled amongst us. Do you think that your mother can be removed with safety t " "Oh, yes," he quickly replied ; "she is, imhappily, still a helpless invalid, but good, patient and uncomplaining, and quite strong enough to «ndure the jour- ney." "I am rejoiced to hear it," I said;, "and now our first duty is to procure a suitable house for you and them. You can then return to C , and bring them on by easy stages. Sell your furniture, and during your absence Courtley and I will sec that your future homo is prepared for you. We can afterwards manage other matters." He did not overwhelm mo with thanks and promises, but in his calm, quiet, earnest way, ho exjiressed his gratitude, and left it to his future actions to si)eak his thanks. A few weeks later ho returned to Bay- 50 MY OWN STORY. ) ; ford with his moiiior ivnd sislor, settlod in n cof.y little cottage, and entered upon the dntie.'i of hit) new callinf.^ His mother was the tlio patient i?nfrcrcr of old. There were more giey Imini on her head, and more wi-inklos on her calm, jiale fiiec; hut othorwiKe hIio wftK un- changed, i'.nd I would havorocogni/rdiier any place. i'lary Meeker looked noin«wiiat older, and more womanly, liut siiU fresh, 1/looin- ing i'jid l)i.';'.ntifu!. Slie trfw a noble girl. Her doTotion to her mother and brolher were Komething heroic. With nil a woman's feelinj^a and instincts, nhc never for a moment forgot ther.i. During the yearri of my id):Aenco slie liad remained faithful and self-sacrificing in tlie din- ciifivge of her duty of love; and notwith- st.'uuting the solic.iV.tionsi of her mother, liad rel:uaeiillv, and seems alto- gether to i) (me t)f tiie places, in tiio I'roviuce.'' most ii'iundiin'^ "I'm heartily glad of it, Charley. As my native tf)wn 1 have a strong alfeotion for it, and hope it may eontiinio to pros- per. 1 suppose, however, that if I were to go back there I would hardly rtcognizo it as the Seblv of my childhood, and few, if any, wo\ild remendjer me." " 'J'here's one at least who would, Harry ; that allectionato st-ep-fatlier of 3'ours." " Vc-s, and I've no doubt my rc-appoar- ance would occasion him anytliing but ideasiu'e. Ho never wixsted Bnuh lovo on me, and least of all would ho be likely to do so under existing circ\im(it,'vncoa. Did you hear miything adout him (" " \ little. The geritleman I van speak- ing to says he lives on in the siane old way, in ease and comfort, lUid appw'ira to enjoy life heartily. Ho is iut/;iisely un- lioinilur thougii, as ia evident from lilio fact that ho has twice tmt up fov ))arlia- meiit, and on oacli oc3erse to politics." " -In this country, my dear Hardy, men become politicii'.ns almost involuul.ivily. It in part of tlioir life histoiy. Tl.uiy j^frow from Iio3diood to manhood, from manb.ood to pioliticalhood. Wo sea instances of it all around. 'J'lio field of jiolition is aluiost the only one open to us, and every man amongst ua has .'is])irat!onfj tiiat way at pome time ('f his life, in gTutifying our ambition, and iu seeking distincJ.ions and h('Uor, we tiy to that he'd ; and if we are not supjdiod tliere we niust dowitiient it, or, ;-t !c;',st, with a very small allowance of it, woii iu other ways." "True enough, Courtley, Imt at the same time, i ron astonished to find Win- stanley anxious of winning such l;o;ioi-3. As ! remember him, ho rather avoided than sought them." "x'l.Kactly, my dear fellow. Vv'iion yon know him ho was young as v.'o now are, .and fo'.iiid ail the I'lijoyments ho wished in those ];le!i*urc8 wliieh now ]il!-.:iso us. Time, however, has changed his desires. Ho li.Ts lost a taste for tli'k-'e things, and entered upon tliat time of life v.lien ambi- tion reac;he3 its height, and longs to bo satisfied. Dut to coino to another matter, Harry, 1 must say, between (nirselves, tliat J think you arc doing yoiu-solf great iniustice." '"Plow?" •'In this question of your iiroi)erty. Winstanley holds enough to make you a rich man. He has enjoyed the benedts of ;'. rVir many yearo and it ia fully time yoa II 1 MT OWN STORY. 