of her marriage and removal to Eastern Canada. Her brother and sister seldom left their own home, owing to their care of their aged mother, and for some years past my mother's circumstances had not allowed her to visit her early home; and, amid the cares of life, letters passed less and less frequently between them, till they came to be like "Angels' visits," few and far between. My mother was equally pleased and surprised, a few weeks after I returned home, by receiving a kind letter from her brother Nathan. Like all his letters it contained but few words, but they were dictated by a kind heart. The most important words (to me) which the letter contained were these: "Your boy Walter needs more schooling before he goes out into the world, send him to me and he shall have it. If his disposition is anything like his mother's at his age I know we shall get along famously together. I will board and clothe him for two years; he shall attend the best schools in the place, I promise nothing further, only then, when the boy leaves me, he shall have all he deserves, if it should be only a cuff on the ear. In case you should find any difficulty in defraying his expenses, I enclose money sufficient for that purpose. I know not the reason, but I feel a strong desire to see your boy, and find out what he is made of."

My mother was alone when she received this letter; she read it again and again, and with each perusal her heart warmed toward the brother whom she had not seen for so many years. "But," thought she, "whatever my own wishes may be in the matter, Walter must decide for himself. I should consult his feelings (as far as possible) upon a matter which concerns him so deeply." When I came home that evening my mother gave me Uncle Nathan's letter, and with silent amusement watched my face grow sober as I read it. She really knew this kind-hearted brother—I did not, and that made all the difference in the world. I suppose my grave countenance, as I perused the letter, informed my mother that a second Farmer Judson was rising before my mental vision. When I had finished, I looked up, and, with an anxious voice, said:

"Tell me, mother, is Uncle Nathan as gruff and crusty as his letter?"

"My son," replied she, "your uncle's manner may seem somewhat short and crusty to one not acquainted with him; but beneath this rough exterior, he has a very kind heart. I am well aware that he makes this offer with sincerity, and that he has your interest at heart. You certainly need more education to fit you for the duties of life, and now a way is open for you to obtain it. I can hardly bear the thought of your going so far from home, and yet I need not expect you always to remain under my own roof. It is my duty to submit to a temporary separation, if that separation is for your own interest. I will not advise you too strongly, for I consider you have a right to a voice in the matter as well as myself. Should you decide to go, where my advice and influence cannot reach you, I trust you will retain the good principles I have endeavoured to inculcate; you are my only son and should you allow yourself to be led into evil ways, it would be the heaviest trial I have ever known, and my sorrows have been neither few nor light." I had such full confidence in the opinions of my mother, that I allowed her to write to uncle Nathan accepting, for me, his generous offer. Charley Gray was entirely cast down when he learned that I was to go so far away. "It's too bad," said he, "that they must send you away to an old Uncle, who very likely is cross as a bear, and that before the holidays are over; and then in the fall I'm to be sent off to school, nobody knows where, so I suppose we may as well call our good times ended." As Charley said this his lip quivered and the un-shed tear glistened in his fine dark eyes. I was the only companion with whom he was intimate, and the swiftly coming separation grieved him deeply. I tried to cheer him up, but when any thing chanced to cross the wishes of Charley he was prone to look upon the dark side of every thing, and I fear there are many older and wiser than Charley Gray who yield to the same failing.

CHAPTER VII.

After I had consented to go to Uncle Nathan, and a letter had been written informing him of my decision, I began to feel many misgivings. From the style of his letter I got the idea that I should find him like Farmer Judson; and the very thought caused me to shudder with a vague feeling of terror. My mother told me again and again how kind my relative would be to me, and I tried hard to believe her; but with all this my mind was haunted with many fears regarding the future. My mother strove to send me from home well supplied with clothing, that I might prove no immediate expense to my uncle, and the little money she had laid by, with which to replenish her own and little Flora's wardrobe, was applied cheerfully to meet my more immediate wants. Young as I was this circumstance fretted and annoyed me. I remember saying one day to my mother, in a vexed impatient tone, "it seems too bad that we should be so poor. Some of my companions who have rich parents, spend more money every year upon toys and candy than would buy me a whole new suit of clothes, and now to obtain a few new articles of clothing for me you and my little sister must do without what you really need; if the dispensing of money were left in my hands, I would make every one rich alike, and then no one should be ashamed of their poverty as I have often been, when among the rich boys of the village." "Be ashamed of nothing but doing wrong," replied my mother, "and you had best leave the dispensation of wealth or poverty to the One whose right it is, for, be assured, He knows best what is for our good; I had much rather see you grow up a good man than a rich one. If your life is spared, and you prove to be a useful and honorable man, people will never inquire whether your boyhood was passed amid wealth or poverty." I was then in too discontented a mood to profit by my mother's words, but many times in after years were they recalled forcibly to my mind. Time passed on till the last night arrived, which I was to spend at home for an indefinite period. Charley Gray obtained permission to spend this last night with me, and we lay awake for hours talking over our numerous plans for the future in true school-boy fashion. Many an air-castle did we rear that night which the lapse of years have laid in the dust. In our boyish plans of future greatness, I was not exactly sure what I was to be, only I was to be a wonderfully great man of some kind, while Charley was, of course, to become a very eminent physician, such as should not be found upon any past record; and we talked, too, of the wonder we should excite among our old friends when we might chance to revisit the scenes of our early home. We even spoke of driving past the farm of Mr. Judson in a fine carriage drawn by a pair of beautiful bay horses; but with all our lively talk poor Charley was sadly out of spirits. His old bosom foe was at work; he feared that among new companions I might meet with some one who would supplant him in my affections. To one of my nature, this jealous exclusive disposition was something incomprehensible; later in life I learned to pity him for a defect of character, which in his case was hereditary, and which he could no more help than the drawing of his life-breath. I was to leave Elmwood by the early morning train so we were up betimes; but, early as it was, we found my mother already up and breakfast awaiting us. The railway station was a little beyond the village, and more than a mile from our dwelling. Dr. Gray sent over the horse and carriage very early, and Charley, with my mother and Flora, was to accompany me to the depot. The morning air was fresh and invigorating, and under other circumstances we should highly have enjoyed the drive, as it was that morning, we were rather a sad and silent party. When we arrived at the station I moved rapidly about and looked after my luggage with far