morbidly sensitive as his. He imagined himself slighted, and knew himself to be disliked. He was probably both; but the cause was to be found, less in his change of circumstances than of character. ***

"My mother was the daughter of a dignitary of the church, and brought with her little accession either of blood or of fortune. But she brought what was better, and more valuable than these, an excellent understanding, and an affectionate heart. She had been a beauty in her youth, and, during two seasons which she spent at Bath with her father, her charms had been the object of general homage and admiration. Circumstances of which I have acquired a knowledge, induce me to believe that her marriage with my father had been one rather of prudence than of love. If this was so, it belied the common prediction with regard to such marriages, for the union was not an unhappy one. It was, indeed, impossible, I think, to know my mother in the intimate relations of domestic life, and not to love her. While her conduct, as a wife and mother, was truly exemplary, her cheerfulness and benevolence of disposition tended greatly to soothe and soften the inequalities, to which my father's spirits were habitually subject; and she threw around her an elegance and refinement, of which the whole establishment unconsciously partook." pp. 5-7.

Cyril becomes the melancholy, though guiltless cause of his elder brother's death, and the effect which this accident produces in his father's feelings towards him is powerfully imagined and forcibly described. The violent grief of the parent and the curses imprecated by him upon the head of the murderer not only of his darling child, but of his heir, are succeeded by a coldness and formality in his behaviour to Cyril, which terminate in an irrepressible antipathy and an utter disinherison of his affections and his property. He never could get rid of the cruel suspicion attached to the idea that when Cyril killed his brother, he had also removed the only bar between himself and the inheritance of his ancestors:

"With my father it was different. Like a stroke of God's lightning had the blow descended on his head; and the consequences were at first terrible. He rolled in the dust-he grieved, and would not be comforted. Dreadful and agonizing were the pangs he suffered; till at length he lay exhausted by the intensity of his anguish,

"And show'd no signs of life, save his limbs quivering."

Then in the bitterness of a wounded spirit he uttered curses on the author of his bereavement. Oh, how witheringly did they fall on my mother's heart! She knew that, till then, her cup of misery had not mantled to the brim. She knelt at his feet, and implored, vainly implored him to recall the dreadful words. Then she told him, what as yet he knew not, of my danger-of my madness. In the agony of her despair she brought him to my bed. My father heard there the sounds of suffering and delirium that burst from me, and he gazed on my

fiery eyeballs and haggard countenance. Then only it was that he recalled the dreadful curse he had invoked, and with a penitent and softened heart, hedewed my temples with his tears.

"Yet I believe he never perfectly forgave me. On my recovery, his manner towards me was kind, and unmarked by any of that austerity to which I had been accustomed. He studiously avoided any recollection which might disturb that mental tranquillity so essential to the complete restoration of my health. Still there was ever about him something of coldness and constraint, that told me I could never more be the object of his love. I knew and felt this. My mother, with affectionate earnestness, endeavoured to combat this growing dislike, and to turn the current of his affection into its natural channel. Never, surely, was there a warmer or more impassioned advocate. She directed his view to all that was good and praiseworthy in my character, and enlarged on those qualities and talents which appeared to her partial eyes to give large promise of future distinction. But in vain. There was a barrier that could not be surmounted; and the place which Charles had filled in my father's heart was destined to remain for ever in abeyance." pp. 19, 20.

The succeeding scene occurred after his return from Glasgow, but we shall introduce it in this connexion. It took place soon after the death of his mother.

"When we met, his reception of me was cold and embarrassing. Since he last saw me, I had studied, and with some distinction, at college. My mind had been opened and enlarged-I had laid up some trifling stores, at least, of liberal and useful knowledge; and my father was himself a man of elegant taste and literature, well qualified to discern and appreciate the extent of my acquirements.

"Whatever change in these respects, however, was discernible, he regarded without interest, and to him my mind was destined to remain a sealed volume, the contents of which he cared not to know. We were, in short, as two planets kept separate by a repulsive power which, while it prevented the possibility of nearer approach, unfortunately was not opposed to an unlimited divergence." p. 144.