57 ^« recovered possession. It is constantly iii- cre.iaing in value, and an a friend and a man of law, I honestly tell you that the longer you allow it to rest the greater will lio your difiiculties in proving your claim and jirocuriiig possession." "(Jourtley, wo have spoken of tliis matter hefore, and you know my decision. That t!ic property is mine does not admit of a doubt ; but I could not recover pos- Bcsfiion without a course of lengthy and tedious lilifjatiou, that £ have no desire to ent(UMipoii." "Yoii would but bo asserting your rights, my dear fellow." "f am aware of that; but there are certain circumstances in life, under which the a.'i.sertion of one'a rights is better left alone. This, I feel, is one (/f them. That man w.as ever cruel and unkind to me ; he haa wronged nie in a thousand ways, and through him I was cast upon the world a poor and helpless lioy. But, Charley, bad as he was, anduujust as lie may even now be, 1 can never forget tliat he was once my mother's husband. She loved him witli all tlie devoti. ii and strength of a pure woinan's he.'vrt, and in her grave the iiones of his child lio upon her breast. These tilings, my dear (Jourtlev, I can never forg t." "As a friend. Hardy," ho aiid, taking my h;i:id, "I respect your noble feelings, and honour you for them; but as a man of t'.io world I feel it my duty to say that they .are wrong." "Tliey m.ay be Courtloy, and if they are I caniiot lielp it." *' But you should I'emembor your inter- ests, my dear fellow. Here is !i valuable property of yours in the hands of anoUier, froin whom you might recover it by a very Kiin;«le process." "1 a:ii v.'ell enough provided for as it is. I have frdl and plejity of everything, .and | feel that I am on tlii^ higli road to pros- i pcrity. I. have no one depending on me I — MO uit3 to do for but, my.solf, and need j not fet;l uneasy about the future." ' "That is all very W(;ll, but yon know | not v.Iiat reverses may occur, it is clear i and pleas'int sailing nov.', but you cannot I aay at \vhat moment a Gtorin ni.iy arise, i nor can you bee any of the breakers which ^ may be ahead." ! "I have weathered cnricais storms i already, Charley, for one of my years, and hav(! no dread of any others that j may como.'' | '' But if they do come. Hardy, and if, I nnhan'iily, you should go duwn with themT' l '■ I'heu I should only have to start | where 1 did before — with no one to help j me, and oidy a stout hunrt and strong liands to carry ine through the world." "Hardy," ho said warmly, "you de- servo to succeed. You liave a good heart, and the course you arc pursuing is only too generous. I wish 1 could dissuade you from it, and teach you to look at and act in this matter as a man of tho world." "It is useless to make the attempt, Courtloy," I replied. "While nij' cir- cumstances remain as they at present are, I shall not disturb Winstaniey. I may change my mind some day, but it will only bo for stronger reasons than any you can now urge. Wo c innot tell v/hat tho futnro may bring forth." " 1 hope in n)y heart it will bring you to look at this matter as I now do." "Perhaps it nniy ; and when it does, you, my (dd friend, shall be tlie lirst ta know it." CHAPTER XVII. TUB BACHEI.OU'.S BAI.Ii. The bachelors of B.ayford gave a ball annually, as a return for all sucli favors received by them from the married gentry. It was always a grand all'air, the "baches" going into it with great spirit, and spiring neither labor nor expense. The Sinswick (luartelte had mucli to do with the hrsb one given after my arrival in the city. Donlevey was chairman of tho connnittee of management, and wo ail assisted him in his duties. \Vofelt that, in a measure, tho reimt.ation of the quartette was at stake, and that it was our duty to sustain it. We acci)rding]y worked with hinx manfully, and tho result was that the ball was a magniiicent suoi-eas, f(jr which Don- levey received the hearty thanks (if all who had the distinguished ]U'ivilege of being present. He was tho prime mover, till! head of tho attair, .and was fully de- f:erving of all the prai.se accorded him. (jashei'and I beiugeoiauarativo strangers had good guides in Donlevey and Court- loy, ^^llo know evevvbody. They did not allow n;j to remain long in ignorance as to "wlio was who." The array of youth, beauty and wit was brilliant in the extreme, and the scene altogether was one of peculiar lovtdiness. There wore fair gii-ls present, sparkling and radiant and charming, for Bayford tlien, asnoiv. w.isrjmarkablofor the beauty of its daughters, and on such occasions they foriuod .-4 bright galaxy which outy needed to be seen to be admired. Some how or anotlr r, though I had ai- [ wayd aduuredwom vnandlovedhervainity, j I had been proof ag linst her charms. 