*

"While I was endeavouring to arrange my ideas for an eclaircissement, and hesitating whether I should solicit an interview verbally or by a letter, I received one morning a message from my father, commanding my presence in the library. My heart throbbed violently, for I felt the long-looked-for moment was come, in which the character of my future prospects, perhaps the happiness of my life, was to be decided. Endeavouring, therefore, to concentrate my ideas as much as, in the agitation of my thoughts, was possible, I proceeded to the conference, filled with the deepest anxiety for its result. When I entered the library, my father was seated at a table, engaged in writing; but on my entrance he rose, and having twice paced the apartment, remained standing in front of the fireplace. Then turning towards me, and looking at me for the first time, he said, 'be seated." I obeyed.

"I have sent for you, sir, continued he, because I think the time has at length arrived when it is fitting we should come to a mutual and clear understanding. You are a young man, and have your way to make in the world. Have you thought of a profession?'

"Long and deeply.'

"And, of course, feel that your own knowledge and experience are of themselves perfectly competent to decide your choice? Is not this so?'

There was something of a sneer discernible on his countenance as he spoke, and I did not answer. He went on.

"You say you have considered the subject of your future profession long and deeply-coolly and dispassionately had been better words, and more to the purpose. You had once a boyish inclination for the army. Does this still continue, or has some newer whimsy supplanted it ?-Speak, sir.'

"My sentiments are still unchanged. I feel that for no other profession has nature qualified me. In a military life are centred all my hopes and wishes, and my heart tells me I must be a soldier or nothing.'

"So, I thought as much; and since I now understand your views and intentions, it is fitting you should understand mine. Mark well, sir, what I am about to say, for every syllable of it concerns you deeply. When Dr. Lumley formerly communicated to me your wishes in regard to a profession, I need not tell you I had two sons, and you were the younger. As such, you could expect but a slender provision, and the military life is one in which poverty is, perhaps, attended with fewer evils and privations than any other. I did not, therefore, think it necessary to oppose your inclinations. Since then, you know how the aspect of this family has been changed. Deep and sad changes have occurred. Your elder brother is no more, and of his death you were the cause. I do not mean to accuse you-the innocent cause, if you will-but still by that very hand,' pointing as he spoke, and slightly shuddering, he received his death; and when you returned I saw it,yes, I saw it-red with his blood. Nay, I would not willingly wound your feelings,' observing my emotion, but I have often thought, and cannot but still think, how much sorrow and suffering had been spared us all, had it but pleased God that you had never breathed, or had been mercifully snatched from us in the cradle.-Compose yourself.'

I had indeed need of composure. Had I been stretched on the rack, I feel convinced my sufferings would have been less acute than those I endured during this harsh and unfeeling address. As he uttered it, I kept my eyes fixed on his countenance, as if with all my energies collected to brave the storm. Not once, even when his words pierced deepest, did I withdraw them. At one moment it seemed as if he quailed beneath their gaze, for he turned his face half from me, and looked upou the ground. I endeavoured with all my strength to be calm, and my face, I believe, was so; but beneath, every nerve and muscle of my body seemed heaved into distinct and separate action, which I had neither the power to command nor to repress. My frame shook as if with an ague. My father betrayed signs of vehement emotion, both in speech and gesture, and the composure he prescribed to me was evi

dently not unwanted by himself. He paced several times up and down the apartment, and then confronting me, in his former station, be resumed :-

"You are now an only son, and probably expect to enter on life with greater advantages and higher prospects than before. The world, of course, look on you, and you perhaps look upon yourself, as the heir to this estate. Indulge not in such a delusion. It is but justice to let you know your real situation. While another child of mine survives, Thornhill will never be yours. Such is my determination; and if you view it calmly and aright, you ought not, you cannot wish it otherwise. You have been made the instrument of Divine vengeance on your family. Would you accept reward for this? Through your murderous negligence your brother lost his life. Would you, could you turn fratricide to profit, and take wages for your brother's blood? Think you wealth thus acquired would come to you unburdened by a curse? Or could you for a moment drown, amid its poor pitiful enjoyments, the remembrance of the price yon paid for them? Believe me, in this respect, at least, I am not unjust to you, and doubt not that you would cast from you, as a loathsome thing, fortune so detestable and unhallowed in its acquisition. Were it otherwise, I should disown you for my son, and spurn you from my threshold. But enough. Expect nothing from me but the provision you were originally entitled to as a younger son. You know the footing on which you will enter the world. Whatever your inclinations may be in regard to your future pursuits, I will not oppose them. But ponder well before you decide. In the church there is a living in my gift, to which, if you take orders, you may reasonably look forward. In the army I can assist you little. In this matter, however, I wish not to influence you; let the decision be your own. At present retire, and at some other time I will be glad to learn the issue of your deliberations.'