1 I livl never been iuHovn in my life, and had I grown to coiiBidor mysi;lf a hardened and 68 MY OWN STOllY. I confirinetl bachelor iipon whoBO lieiirt a Boftoning effect could novor bo procUiccfl. 1 had often wondered at tliiR, and liad even regretted it, yet there was no remedy for it 8o long as I fonndnoono who would give nic her heart in return for mine. I was leaning against a pillar, turning this thing over in my mind, and admiring the brilliancy of the scene aromid nie ■when Donlevcy approached. " Well, old sober-sides," he said in his merry way, as ho placed his hand on my uhoulder, "what's the meaning of this seri." "Far from it, I like the sex generally, on principle ; but in uU tliis brilliant throng I do not know of .>no whom J would make my wife, oven if I could induce her to have me." "You must be hard to suit." " Perhai)s I am ; what I tell you is tho honest truth. Admiring a girl is ono thing, and making her your wife is an- other. There are many here whom I esteem highly, and whom it is a greai l)rivilege and a blessing to have on one's visiting list ; but I hardly think tho future Mrs. Donlevey is present." " Is she any place else?" I a-sked, witli a smile. " 1 supjHoe .ihe is," he answered, "but where to find her would pu/zlo me greatly at this moment." "Then there is no bright particular star in your finnanent of beauty /" "If there! is, she's hidden behind a cloud at present, or mixed up in some nebulous collection in such a woefully mysteritms way that the telescope of lovo has not yet found her. If I don't discover her soon my eyes will bo too dim to search longer, and she will thus ronuiin forever undiscovered." "Who is that girl with the pearl neck- lace r I asked. "You have a fine eye. Hardy," ho laughingly replied. "You pick out ths finest girls in the room at a glance — that is Florence Jarvis." "A daughter of tho judge of that name !" "Yes," "And who is that coxcomb with whom she is dancing (" "Gus. CJardner. It's singular you havo not known him before ; he's tho heaviest swell in liayford, and a coiTcapoudingly big fool." "Ho seems very attentive to her," 1 said. "That's his style. His empty talk and nonsense would disgust any sensible girl in five minutes, and I've no doubt that Miss Jarvis is thoroughly tired of him at this moment. He's rich, and that's his oidy reconmiendation. Take hU money .n i MY OWN STORY. 59 • I i away, tuid thoso wlio now fivwTi on and court him would cast him oli* in 1uh;i than n week. You Hummud nj) his charactur in ono word when you called him a cux- conih." "Still tho hvdy suonia to tolurato him in a very iiU'iisant way." "1 can't account for it. Sh(j'.s a re- markably Hcnsihio, educated and accom- plished girl, and yet uhu allows him to i)ay her marked attention. Dame Humour sayH they are entjaged ; but I've yot too good an oi)inion of Florence Jarvis to be- lieve any siuch story. She is really a superior girl, anil in my opinion, though 1 nnvy be a poor judge, has no eipial in the city in genuine womanly ipialities. She is tlie very antipodes of that fellow ( iardner, and to become his wife would be a downri^'ht sacrifice on her part." "A girl will willingly blind her.self to many faults in a man if ho be posse.ssed of Wealth," I .said. ''As a rule that is correct," he answer- ed; "l)ut Florence Jarvis 1 believe to be tho exception which jiroves the rule. She is too pure a wounui to over sell herself in sucii a way to a fool like (Gardner." " You appear to admire tho lady great- ly," 1 said with a laugh. " So 1 do ; I think her far ahead of any other girl in the room, in intellectual attainmentn, nuiral worth, and wit." " You say nothing of her lujanty." "That ripeak.) for itself," he quickly replied, " siie is not what the woi'ld calls beantifid, as you may see. But look at that linely formed head and bright face. They liare the cast of intellectual rather than of phy.sical beauty. And yet she is aliandBome girl, Uio, Hardy. She catches a man's eye and attracts his attention V)efore .any other lady in the room. She is tall, beautifully formed, and moves with a peculiar, queenly air, such as none of the rest can ever assume, though with her it is natural. She is, in a word, distin- guished looking, and therefore it is that she elicits our admiration. To my way of thinking, slie is the lu'lle of the room, though those who admire mere beauty of face would hardly agree with nie." "I freely confess, Donlevey, that she attracted my attention the moment she entered the room ; and what you have told me of her has increased my udmira- ti(m." " Do you wish an introduction I" "If practicable." "Nothing easier, I am reigning prince hero, as you are aware, and also have the honor of tho lady's accpiaintance. I will take tho liberty of presenting you.'" A few minnti's later the dance con- cluded, and as soon as Miss Jarvis was jeated, Doulovey introduced me. For- tunately her card wm blank opposite tho ne.