"I reflected long and deeply on the extraordinary address to which I had recently listened. I analyzed it in my mind, and endeavoured to recall, if possible, the very words he had spoken. I did this, I think, on the whole, calmly and deliberately. Resentment I certainly did feel, but not that resentment which seeks to pervert the motives of its object. I passed in review all my conduct to my father, from my very infancy. Towards him I stood acquitted, for I felt that the natural promptings of my heart had been to love and duty. What, then, had I done, that the greatest and most terrible misfortune of any life, under which even my reason had suffered temporary obscuration, should thus be cruelly recalled, and made matter of insidious and malignant charge? What heart but my father's could have done this? Was it not enough to disinherit me, and, by so doing, affix in the eyes of the world a stigma to my name, without adding insult and outrage to injury, torture to injustice? He could plead no provocation, no passion, no chafing of the blood to palliate the cowardly ferocity of this most assassin-like attack. No: it was made coolly and deliberately; and, with premeditated malice, a vital part had been selected for every stab.

"The mere loss of fortune affected me but little, and though I felt internal consciousness that the privation was unjust, yet worldly advantages had entered too little into my calculations of happiness, to occasion any very strong or poignant disappointment by their loss. The views of youth are seldom interested; the value of wealth is learned only by experience, and experience I had none. The inheritance of

my fathers was about to pass from me, but in the possession of my sisters I felt I could regard it without envy. It was against the cruel and implacable spirit which my father had betrayed towards me, that my whole soul rose in arms. The ocean, it seemed to me, could not separate us more widely than we were destined thenceforward to be divided. There was a gulf between us, which, once passed, 1ke the Stygian river, could never be recrossed. The ties of filial love and reverence seemed to be unloosed forever, and the shackles of parental bondage to have fallen from my limbs.

"And it was so. From that hour I was free and independent. My father saw in my calm and stately bearing that his authority had passed away, and never afterward attempted to control my actions. His manner towards me was more considerate and conciliating than formerly, and when, in a few days, I informed him that my preference for a military life was decided and immutable, he received the communication in silence and bowed his acquiescence. pp. 147-151.

After the death of his brother, Cyril was despatched to the university of Glasgow, in which town was domiciliated Mr. David Spreull, the maternal uncle of Cyril, upon whose portrait more than ordinary care has been bestowed. With what success will be apparent from the following extracts:

"Mr. Spreull's counting-house was in the Trongate, and formed part of a large tenement which he had originally built, and which, from this circumstance, was generally known by the patronymic of 'Spreull's land.'

"Of this building, however, he occupied but a small portion, the rest being divided among a very numerous body of tenants, as appeared by the variety of printed names with which both sides of the outer entrance were adorned. Among these, the following notice, painted in large yellow letters, on a black ground, made no undistinguished figure, David Spreull & Co. first door right-hand.' I advanced in the direction indicated, and entered a chamber where about a dozen clerks appeared very diligently engaged in business. In answer to my inquiries, I was informed, that there was at that moment a gentleman with Mr. Spreull, but that it was not probable the interview would last long, and he would, in a minute or two, be at liberty to receive me. The anticipations of the clerk were correct, for I had not kept my station above the time indicated, before a person passed me from an inner apartment, and immediately afterwards, I heard the following directions issued in a loud and harsh voice, from within: Fergus, enter a sale of the fifty hoggits of Muscovado sugar, marked L. T. by the Mary Jane, to Mac Vicar, Macfarlane and Macnab, at ninety-four, two