\t ({uadrille, and she allowed mo the privilege of inserting n>y name there. It was two or three dances down, and though I took part in some of thom, I looked for- ward with peculiar pleasure to tho sott in which 1 would have tho honor of her haiul . I do not know why it was, but 1 felt desirous of making a good impression. Probably wliat Donlevey had said had sumothing to do with it. 1 was vain enough to think I succeeded. Sho at least appeared interested in my conversation, and listened to my remarks, ] thought, with nn>re attciition than mere good-breed- ing demanded, though that, of course, might have been imagination on my part. A well-bred lady will always giwe every attention to a gentleman's ball-room talk, even if it bo nonsense about which sho cares nothing, and in which sho does not feel tho slightcut interest. On tho other hand, no true gentleman will over intro- duce a topic on which a lady cannot speak with ease and without i'HV>rt. Supper followed thecpiadrillo, and there- fore I had the additional i)leasnro of escorting Miss Jarvis to tho table. "I believe 1 heard y(nir friend IMr. Don- levey, say that you have not been long in iJayford, Jlr. Hardy?" she remarked, as wo seated oiu'selves. "Not a year yet," 1 answered. "1 presume you iind it a dull, quiet place." "Not at all," I replied, " I have been unusually hapjiy siuce I came here, and have grown to like it better than any place in which I have ever lived." "Y'ou mustlindsocietydiii'jrent, though, from what it is in your country," she con- tiiuied. "You mean in the United States, Mias Jarvis." "Yes; is not that your C)nntr;vl" she asked with some little astou'shment. "Happily, it is not," I loplied. "lleally, I understood from Mr. Don- levey that you wore from Boston, or some such place." "And he was correct," I said, "I came from Boston here, but originally I went from here then;." "Then you are a Canadian/" "I liave that honor, I was boi')» in a small town some miles from your fair city, ami educated in this coimtry, Ijut left it when a boy. After several year's absence I have returned, and trust 1 may never have occasion 'm leave it again." ' ' I am really pleased to iind that you 'are native and to the manor born.' (Jur young gentlemen are too much given to roaming away into foreign parts, and leav- ing their lonely countiywomen to die of 60 MY OWN STORY. i! ! ennui or ondiirotho attentions of foroi','nora wlio come iiinongst uf. It is pleasing to know tliiit occiiaiondlly, as in your in- •tanco, tlioy rotiirn to their first lovo." "Ciinivilirtus, K 'never won fair lady.' As society ru; in this country you are her father's oqua., and if I am not very much mistaken will be treated as such." Ijater in tho evening I had the ploasui\5 of dancing with Miss J arvis again. It was to be her last sott she told me, and as wo linished 1 asked the privilege oi seeing her to her carriage, which she granted. After hunting up a dowager aunt, who wa.i her chipcrone, we proceeded to tho cloak- room, where I shawled them. Mr. Gas. Gardner was on hand, waiting to perform that duty ; but seeing that ho was too late, he lookod daggers at me, wishod the ladies good-bye, and returned to the ball- room. A* I handed them into their carriage I plucked up courage, and with a trembling Jieart, said in a low tone ; "Miss Jarvis, will you allow m« to do myself the lionour of calling?" There was no .answer for a few mo- menta, which seemed an ago to me, and 1 was bo;;inning to f«el all tho mortification / \ I t i I I Ml OWN STORY. 61 I • i (ind pain of a refusal, ns perhaps my U-inority dcsurved, when Miss Jurvis Ans- wered — "Yos." I shut tho door, find tlic carriage rolled away, leaving nie tho happiest of mortals. r rtitiirncd again to tho ball-rocan, but danced im more. Ali tho charms of tho all'air, in my eyes, were gone, and 1 could stay no longer. (!/'ourtley and Donlovoy were not prcpar- oLly wit'i her all his life. Put still that ideal comes to him now an